by Montana Ash
“Let me get this straight. Lark has apologised to you countless times now for his assumptions, his words, or his actions. From what I understand, your assumptions and faults have been far worse than his and yet, how many times have you apologised to him?”
Ivy hadn’t answered, letting her silence speak for itself. But she knew he was right. Her mother would have kicked her butt by now; stoic was one thing but rudeness was something else entirely.
Spotting him at a table by himself close to the man playing a black baby grand, she took a fortifying breath of humble and made her way to him, “Do you mind if I join you?”
His green eyes flicked up, looking her over with disinterest, before settling once more on his menu. He shrugged, “The seat’s free.”
Not exactly the warmest of welcomes but at least he hadn’t said no. For want of anything better to do, she picked up her own menu and began to scan its contents. Her eyes nearly bugged out of her head – fifty dollars for a starter! She didn’t even want to know what the main courses ran for. Quickly looking around, she noticed for the first time how fancy the place was. Every other occupant in the room was dressed in formal attire of dresses and suits. Patting her hair, she suddenly remembered she hadn’t taken a brush to it since that morning and she had been hacking off heads all day. What’s more, she was still wearing her plain black cargo pants and shirt. She wished she had the protection that was her ranger uniform. She had never felt so exposed before.
“You look beautiful.”
His voice startled her as much as his words and her eyes flew to his. She was able to witness first-hand how his eyes lost their coldness and the lines of tension bracketing his mouth smoothed out. “Huh?” she managed to stutter out.
“I said you look beautiful. You outshine every woman in this room.”
Ivy ducked her head, feeling her face flame. But not from embarrassment – no, it was from pleasure. Lark thought she was beautiful. Nobody had ever told her she was beautiful before. Well, other than Beyden and her mother but they didn’t count. And although she hadn’t heard them from any man in the past, she knew they couldn’t possibly have meant more to her than they did when spoken from the man in front of her right now.
Apologise, Beyden had said. But Ivy thought she could do one better and appeal to him on a deeper level – show him she had been listening every time he spoke. And prove she had been watching every time he moved. Standing up, she held out her hand, “Will you dance with me?”
He stared at her outstretched hand so long she began to think he wasn’t going to take it and she felt a small ball of dread settle in her stomach. But just as she was about to lower her hand, he grasped it firmly, allowing her to pull him to his feet;
“I’d love to,” he assured her, softly.
There were three other couples on the dance floor, so she didn’t feel like a complete moron but it took her all of ten seconds to step on his foot, “Sorry,” she hastily apologised. “I don’t dance often – or ever.”
Warm fingers caught her chin, tilting it up and she found herself ensnared by the jade depths of his eyes, “You’re doing fine. Although, if you stopped trying to lead …” he quirked a smile at her.
“Oh,” she exhaled, loosening her steel grip on his hand and beginning to follow his steps as he moved her slowly but surely in a circle across the dance floor. By half way through the song, she had relaxed enough to close her eyes when she heard him whisper;
“Apology accepted.”
She smiled into his chest where she knew he couldn’t see, feeling an insurmountable pleasure knowing he had read her actions for what they were; a request for forgiveness. As the last lines of the song came to an end, she found herself in an unusual predicament; she didn’t want to step out of the masculine arms that surrounded her. One song. One dance. That’s what she had allowed herself. One tiny moment of whimsy where she could just be a woman and not a killer. She knew better, she reprimanded herself, for now here she was, her body aligned with a lean frame that smelled of freshly cut grass in the spring time … and muscles that wouldn’t quit.
He had been the perfect gentleman, guiding her through the dance with one hand securely on her waist and the other covering hers on his chest. He didn’t step into her personal space at all, just moved them together with the beat of the music. She found the casual brushes of his body against hers even more arousing than if they had been slamming naked against each other. Although, she was sure that would be damn arousing as well.
