by Shona Husk
He held out his hand to her.
“Brigit?” Amanda couldn’t just leave.
“Will be fine for a few hours,” said Eliza as she took Brigit’s handbag full of unneeded medicine from Amanda. And Amanda no longer had an excuse to say no.
“Where are we going?”
“Not far.” Dai’s gaze hadn’t left her, but his stance was rigid, as if he was contained in invisible armor. Protection from what she might say.
It was a test. Pass or fail. Either she trusted him or she didn’t. If she didn’t trust him, it made liars out of Roan and Eliza. It made every sensation that Dai had awakened false and every smile he had cautiously thrown her way worthless. She wanted to believe in the fairy tale—that magic and handsome princes existed.
Amanda took his hand not sure what to expect from a man who’d healed her daughter and rescued a friend from a land of nightmares. His warm fingers closed around hers. Then his eyes glimmered like water in sunlight and her body was pressed through a sieve. She gasped and held tight to the hand gripping hers. She took a step, but she wasn’t at Eliza’s house anymore. She was at Dai’s.
“Oh my God.” Her free hand flew to her chest. That was what it must feel like to skydive—and forget the parachute.
“The first time is the worst.” He let go of her hand as if the contact burned.
It wasn’t the sensation that bothered her. “You moved us with magic.”
Beneath her feet the floor felt solid. This was real, not some kind of dream. “You used real magic on Brigit.” She rounded on him as the protective mother surfaced fast. “You should have asked first. We talked about possible cures and you never said anything.”
“I didn’t know I could. I didn’t want to risk it. But she was the one who pulled me back from the Shadowlands. When I saw her in the hospital I knew she was dying and I had to take the chance. Would you’ve said no?”
After the fight in the museum, probably. “Who were you saving? Mave or Brigit?”
“Both. Myself. You.” As he gazed at her his dark blue eyes were clear like an ocean with no bottom. She could drown forever and never need air.
“Brigit is Mave, isn’t she?”
He nodded. “I wanted to tell you.”
“That didn’t work out so well.” She glanced away. She’d almost thrown away everything, but he was giving her another chance. “I’m sorry I didn’t believe you.”
He sighed. “I wouldn’t have either.”
For a moment they were silent. He saw the world differently. Saw people differently. “What do you see when you look at me?” Amanda asked.
Dai’s lips moved in one of his rare unguarded smiles. “Golden light, like the sun shining on a dewy spider web. Everything you touch is made beautiful. I wanted to feel that.”
“You are beautiful.” Inside and out. From the way he moved, to the calmness that surrounded him. She couldn’t remember ever having that peace. Her life was a series of rapids to be overcome, when all she wanted to do was glide and enjoy the view.
“You might want to reserve that opinion.” He unbuttoned the cuffs of his shirt, and then the buttons down the front.
Her eyebrows rose in expectation, but this was no seduction. The movements were too sharp.
“I have a collection of scars.” He held the edges of the shirt closed. “And tattoos.” Then he shrugged out of the shirt.
Beneath his clothes was the lean body of a fighter, not an academic. The black ink of mystical markings was bold against his pale skin, but under the tattoos, his skin was lined with fine white scars. Together they formed a tapestry of his life. The spider on his chest looked like it was ready to scuttle away on the fine web that stretched over his skin. Other symbols seemed to shimmer or pulse like they had life of their own. They belonged in a world she didn’t know or understand.
She couldn’t read the text that scored his ribs, or the cluster of wedge shapes that started above his hip and disappeared into the waistband of jeans. He seemed to be wearing many of the dead languages he spoke. She knew he’d understand each tattoo and be able to tell her when and how and why each mark was made.
Dai stood still as she walked around him looking. His back was crisscrossed with old scars. She swallowed, not wanting to think about how he’d received them, but willing to bet on who’d marked him. On his lower back an intricate pattern of rings seemed to spin with each breath. It had to be an illusion.
