Heart of Fire

by Kristen Painter

  The guards had taken his leather breastplate but left his cloak. It lay over the stool where they’d thrown it. She picked the length of fabric up to hang it. The fragrance of horse, leather, and something darker filled her nose. The spicy scent was unlike anything she’d smelled. She shook her head, forced herself to focus. She dashed the cloak over a peg to get it out of her hands.

  He lay on his back, legs sprawled out, feet hanging off the sides of the bed. She unlaced the first of his knee-high boots and pulled it off. A slim blade clattered to the floor. The guards’ search hadn’t been very thorough. Tyber would be angry if he knew. She turned the blade in her hands, recognizing the design. The dagger was a Feyre, elven steel, twin to the blade the elven council had given to Tyber. Perforations honeycombed the blade like metal lace, making it as light as a wasp’s nest, but elven magic made it nigh unbreakable. She set the dagger atop the stool to give to the guards.

  After his other boot, she untied the laces at the neck of his tunic. The worn grey linen clung to his hot, damp skin, outlining the contours of his chest in soft relief. Her fingers brushed the sooty vee of skin beneath the laces. She inhaled. The feel of skin beneath her fingers was rare. Her belly tightened. She would have to touch more of him to get the shirt off.

  Loosening the wrist ties, she took his hands in hers one by one and eased his arms through the sleeves. His broad palms were calloused, his thick fingers rough. What would that hand feel like against her skin? She pressed her palm to his, comparing the size. Her hand looked like a child’s.

  Unable to lift him, she see-sawed the bunched fabric between him and the bed until she had it at his shoulders. Avoiding contact was impossible. Her fingers grazed his chest and her breath caught in her throat. His skin was so smooth, the muscle beneath so hard and hot – like river stones warmed in the afternoon sun. She laid his tunic over the footboard. The patched fabric was torn in two places and needed washing.

  His sweat-glossed skin shone like tarnished silver against the ivory bedclothes. Thick black locks splayed out around his muscled shoulders. What color eyes hid beneath those velvet-fringed lids? Glancing at the blade she’d found on him, she studied him more carefully. No scars that she could see. Nothing marked him but the runes on his curious ears.

  He was as different in his coloring from the cervidae as she was. His strong jaw and straight nose gave him the countenance of man used to getting his way. She stared, unable to look away. Like the time she’d stumbled upon a den of sleeping wolves, watching him ignited two senses; fear and longing. He was beautiful in the way of all wild creatures, and if Tyber were right, just as deadly.

  His chest rose and fell rhythmically. She wanted to touch him again, to know once more the feel of his skin, any skin, beneath her fingers. Tentatively, she traced one of the silver runes on his ear.

  He moaned and she pulled away. She stepped back, thunderstruck by the acute nearness of him and the way his palpable maleness permeated the room. There was something about him darker than his skin.

  “What have I done?” she whispered. “Why have I taken this man into my home?” To find out why he had her father’s donkey? He might have robbed her father. Or worse.

  She backed out of the room, grabbing the Feyre as she went, and shut the door harder than necessary. She pressed her hand against her mouth, and composed herself before going into the kitchen. With so much work to be done, she did not want Corah to think she doubted her decision to help the elf.

  She squared her shoulders, and took a deep breath. I’m a healer. He won’t harm me. Still, she vowed to see him well and on his way with as much haste as possible.

  After depositing the Feyre with the guards outside, Jessalyne strode into the kitchen. “I need you to start an elixir base while I study my mother’s books for some hint at what this illness is. Now, what would you use?”

  Startled by Jessalyne’s burst into the kitchen, Corah almost dropped her mortar and pestle. She stammered for a moment, “Um, let me see, angelica root, dried monk’s blossom, hyssop – no hyssop would be for a bath, this is an elixir, so ground parsley seed and...”

  “And?”

  “Alder flower?” Corah asked hopefully.

  “Yes! Well done.” Jessalyne pulled one of her mother’s books from a shelf and began flipping through it. She looked up at the girl, lost in some daydream. “Will you be making that elixir today?”