She felt him inhale, bringing them into even closer contact, rather than letting her go. Seems she wasn’t the only one disinclined to part ways. Although, judging by the large bulge behind the zipper of his standard issue cargo pants, she was confident his reasons weren’t so innocent. Another inhale accompanied a nose brushing against her hair. Was he sniffing her?
“Are you sniffing me?” She demanded, frowning at him but still making no move to step out of his arms – because she was clearly a glutton for punishment.
He shrugged, “Yes. Your hair smells amazing.”
She quickly lowered her head, lest he see how much the comment warmed her. Her one vanity was her hair. It would have been far more practical to cut it all off. After all, anything an opponent could grab and use against you in battle was a hindrance. But she just couldn’t do it. The memories of her mother brushing her hair before bedtime every night were her favourite ones. Before she could formulate a response that didn’t make her sound like a weeny, Lark spoke again;
“Do you know what I wanted the first time I saw you?” he murmured, this time skimming his chin across the top of her head.
She smirked at that, pushing herself against the hardness at her hip, “I think I can guess.”
She fully expected a bawdy comment in return or a lewd gesture – the typical male response to such a blatant sexual innuendo. But when none was forthcoming, she glanced up at him again. Bright green eyes, the colour of the freshest of fields, met her own dark gaze. Those emerald orbs mapped her face, even as he raised a hand to trace her lips. Despite herself, she felt them part in anticipation – so sure he was going to lean in and lay siege. But the earth paladin only quirked his own and shook his head;
“I wanted to see you smile.”
Ivy gulped, oh boy, he sure is potent, she thought and tried to remind herself of all the different reasons why becoming involved with her partner, her brother’s best friend, and a man young enough to be her son, was a bad idea.
“I saw you dancing,” she abruptly revealed without thought and wanted to immediately slap her own forehead.
“Given you’re currently in my arms, swaying to the music, I’d say that was fairly obvious,” he smiled at her.
“No,” she fumbled, trying to explain herself, “I mean, I saw you dancing. Back at the camp. In the gym.”
Apple-green eyes narrowed and she felt him stiffen perceptibly, “Did you just? That was private.”
She blushed a little but didn’t lower her eyes, “I know. Ryker informed me of that when he caught me in the act.”
“Ryker?” he sounded surprised.
“Yeah. He’s a little protective of you. In fact, they all are,” she pointed out.
“Hmm,” was his only response.
“Who taught you?” she asked.
“Who taught me what?” he queried, although she was positive he knew her meaning.
“To dance,” she clarified. She was unsure why his answers were so important to her. She just knew she had an intense desire to get to know the youthful earth paladin on a deeper level. She knew he had been trying – all those hours in the car together. But she had feigned disinterest and he hadn’t attempted to talk about anything of true importance.
He was silent for so long, she thought he wasn’t going to answer but she finally felt his tense muscles relax once more just before his breath fanned across the top of her head;
“No-one taught me; I taught myself.”
“What?” That could
n’t be right. The skill and the dexterity with which he had moved had not been those of an amateur. “How is that possible? You must have had lessons.”
But he shook his head, “You’d be surprised how much you can learn from watching TV and reading books when you have a photographic memory.”
“Your parents must have been proud of you, having so many talents,” she guessed and was caught off guard when he stopped moving abruptly. Looking up, she saw his eyes were fixed on her face with harsh intensity, “What is it?” she asked.
He shook his head, looking baffled, “You really don’t know who I am, do you?”
He was looking so solemn and serious, she could only shake her head, “What do you mean? Who are you?”
He blew out a harsh breath, “Not here.”
Glancing around, she saw they were garnering some interest. Likely because they were still on the dance floor, wrapped in each other’s arms and subtly swaying to the now non-existent music. She stepped out of his arms, swiftly quieting her traitorous heart when it whined from the loss of contact. Clearing her throat, she said; “Thank you. For the dance, I mean.”
His lips quirked up, making him look entirely too young and edible, “You’re welcome. For the dance, I mean.”
