by Sandy James
Artair led her to one of the cabins, and just as she’d been told, whatever she needed was waiting. A container full of ice sat on the bed along with a few small towels. A pair of gray yoga pants and a pink T-shirt lay draped over the footboard.
Although he motioned for her to sit, she shook her head and hurried past him to the washroom, needing to rid her mouth of the lingering sour taste. Thankfully, she found a new toothbrush, her favorite toothpaste and a bottle of mouthwash. Once refreshed, she went back to let him help with her tender hand.
Artair pushed Rebecca to sit on the edge of the bed. After making an icepack, he lifted her right hand and set the ice against her knuckles. She winced but didn’t pull away.
His towering height made it hard for him to stoop down and hold the icepack in place, and just when she lifted her left hand to take over the chore, he dropped down next to her on the bed hard enough she bounced.
His plaid had slipped away from a good portion of his well-built thigh, which was now pressed intimately against hers. Her face flushed hot, and he quickly sucked in some air. Did he like feeling her skin against his, or did the intimacy annoy him? Yet, he tugged her hand onto his lap and readjusted the ice over her knuckles. He would have moved if her touch had made him uncomfortable.
“Rhiannon isn’t upset with you, lass.”
“Yes, she was. I embarrassed her.”
He shook his head and opened his mouth as if to say something, but she cut him off.
“You know I did.” Casting her eyes at her pitiful clothing, she sighed. “How can she not be ashamed I’m hers? I mean, just look at me.” She grabbed the material of her wedding dress and lifted the skirt, revealing more of her leg than she probably should have, but she didn’t care. She’d already worked herself into a frustrated outburst. “I’m a—a mess. And I wasn’t much help at that bar. And—and I got sick. And I’m not as strong as Megan. Or Sparks, for that matter. I’m nothing like either one of them.” She shook her head. “Maybe you got the wrong Rebecca Massee. Maybe I’m not supposed to be an Amazon. I’m sure Rhiannon expected…more. Much, much more.”
Rebecca hung her head, trying to stop the tears stinging her eyes. God, she’d disgrace herself in front of Artair again if she wept. Amazons were warriors, and warriors never cried. After having watched her barf, the man would think she was nothing but a basket case if she cried as well. But suddenly, everything that had happened in the last day became too much. Way too much.
* * *
Artair found himself at a loss as her chin quivered and her teeth tugged on her bottom lip. Rebecca was close to losing control. In all the years he’d been training warriors, he’d never had one cry. Not even one of the Amazons. Some of them might have had a tear slide down her cheek during conditioning, but it fell from anger, pain or frustration, not from an ache in their hearts. They hardly cried when they lost one of their own, usually choosing stoic anger to brace them against their loss. He’d spent little time with the women in his clan and knew next to nothing of dealing with the fairer sex. This woman, this beautiful woman, was unlike anyone he had ever known.
Artair was adrift in an uncharted sea. Had she been any other Amazon, especially a Fire, he would have clapped her soundly on the shoulder and told her to grab a sword so she could join him in the sandpit for a good sparring session. Dropping an Amazon on her arse always seemed to perk her up. That might work for Sparks and probably Megan, but not Rebecca.
He hunted for the right words. “Becca, you’ll learn. I’ll teach you, and you’ll learn to master the powers of Earth. You can’t do what Sparks and Megan can, but you do have important powers.”
She simply shook her head again.
Wishing he could face a hundred revenants without a sword instead of soothing the troubled lass, he watched the first tear hit her lap.
Reaching over to cup her chin, Artair lifted her face to look at him. She squeezed her eyes shut tight as a tear leaked from each dainty corner. He caught himself before he growled his frustration that she wouldn’t simply accept what he said and be done with it. “It doesn’t matter what Rhiannon expected. You’re the new Earth, and you are worthy.” She tried to turn away, but he held her in place. “Look at me.” She wouldn’t obey. This time he did growl. “Look at me, Becca.”