  “Of course, sorry,” Corah nodded, head down.

  Jessalyne knew who occupied the girl’s thoughts. “Mind the work at hand, not the creature in the bedroom. Besides, you are betrothed.” Corah’s cheeks colored. She dipped her head lower.

  Jessalyne pulled one of her mother’s books from a warped shelf. She scoured the text for some indication as to what malady they were fighting. The faded scents wafting from the yellowed pages reminded her of her mother. She smiled. Her mother would have helped anyone in need.

  “I think this is it.” Her finger stopped at a passage near the bottom of one page. “We need a few more ingredients.”

  Lastlight settled as they finished the brew. Jessalyne and Corah strained the concoction through a bit of fine linen into a narrow-necked jar. They each took a dose, then plugged the jar with a cork stopper and sealed the cork with wax.

  “Be sure everyone gets a dose, fawns and elders first. There’s no way of telling who was exposed.” Jessalyne smiled at her shape-shifting apprentice. “You’re a good student. Thank you for your hard work.”

  “You’re a patient teacher,” Corah said.

  Jessalyne waved the comment away. “Off you go.”

  Corah left, her precious cargo cradled in the crook of her arm.

  I’m alone in the house with him. Jessalyne shivered. Stop behaving like some foolish chit. There are guards outside the front door. He’s too weak with fever to be dangerous. And even if he were, I have my magic. Just give him the elixir and be done with it.

  She took a measure of the elixir in a mug and a cool damp cloth with her into the back bedroom. She nodded her head toward a small oil lamp on the bedside table, and it flickered to life, brightening the room with a soft glow. He slept fitfully, the covers tossed aside. Light from the oil lamp danced across his skin.

  She set the cloth on the table and hesitated. Giving him the elixir required touching him again. She sat on the edge of the bed, as close as she dared, and studied his face. He didn’t look that dangerous. In fact, he looked more feral than dangerous, and wild creatures could be tamed. Sometimes.

  Dark elf. She mouthed the words silently, not knowing his name. The shadows in the room caressed him as though they knew him and for a brief moment, she envied the darkness.

  She slid her hand behind his head. He moaned softly, but this time she didn’t jump. He wouldn’t hurt her for helping him, would he? She lifted his head enough to bring the mug to his mouth, trying not to think about the silkiness of his hair between her fingers or the lushness of his lips. She trickled as much of the liquid as she could into him, then eased his head back onto the pillow.

  The last few ribbons of blue-black hair slipped through her fingers. She reached for the cloth, eager to occupy her hands with something else besides him. No, not eager. Reluctant, for in truth his skin infected her with the desire to touch, the urge to caress. She shook her head. This was not the proper behavior for a healer.

  She mopped the sweat from his brow with the cool linen and left, taking his shirt with her to wash. The cottage was too dark. She slashed her hand through the air. Small flames flickered to life in response, the pair of candles on the mantel, the tableside lamp by her chair. Better. The light calmed her.

  His life relied on the healing power of the elixir now. She had no intention of using her gifts to heal him. None. Ever. Tyber had said dark elves had their own magic, and she knew too little about the alchemy of such things to chance clashing with whatever power flowed through him. It simply wasn’t a risk worth taking.

  Chapter Three

  A concer
t of drum-pounding pixies played in Ertemis’s head. What tavern had he spent last night in? The Dirty Dwarf? The Fig and Gristle? Nay, neither of those was right. He opened his eyes a slit.

  “What the...” He sat up too quickly, and the pixies pounded harder.

  If this was an inn, it was one of the nicest he’d slept in of late. The room was sparse but clean. And wretchedly sunny. It wasn’t like him to leave the curtains open. It also smelled better than any place he’d ever stayed. He smelled food – hot griddlecakes and smoked trout by the scent of it.

  “That will do nicely.” He swung his legs around and the instant his bare feet hit the floor, he realized he had been undressed and stripped of both sword and Feyre. Someone had disrobed him down to his trousers. He inhaled, then lifted his hands to his face and sniffed. The scent of a woman lingered on his skin, his hair.