Amanda reached out her hand, but stopped before her fingers connected with his skin. Now that she knew the details of his past she was more cautious. “Can I touch you?”
She waited two breaths for his carefully considered response.
“Yes.”
What had it cost him to grant her permission, or was he testing his own boundaries? She traced the circles with her fingers; they were warm to touch, hotter than the unmarked skin. She brushed aside his hair and let her hand wander over his muscles to trace one of the scars that marred the skin on his back.
“These are whip marks?”
“Some are from a knife.” He said it as if they were discussing the color of leaves.
“If you healed Brigit, you could get rid of them.”
He turned to face her. “Would you erase your past?”
She glanced down. “No.” Not even the bits she thought would kill her. “Will you tell me the stories behind the tattoos one day?”
“Some of them I can’t. You’re not initiated.” He took her hands. “This is all new to me.”
“Slow is good.” She didn’t want to squeeze a lifetime of love into a few short years. She wanted it to last.
He cupped her cheek and leaned in to kiss her. His lips were soft against hers. Tentative at first. Her tongue flicked against his lips. He responded, learning the taste of her mouth as his hand slid around her waist. His fingers brushed skin that hadn’t been touched in years. She slipped her arms around his neck, her hands in his hair, not wanting to push but not wanting him to stop.
She held her breath as his fingers skimmed the side of her breasts. His touch was soft and sure, but the clothing between their skin was too much. She arched her back pressing into his hand. Her hips were hard against his. The length of his shaft teasing.
He paused so they were nose to nose. “Is this where I invite you into my bedroom?”
“That might be a good idea.” Her words were made breathy with desire. The heat in her belly spun and spread through her blood. They would finish what they’d started as if everything hadn’t changed in the days between.
Dai picked her up, his hand on her bottom. Her legs wrapped around his hips automatically. She gasped at the close contact as he carried her into his room, the bed making itself with magic before he sat her down on the edge.
She smiled and unbuttoned her shirt while he watched, drinking her in. Excitement simmered in her blood. His fingers traced the curve of her breast, pushed the shirt off her shoulders as his lips claimed hers again. She drowned in the kiss. They fell back on the bed, side by side. He ran his hand over her stomach to the button of her jeans. He flicked it open, then slowly drew down the zipper. His fingers skimmed over her underwear. She helped him shuck her jeans, wriggling like she couldn’t get out of them fast enough.
Today of all days she was in un-matching plain underwear, but from the look in his eyes he didn’t care. His fingers traced tracks on her skin leaving shivers in their wake. Her nipples peaked, pushing against the soft pink cotton of her bra. His fingers circled, slowly as if learning her reactions.
Her hand glided over his skin to the cuneiform text that started above his hip and disappeared into his jeans. “Can I see the rest?”
His lips curved in the smile she was used to seeing. “I’m not wearing any underwear.”
“Lucky me.” She touched the first button. Then lifted her gaze to meet his eyes. “Are you sure about this?”
“I’ve wanted you since the day I saw you in the church.”
“There was magic in
the air.”
He nodded. “But not mine.”
She flicked open the button on his fly. Her fingers brushed against his shaft and her stomach tightened. It was so long since she’d done this. While she was sure she hadn’t forgotten how, the nerves of being with someone new mixed with the heat and need pooling in her belly.
He lifted his hips as she pulled off the jeans. Then she let her gaze track up his body. Tattoos were wrapped around both calves. Text ran down his thigh in several lines. His left thigh was unmarked except for what looked like a recently healed wound. She touched the smooth line of pink skin, but didn’t want to know how it had been made.
Her fingers trailed slowly up his thigh, not sure if she was testing herself or Dai. “You’ve really never been with a woman?”
“I never got the chance. She was stolen from me and sold.”
“How old were you really at your party?” Her fingers caressed his hard flesh.
He drew in a breath. “One thousand nine hundred and seventy.”