Brown. He hadn’t realized her eyes were such an incredible shade of brown. Like good, aged whiskey. Nor had he realized how much those doe eyes would affect him, reaching deep inside and squeezing a heart he’d feared had withered long ago. Another tear spilled over her long lashes to slip down her cheek, and without a thought, he brushed the teardrop away with his thumb, smearing a bit of make-up he wished she wasn’t wearing. Beauty such as hers needed no adornment. Her skin was soft, supple and smooth. The spray of freckles on her nose gave her face warmth.
She tilted her head, considering him with eyes that seemed to see so much. An old soul, he realized. That certainly explained her caution. Rebecca probably had several lifetimes of experience squeezed inside her, guiding her through the world.
True old souls held fast to the lessons they’d learned in lives they’d lived before—lives they didn’t remember yet remained a part of them. Most had no inkling of why they were such good judges of character or why they used caution when others simply charged in. Her eyes revealed the truth of her depth of wisdom. She approached situations with insight instead of relying strictly on muscle. The trait would serve her well and would help balance the impetuous Megan and the brash Sparks.
“Don’t cry, sweeting. You are worthy. You just need to ken it for yourself.”
A soft sigh made her chest rise and fall.
Artair eyed her bodice as it slipped precariously away from her breasts—her very abundant breasts. He’d been alone or in the company of selfish deities and women warriors for too many extended stretches. He craved human contact.
How long since he’d touched a woman this way, wanted a woman this way? A soft, kind, delicate woman. He was aware of every inch of Rebecca’s body touching his. Her beautiful face resting against his fingers, her thigh brushing his, her hand lying gently against his groin.
He was split down the middle. His Sentinel half roared to keep his distance, to remember she was his charge, to follow the ancient rules. Walk away. Now. This was foolish. This was wrong. This was forbidden.
But the man, the mortal he’d been and hoped to be again, craved her with an intensity he’d never known. Rebecca made him breathless, tense with anticipation, nearly heartsick. He wanted to feel her hands caressing his body, wanted to run his fingertips across every inch of her skin, and wanted to capture her moans with his kisses as he buried himself so deep inside her they became one flesh.
Rebecca’s eyes flew wide. Her gaze fell to the hand she rested on his lap.
Damn. She knew the response she’d pulled from his body, the back of her injured hand pressed intimately against his growing erection. Artair waited for her to jerk her hand away. Instead, her gaze rose to meet his, and a hesitant smile crossed her lips, sending heat racing through his blood.
Tugging her chin, he pulled Rebecca closer and settled his mouth on hers. For a moment, she gave in to his silent demand, closing her eyes as her lips grew soft. Then she hesitated, pulled back a bit and opened her eyes.
Had he overstepped? Had he misjudged the incredible attraction between them? Could he have been that wrong?
Time stopped—just stopped. Her quick breaths fell hot against his face as his whole body tightened, waiting for her to decide. She closed her eyes and pressed her lips back against his.
A growl rumbled deep in his throat. His hand went behind her head, tilting it gently to give him better access. His mouth slanted across hers, searing, demanding and brutal. Rebecca responded in kind, kissing him with passion that matched his. The hand in his lap began to move restlessly, driving him mad.
She tasted sweet with a touch of mint. He needed more. Artair teased her lips with his tongue until she parted them, and the
n he invaded the warmth of her mouth. Her responding mewl was almost more than he could bear. Her tongue tentatively rubbed across his before she grew bolder, returning his ferocity with her own.
“Gee, I’m really sorry to interrupt but… Eww.” Sparks’s voice drifted into the cabin and stark reality came back in a rush.
Artair broke away. “Yer nae sorry.”
Rebecca drew back, both physically and in her mind. Those eyes that had seemed so clear, so easy to read, were now guarded. Her hands returned to her own lap, busily rearranging the ice pack as her cheeks flamed. The moment was lost. Perhaps forever.
“Becca mine…”
She gave her head a small shake, put the icepack on her injured hand and glanced away.
Angry at himself for his foolish abandon and having no idea what to say to her, he stood and walked to the door. Over his shoulder, he called back, “We begin training at dawn. Don’t be late.” He waited a few heartbeats before she nodded. Then he left the cabin with Sparks following like a shadow. The same way his younger brother, Darian, used to.