  Wanting more information, he stood near the door and listened. Only soft muffled sounds reached his ears. He imagined a plump cook bustling about. Plump cooks always made the best food.

  He tried to sense more, sending tendrils of magic into his surroundings, but a wall of mist drifted around him. He blamed his overindulgence, although he still couldn’t recall the tavern responsible.

  The door opened without a sound. Two chairs sat in front of a fireplace, a basket of knitting next to one. A braided scrap rug covered a stone floor. The room was simple and tidy. This was not a tavern. Where was he?

  Wonderful smells wafted through a doorway on the far wall. A woman hummed an unfamiliar tune. He followed his nose into the kitchen and there she stood. With her back to him, she alternated between slicing seedberries and flipping griddlecakes.

  He inhaled, her scent filling his nose. She was the one who’d undressed him. Pity he didn’t couldn’t remember what else she’d done to him.

  A sly smile lifted the corners of his mouth, and he moved closer. He’d not had a woman in ages for many reasons, but he complimented himself on the one he’d picked to break his fast. From the back, she looked a fair prize. Tall for a woman, but well shaped – even her loose tunic couldn’t hide a slender waist and well-curved hips. If only he could remember last night. Her scent caressed his senses with warm, feminine sweetness.

  He came a little closer. Her hair was so uncommonly pale, it could have passed for elven. He tried to get a glance at her ears to be sure she wasn’t. A seedberry rolled off the counter. She bent to pick it up, placing her nicely rounded backside inches from his groin. He could not recall a lovelier sight.

  His stomach growled loudly.

  She whirled around, dropping the utensil in her hand, and inhaled sharply, almost colliding with his naked chest.

  “What are you...why are you...you should be in bed!” she sputtered, her pale lavender eyes wide.

  A fair prize, indeed.

  * * *

  What nerve! The creature dared sneak up on her in her own home, half naked, and that smirk – like a cat full of milkbeetles. Jessalyne breathed deeply to calm down. She willed herself to stop staring into his silver-edged onyx eyes.

  “Why are you out of bed?” She asked again, bending to pick up the dropped utensil. Her scullery felt too small and very warm at the moment.

  “Good morning to you as well.” He backed away and sat at the table.

  She ignored his jab at her lack of politeness, relieved by the distance he put between them. “You shouldn’t be up.”

  “Why, pray tell?” His devilish grin widened. “Were you bringing me breakfast in bed? If that’s so, I’ll gladly go back and wait for you there.”

  Jessalyne felt blood surge to her cheeks at his words. What was he implying? “If I had known you were such a lout, I would have left you to the mercy of the fever.”

  At the word fever, his smile dissolved.

  “I saved your life. You should be thankful,” she said.

  He scowled. “You didn’t save my life. Illness doesn’t affect me.”

  Hah! It apparently affected his brain. She snorted. “Then why were you boiling with fever? Why did I bother poring over books and crushing herbs and straining mixtures and making an elixir to heal you? An elixir that did indeed cure you!”

  “My body uses fever to burn illness out of the human portion of my blood. I would have gotten better with or without your elixir.”

  She glared at him. “And now I suppose you expect me to feed you.”

  “That’s the best offer I’ve heard so far.” He smiled wickedly. “Although the day is young.”

  Ignorant lout. She turned her back and begun heaping food onto a platter. She dropped a plate of trout and griddlecakes in front of him and made to go. He planted his foot on the chair across from him and shoved it out.

  “Sit. I can’t eat all of this alone.”

  Undoubtedly a lie. Most men could eat their share and then some without breathing hard. She hesitated, unwilling to bend to the whims of this creature. But she was hungry, and it would give her a chance to ask the questions plaguing her. She took another plate from the cupboard. He watched everything she did but said nothing.

  The silence and the staring made her uncomfortable. Not to mention sharing breakfast with a bare-chested man. Elf. Whatever kind of beast he was. The sight of him shirtless left her speechless. How did a man’s shoulders get so wide? He must think her simple.