She couldn’t help but smile back and he tilted his head, studying her for a moment, “Do you really want to know more about me?”
“Most definitely,” she quickly responded.
“Are you going to reciprocate?”
She frowned at that, “There’s not much to tell.”
“Oh, I doubt that very much,” he murmured, his gaze raking over her from head to toe. “Your room or mine?” he asked and must have read the wary look on her face, “Relax, Ivy. To talk. Just talk.”
She hesitated for a moment before finally deciding to forge ahead. She may as well get it over with. “Listen, Lark. About that day –”
“Let’s not, okay? Something tells me we’re not going to agree about what it meant and I don’t want to hear all about your regrets. So –” he continued before she could puzzle out what his meaning was, “your room or mine?”
She studied him for a moment, seeing no hidden agenda. Just his earnest, handsome face, “Mine.”
TWENTY-SIX
“You know, I wanted to be a dancer when I grew up – like professionally. Fighting, protecting, being a paladin was never something I wanted to do,” he volunteered as he wandered a little aimlessly around Ivy’s room.
She scoffed, “Right!”
He smiled at her, knowing the idea was absurd to her but it was true. “Seriously. I also wanted to be a professor, a doctor, a gardener … anything other than what I was born to be.” He paused when he reached the small sitting area of the room and decided to take a seat at the table. His constant prowling was no doubt making Ivy nervous but he’d thought it best to stay on the move. Seeing her sitting on the bed and pulling all that glorious hair loose from the confines of its elastic was playing havoc on his control.
“You’re serious,” she stated, combing her fingers through her hair. “From what I’ve seen, you love being a paladin.”
“I love being Max’s paladin,” he emphasised. “But I wanted to be everything – anything – my father wasn’t. He’s a paladin, hence I loathed the thought of being one.” He watched the tiny expressions on her face, loving the small play of muscles beneath smooth, mocha skin. The slight vee between her eyebrows was the equivalent of a frown on other people.
“Daddy issues?” she guessed.
Despite the circumstances, he was startled into a genuine laugh, “That’s the understatement of the year. My father is Isaac.”
Her fingers stilled in her hair, her eyes widened, and her mouth literally dropped open. It was the most expression he had ever seen on her face. Other than when she had orgasmed, of course. And he planned on seeing that particular look of surprised wonder on her face again and again and again. He figured it was pretty bad when he only had to say a first name and people shuddered in revulsion. His father’s name and Order was synonymous with fear.
“Isaac? Potentate for the Order of Tor and for Terran? That piece of shit, murdering bastard, arsehole?!” she shouted.
He tipped an imaginary hat in her direction, “That’d be him.”
She jumped off the bed, taking her turn to pace around the room. Lark didn’t mind her agitated movements. It allowed him to appreciate the full scope of Ivy’s hair. Straight, black, and shiny as a waterfall, it fell in a flawless curtain all the way to her butt. He couldn’t wait to see her body when it was shielded only by that hair.
“By the Goddess, Lark. I had no idea. I’ve had a few run-ins with his Order over the years and –”
“You what?” he jumped up. “Are you okay? Did he ever touch you?”
She waved away his concern, “I’m fine. As if I’d let that disgusting, sadistic, pig touch me. I – shit, I’m sorry. I’m talking about your father …”
His jaw clenched, “No need to apologise. That man is a lot of things. But my father he never was.”
Ivy shook her head, causing her hair to swish tantalisingly around her body, “Well, that explains your scars. Oh, hell. I am so sorry. That was so insensitive. I’m –”
He found himself laughing for the second time in minutes. An irate, uncensored, unfiltered Ivy was highly entertaining. “It’s fine. Honest.”
She just shook her head, staring at him like she had never seen him before, “Isaac? I don’t see it at all. You are nothing like him. Honestly, if it weren’t for the fact that I know you would never lie to me, then I would say I didn’t believe you.”