The slamming of Rebecca’s door echoed through the compound.
They weren’t more than ten yards away before Sparks started in on him. That was more restraint than she’d normally be able to show.
“You’re being an idiot, Celt. She’s your charge, you know. An Amazon. She’s not some groupie priestess of Freya’s giving you a piece of ass or a blow job on a tropical island.”
The woman was the embodiment of blunt. Artair nodded but refused to discuss the matter. Rebecca was his concern, and this damn well wasn’t a democracy. Sparks’s opinion shouldn’t count, but it did. And he probably needed to hear everything she had to say. Heaven knew he’d lost his discipline with the girl.
“It’s against the rules,” she added, trying to match his long strides.
He gave her a curt nod and increased his speed, wanting to get away from her nagging at him with the stark truth.
“Rhiannon won’t like it.”
The irritating woman seemed to have a knack for stating the obvious.
“You could—”
He stopped, put his hands on his hips and glared. “Is there something you wanted, Frida? Or were ye just wandering around camp and decided to intrude where you didn’t belong?”
“I came to ask about training, and it’s a damn good thing I did. You can’t—”
“’Tis nae your business.”
“It is my business. It’s all of our business, you stubborn bastard. We need to get these girls ready. If you get involved with her, you won’t be able to do your job. It’s the reason the goddesses forbid it.” She pulled a pack of cigarettes from her pocket, tapped the last one out and put it between her lips.
Artair grabbed the cigarette, made a show of breaking it in front of her face and dropped it to the ground, hoping to make her as miserable as she’d made him. His body was knotted with need, his mind drowning in troubling thoughts.
A couple of sparks popped from her fingers. “Fine. I took away your pleasure—you take away mine.”
He scowled at her.
“Artair, you have to let her be. I’ve never seen you like this. If you get personally involved—”
“I’m nae involved—”
Sparks cut him off with a chuckle. “Then what were you doing? Teaching her mouth-to-mouth resuscitation? If I hadn’t come in, you’d have her naked by now.” Her expression grew serious and revealed a little of her true age, of all she’d seen in her decades as a warrior. “If you get involved, you won’t let her be what she’s meant to be. She’s shaky as it is. You saw her in the bar. It took an attack on Megan to get her to kick into gear. Think about it, Celt. Maria’s dead. We can’t find Helen or Trishna. Instead of us going after evil, evil’s coming for us, trying to wipe us out, one by one. If you fall for Rebecca, you’ll spend all your time trying to protect her. That leaves us two men down. She won’t fight, and you’ll act like a shield. Don’t you see? You’ll get her killed. And you’ll get yourself killed too.”
“I cannot be killed.”
“That’s a lie, and you damn well know it. All it takes is one blade.” She poked his chest with her index finger. “One damn blade through your heart.”
“Thank ye kindly for that pleasant reminder.”
He strode away, knowing Sparks would follow. Common sense took hold, and he acknowledged the truth. “Aye. You’re right. I ken it.” But his heart wouldn’t listen. Stopping at her cabin, he opened the door. “You best be sleeping, lass. You’ll be needing yer rest for tomorrow.”
Sparks went into her cabin before turning back to give Artair one more stern frown.
He walked away, heading for his own cabin.
Training. That was the answer. He’d throw his heart into training Rebecca and Megan. He’d help Sparks sharpen her skills. He would work them and himself into sheer exhaustion so they could do nothing but collapse on their bunks every night.
Maybe then he could escape this madness.
Chapter Seven
“I still don’t see why I can’t just use my gun,” Megan grumbled. Artair rolled his eyes heavenward and asked the Ancients for patience for what seemed like the millionth time since the new Amazons had come to Avalon.
His new Fire had proven to be every bit as impulsive as Sparks had been when she’d first arrived so many decades ago. Megan’s constant need to play with her new skills had started too many spontaneous blazes. He’d finally resorted to relocating her to Sparks’s old training cabin. The thatched roof would discourage her from throwing fire and force her to learn control over her powers. If she didn’t, she’d burn her home to the ground, and he let her know he wouldn’t allow the changelings to replace it.