She let out a sigh. “And you never…”
“I didn’t want to. I didn’t trust myself. You reminded me what a gentle touch was like, and that I could be gentle.” He brushed a strand of hair off her face and tasted her lips then her throat, kissing down her neck. He flicked open her bra and took her nipple in his mouth. Her fingers pushed into his hair as a moan slipped from her lips. He glanced up.
“That was good.” Her hand closed lightly over his shaft, stroking, an idea forming in her mind.
He sucked in a breath as her thumb smoothed over the slit. But she knew how to take his breath away. She pushed him onto his back and he watched as she moved down his body. His eyes widened but he didn’t stop her. Amanda lowered her mouth to his hot, hard flesh to give him a kiss she knew he’d never had as a slave. Her tongue glided over his skin and made his hips move.
His groan spiked through her. She needed more. She was beyond ready; she was aching.
As if knowing he pulled her up. “I want you.”
Amanda cursed silently. “I’ve got no birth control.” No sex for her. “You can enjoy.”
Why couldn’t she be like other single women and keep condoms in her bag…not that that would have helped. Her bag wasn’t there; it was still at Eliza’s. His shaft rubbed temptingly against her panties. He rocked her hips enjoying the tease as much as she hated it. She wanted him. Could she tempt fate? She did a rapid calculation and decided that fate wasn’t on her side and the risk was too great.
His eyes shone with the inner light that meant magic, and a box materialized on the bed.
“Ohhh.” She was still getting used to the magic thing. “That’s a neat trick.”
“Impressed?”
“You have no idea how much.” She ripped open the packaging.
His hands pushed her panties down and she rolled onto her back so he could remove them. His hands brushed her inner thigh and eased her legs apart, using teasing touches as his finger slid against her sex. She couldn’t wait. She thought she’d be okay going slowly, but all she wanted was to feel him inside her.
“Yeah, I do,” he said against her mouth.
She tore open the foil. Her fingers found his shaft and rolled on the rubber as he kissed her until she couldn’t breathe for the lust riding in her blood. He eased over her. She’d forgotten what it felt like to have a man’s weight above her, but her body knew what to do. And so did his. They moved together creating the magic only lovers can make, the ancient rhythm merging with the new as a spell of their own wove around them. Love.
Chapter 23
Roan held the plaque in his hand as if weighing it, then he handed it to Dai. “You can make it right.”
Dai nodded. The metal was cold and heavy in his hand. He placed his hand over the four names. The metal warmed as he altered the engraving. Then he lifted his hand. This time there were only three names engraved on the plaque: Fane, Anfri, and Brac.
He’d told Roan about seeing Fane, and how he was still repeating the curse and his death. Unable to break free because he wouldn’t face the consequences. He glanced at Eliza and the new life taking hold. She hadn’t told Roan yet. Would they know the baby when it was born? Would they want to know? He still hadn’t told Roan about Mave, but there wasn’t any point. Everything was as it should be.
Except one person was missing.
Meryn.
All of them hoped he would find his way back. His family was waiting. He’d make daily visits to Meryn, and he was sure Meryn would talk to him eventually. The alternative was too awful to think about. He had to make Meryn see life was worth fighting for no matter how different it was from the life they’d led before.
He turned his head and smiled at Amanda. It had been worth waiting nearly two thousand years for her to come into his life. Her touch banished so many dark memories and replaced them with light and love. Her lips curved as if she knew what he was thinking.
They would be sneaking around for a little bit. She wasn’t ready to tell Brigit, and he wasn’t ready to be Dad. He turned his attention back to the tree. With a little magic, he fixed the amended plaque into position.
No one gasped. They all just stood there looking at the names of those who didn’t survive the curse. The cool night air wrapped around them, summer still too far away to warm the nights.
Amanda pulled the gold wedding band out of her pocket. Brigit handed her a drawing folded into a tiny square. Together they put them in a small hole under the rose bush planted on top of the swords and torques and patted down the soil. No one spoke. There were no words to say in any language that could ease the loss of those who were no longer around.