He absolutely loved hearing she trusted him to speak truthfully. Maybe the past couple of weeks weren’t such a write-off after all and she really had been listening and watching him, just as he had been doing with her, “Telling me I’m nothing like him is probably the best compliment you could give me.”
“No doubt,” she muttered. “How did you get away from him?”
“The Paladin Trials,” he said, simply.
That tiny vee of hers made another appearance briefly before her exotic-shaped eyes rounded slightly, “You flunked them on purpose.”
He nodded, “Indeed I did.” The relief on her face made him chuckle again, “You thought I was an incompetent child, barely old enough to be recognised as a knight and so inept I couldn’t pass a single exam in the Trials.”
She just nodded at him, not looking sheepish or even apologetic, “That’s exactly what I thought. But then, that’s exactly what you wanted me to think … isn’t it?”
He had to hand it to her, she was damn fast. Just another thing to like about her. He leant back in his chair, feeling relaxed and comfortable now, “Yes and no. Yes, I want my father and his associates to think that. Everyone else? I don’t really care. I don’t base my self-worth on the judgement of others.” Not anymore, anyway, he added silently, “As for you – no, I didn’t want you to think that. I hated that you thought that way. But I wasn’t going to disabuse you of the notion. You seemed to need to cling to it.”
Ivy abruptly turned her face away from him but not before he saw the slash of colour high on her cheekbones, “What happened then? I don’t imagine your father would have been particularly happy about your failure.”
“You’d be right. After a rather sound tongue lashing – among other things – he finally kicked me out on my arse. He then made sure to spread the word that his son was a disgrace – no fighting skills, useless with weapons, completely dishonourable, and likely a fag as well. I’m surprised you didn’t hear about it. I was the talk of the town for a good long while.”
She waved away his last comment, “I don’t pay attention to gossip. Not after Beyden’s experience with the gossip-whores. Although, I do remember hearing all about Isaac’s son failing the potentate and paladin exams. I just never knew it was you.”
His estimation of her rose again after hearing her opinion of gossip, “Anyway, I was ba
rely twenty-six at the time and I found myself homeless, permanently Orderless, and disgraced. It was the happiest moment of my life.”
He wondered how much more to say and then decided he wanted her to know everything about him sooner or later. He may as well keep talking while she was being receptive, “I was finally free. Free of that man, of his liege, and his miserable excuse of an Order. I was going to leave our society altogether – go live in the human world. Just forget wardens and paladins and chades even existed.”
Her perfectly arched eyebrows rose, “You’re being serious,” she stated.
“Deadly.”
“Then why didn’t you?” she asked, curiously.
He ran both hands through his hair, blowing out a breath, “Fate, luck … Ryker.”
Ivy’s eyes warmed, “Ryker, huh? For a miserable prick who claimed not to like people, he sure sounds as if he saved more than his fair share of them.”
Lark could recount dozens of true stories demonstrating Ry’s deep sense of fairness, of compassion, and just plain kindness. But he didn’t, knowing the man didn’t do it for the fame. Instead, he grinned, “He’s all bark and no bite.”
She snorted at the absurdity of that and they lapsed into a comfortable silence, both lost in their own thoughts. After a few minutes, he saw Ivy making her way over to him. He was stunned when her voice rang loud and clear with her question;
“Can I see them?”
His body stiffened in automatic denial. He didn’t need her to clarify what them was. She had already mentioned his scars once and had no doubt received an eye-full when he had been dancing that day. He hadn’t lied when he told Max he wasn’t ashamed of his scars or embarrassed about them. Though, he would be lying if he said he was completely comfortable with someone studying them. Someone he was attracted to no less and who had already expressed concerns regarding his strength.
She must have taken his silence for tacit consent because she offered him a slender hand. Not wanting to break whatever spell they were both under, he accepted it, allowing her to help him to his feet. She circled around behind him and bunched her fingers in his shirt. Her tight grip reminded him of the day he had felt her come apart in his arms and he barely managed to stifle his groan. Now was not the time for lust-filled visions.