“You’ll most likely be fighting a revenant,” he explained yet again. “A bullet will only slow one of the creatures, nae stop him. Few demons can fall to a gun, and all you’ll do if you shoot a demig is anger him.”
“I know, I know. You told me that. But I could go get my .357. If it doesn’t kill ’em, it’ll at least leave a hell of a hole.” Megan picked up her sword and stepped to where Sparks waited to spar with her.
“Artair,” Rebecca interrupted, “could you please show me that stance again? I can’t seem to get it right.” She held her sword before her, trying to keep her balance with the heavy weapon. She wasn’t succeeding.
He turned to see Sparks taking swings at Megan and gave a grunt when Megan deftly parried the blows. Knowing Sparks was training Megan well, he turned his full attention to Rebecca.
He stepped behind her, pressing his chest against her back. He wrapped his arms around her shoulders and steadied her limbs with his own. Big hands covered much smaller ones over the leather-covered hilt of the sword. She smelled wonderful, and he resisted the urge to bury his nose in her lilac-scented hair. He closed his eyes for a moment and savored the feel of her in his arms, wanting what he could never have.
Rebecca glanced over her shoulder. “Artair?”
“Aye, lass. You must widen your stance.” Placing his foot just inside her ankle, he nudged her feet farther apart. “Better. See how you can use your hips to balance the weapon?” He splayed his hand over her abdomen, pushing against supple muscle. “Is it nae too heavy, Becca? There are lighter swords.”
“No. It’s—it’s fine.” Yet she quivered in his arms.
“Are you cold?”
“No, I’m not cold.”
“Then why are you trembling?”
She ignored the question.
Artair helped her swing the sword, guiding her through the motion, slicing through the air in smooth arcs. “Better, lass. You’re improving.”
“I’m trying. It’s just not easy. The thing’s so awkward.”
“Nay. ’Tis smooth as a warm knife through fresh butter when you master it.”
He should turn her loose. She had the proper stance now. While she handled the weapon like one new to its feel, she would improve with time. Chastising
himself for acting like some beardless lad anxious to touch his first woman, he stepped back. Swinging the sword, she continued her training as if unaffected by his absence. He walked out of the sandpit, fearing he’d left a part of himself behind.
Turning his attention back to the Fires, he was happy to see Megan holding her own against Sparks. He waited for what would come next. Sparks didn’t disappoint. In a catlike move, she took a swing of her sword then dropped to use a front sweep to kick Megan’s feet out from under her. As Megan fell, Sparks swung again, hitting Megan’s weapon and knocking it from her hands.
Sparks was one of the sharpest warriors he’d ever trained. He smiled when she helped Megan back to her feet before handing her the dropped sword. He could always count on Sparks to have a friend’s back.
“Go show your sister what I just taught you,” Sparks said.
As Megan went to Rebecca, Sparks came to stand by his side. “Megan’s got what it takes,” she said as she watched the new Amazons.
“Aye. A true Fire.”
She inclined her head toward Rebecca. “She’s weak.” This time her words were barely above a whisper.
“Aye,” he replied in kind. “But so was Helen when she started training. Earth is oft the slowest to develop. Not all Amazons take to the skills with your speed.”
As he expected, Sparks let one of his rare compliments pass without comment. “She’ll need work.”
Artair nodded.
“Lots of work.”
“Are you here to tell me my job?”
“I’m their Guardian. I’m supposed to watch over these women, to see to their wellbeing. It’s not a job I wanted, it belonged to Maria. Or better yet, Helen should be here.” She gave an exaggerated shrug. “But I’m the Guardian now, and I need to help you decide if she’s gonnna make it. I’m not worried about Megan at all.”
Artair followed Sparks’s gaze to where Megan and Rebecca sparred in the sandpit. Megan went on the attack, swinging the heavy sword like a barbarian of old, as if she had been fighting her whole life. She was a warrior, no doubt.