She dusted off her hands and joined him, her hand slipping into his. Between them, the strands thickened with each look, each touch, each kiss that brought them closer together. He wasn’t afraid of where the future would lead because Amanda walked with him, holding back the shadows.
Chapter 1
Nadine surveyed the emergency ward of the hospital. What was it about the full moon that turned this place into an overflow of hell? Crowded would’ve been great. This was just madness.
She checked the stats of a man who would need stitches on the side of his face, and she let out a sigh. Two more hours to go. Gina owed her for this shift swap.
A nurse tapped her on the arm. “Nadine, you’re wanted at triage.”
Nadine frowned. She didn’t work the front counter.
When she saw the cop, her stomach tightened. Police never brought good news. What had her father done now? He’d barely been out of prison for two weeks.
She gave the officer a tight smile and forced herself to be professional. “How can I help you?”
“I’ve got a guy with a head injury who doesn’t seem to speak English.”
Nadine looked past the cop to the man sitting in the waiting room. Blood ran down the side of his face and stuck in his shaggy hair. His eyes looked red and irritated. But it was the clothes that struck her most. He looked like he’d crawled out of a third-world jail. His loose fitting tunic was worn with age, as were his pants and boots. None of it seemed quite right, as if he was wearing castoffs from another age. His gaze was firmly fixed on the floor and his shoulders slumped in defeat.
“He’s having some kind of episode. Freaked out when we brought him in.”
“What did he do?” She had no intention of being attacked by a psychiatric patient, yet he didn’t seem dangerous…just lost, locked in his own world. She’d seen that look before on a returned soldier who wasn’t coping.
“He was being a nuisance.” The cop paused then leaned a little closer.
“And?” Nadine prompted, still not sure she wanted to be involved.
“Waving a sword,” the officer said quietly.
Right. A sword. Of course. She glanced at the man, but he hadn’t moved. Not a third-world jail, a medieval jail. Had he raided a prop department? “How’d he get hurt?”
“No idea. He speaks g
ibberish. Look, I don’t want to take him down to the station. He needs help. Can you get him a psych consult?”
If she said no, the scruffy man would spend the night in lockup with real criminals and be back on the street by morning no better off.
“I’ll have a look at the wound, but unless he speaks French, he’ll have to wait until we can get a proper translator in.” A serious head injury could explain his lack of proper speech.
“Thank you.”
Nadine grabbed a pair of gloves, went through the security door and into the waiting room. A second cop pulled the scruffy man up from the hunched over position he’d been in. The man’s gray eyes focused on her. Shadows she didn’t understand gave him a haunted look, as if he’d seen too much. She couldn’t leave him in the care of the police; he was already traumatized.
He spoke, but his words were unintelligible. Fast and fluent. They had the rhythm of language that gibberish lacked. Nadine bent down so she was at eye level, but far back enough to be out of range if he lashed out with his feet. His hands were cuffed behind his back—even though the cops claimed he wasn’t a threat. “Monsieur, parlez-vous français?” She smiled encouragingly while she held his gaze and studied his eyes. The pupils were even and they weren’t dilated.
The man’s eyes darted between Nadine and the cops. His forehead furrowed as if he were trying to make sense of her words.
His voice was quiet but strong as he spoke again. This time in a different language.
“Pardon?” Nadine moved closer to listen again.
He inclined his head at a crying baby and repeated the same words more slowly as if she were simple.
She glanced at the baby and then at the man. He was talking about the crying child. L’enfant. But what was he saying? Nadine pointed to the shaggy man’s bleeding head. “You’re bleeding.”
That he seemed to understand, but he shook his head, spoke, and looked at the baby, adding extra sentences filled with force. Yet his words were formal and he stumbled over some as though this wasn’t his first language. It was no one’s language.