  In the light of day, his skin shone like raven’s feathers. She knew the softness of that midnight-colored skin and longed to touch it again. Just once, to be sure her memory was true. The thought flooded her face with heat. She pushed a seedberry slice across her plate as she tried to refocus and was just about to ask about Petal when he spoke.

  “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

  She looked up through her lashes. “I wasn’t startled.”

  “You were.” He paused, a griddlecake halfway to his mouth.

  “I am fine.”

  He started as if to refute her again but paused, the faintest twinkling in his eyes. “Do you have a name, or shall I come up with one of my own?”

  “I have a name.” She popped the seedberry slice into her mouth to stall.

  He waited for a moment, then leaned closer. “Are you going to tell me what it is?”

  She swallowed. “You haven’t told me yours.”

  “Master elf will do.”

  “I am not about to call you master, and elf is not a name. It’s what you are.”

  He shook his head slightly. Was that a smile? “Ertemis.”

  Satisfied, she leaned back. “I am Lady Jessalyne.”

  “Lady Jessalyne? You’re nobility?” He peered out the window and laughed. ”Living out in the woods? I doubt that.”

  The urge to strike him was thick. She pushed away from the table, grabbed her plate and headed out to the slop sink. She needed to get away from him for a moment, to breathe air untainted by all that maleness. And nakedness. His laughter wafted out behind her as she pushed through the side door.

  Ertemis. His name rolled too easily around on her tongue. She hadn’t expected him to recover so quickly. At least now her conscience was clear. He would be on his way, and that would be the end of it. But she still didn’t know what he was doing with her father’s donkey.

  She left the plate to soak and went back inside, but he wasn’t in the kitchen. She peeked into the rest of the house. The back bedroom door swung shut.

  Good. She would speak to him when he was dressed. She straightened her kitchen and had almost emptied her head of the sight of his bare chest when he came back in. He wore boots with his trousers this time, but still no tunic.

  She balled her hands to keep from touching him. That would not do. “I imagine the sort of woman you’re used to finds your lack of dress appealing. I do not.” In truth, his bare chest was far more to her liking than she cared to admit.

  An irritating smile danced across his lips. “I would be happy to put my tunic on, Lady Jessalyne. Simply show me where you put it when you undressed me.”

  He stres
sed the word in a way that gave her wicked thoughts. She chastised herself for not remembering she’d washed and hung the shirt to dry after giving him the elixir. Brushing past him, she hurried out to the clothesline. She snatched the garment off and stormed back into the house.

  “There.” She threw the tunic at him. “Now dress. Please.” Or not. No, he needed to dress.

  He held it out in front of him. “Laundered and mended. Do you treat all your guests this way or are you hoping I’ll reward your kindness again?”

  “Again?”

  “Perhaps you’d like another taste of last night?”

  “A taste of you feverish and sweating in my childhood bed? I don’t think you’re well after all.” The man was unbearable.

  “Did we not...” He raised his brows.

  “Whatever you’re implying, no, we did not. Do most women fall at your feet so quickly?”

  “Actually...,” he began with a slight grin.

  She cut him off with a glare, trying to damp down the building heat of anger and unwarranted jealousy. Let him rut like the beast he was. What did she care?

  His expression softened, and surprisingly, he held his tongue and yanked the tunic over his head. Jessalyne looked away, unwilling to give her overactive imagination further fuel. As soon as he was decent, she would ask him about Petal. Then he could be on his way and out of her life. Her front door creaked. She turned around. He was gone.

  * * *

  Ertemis found his way blocked by two cervidae guards, hands on sword hilts. Why he hadn’t discerned them earlier? Testing his senses again, he found the fog in his head was gone and he could read the guards. They were wary of him.

  His hands came up in a show of peace. “Just looking for my horse. As soon as he’s saddled, I’ll be about my business.”

  The guards relaxed their stance. The tall one spoke. “Territt will take you to your mount. Fine beast, I might add.”

  “He is indeed, thank you.” Ertemis knew enough to take peace when it was offered.