B00XXAC6U6 EBOK

by Caris Roane

  Regan slid her fingers into her hair, shaking her head. “I have no idea. She was so strangely composed the whole time. I think she was toying with me for her own amusement.”

  Ian stood with his hands on his hips, frowning heavily, his gaze still fixed to her. In that position, each of his rings stood out because he’d made fists. They were all silver but none were the same, just heavy with a deadly feel.

  “I hate that she had you imprisoned. I’ve died a thousand deaths out there, hoping, praying we’d connect, that I’d be able to get you away from her.”

  She tilted her head. “Ian, have you been near the fortress all this time, since I was abducted?”

  He nodded. “From the time I located the mist and that was two days after you were taken.”

  She looked into smoky gray eyes, so familiar to her. When he would make love to her, he always held her gaze and she’d loved it. She’d forgotten how handsome he was in his rugged way. He had broad cheekbones angling to a strong jaw. His lips were full and his nose somewhat hawkish, especially when he flared his nostrils like he was now.

  “Are you wearing perfume?” he asked.

  She had to laugh. “I’ve been in a tower prison, remember?”

  “Right.” His frown deepened and his hand shot to his stomach. “Oh, shit. No.”

  She reached out and touched his shoulder, his skin warm against her fingers. “What’s wrong?”

  His gaze shifted back and forth over her eyes. “How do I smell, right now? To you?”

  She shrugged slightly, then smiled. “I used to take long walks into the forest behind the Fae Guild retreat. My favorite path took me maybe three miles away from the compound. It was so deeply shaded that at night even my fae vision had a hard time warming it up so I could see. But the smell in that particular location was very dense and rich, full of humus, the kind you’d collect to feed your garden. That’s what I’m getting from you right now, a rich forest scent, where ferns live and where the soil could grow anything. So what kind of cologne is it?” She was smiling at him, but he looked frighteningly sober in return.

  He narrowed his eyes. “And was that true a few centuries ago, when we were together? Did you smell this cologne on me then?”

  “No. You never wore cologne, even though you could have. I know that some of the elven population were quite adept at blending fragrances all those centuries ago.” She forced her mind to flow backward, recalling the intensity of their relationship, of making love with him and savoring every part of his body. She shook her head several times, needing to dispel the memories. She could feel her desire for him rising the longer she stood so close to him.

  “I still don’t wear cologne, Regan. It’s not my thing.”

  He didn’t say anything more, yet his silence forced her to consider.

  Her gaze fell to his hand on his stomach, and she finally got the picture. “Wait a minute. No. Ian, no. This can’t be. Oh, sweet Goddess. Tell me you’re not free of pain.”

  “Yes, and that makes you—”

  “A blood rose.”

  At that, he turned away from her and let go of a long string of obscenities. “This is why I was so obsessed. Why I had to follow after you. Why I stuck around at the wall of mist.” He wasn’t looking at her as he spoke, but had turned toward the living room. Steel shutters now covered several broad panels of glass, leaving the space as though it was still night. With her fae internal clock, she could tell the sun was close to breaching the horizon. She couldn’t leave now if she wanted to.

  “What do you mean, obsessed?”

  He held his hands wide. “The only person I brought to the granite outcrop was Ben and even then I felt uneasy because he was there. I wouldn’t let anyone else come with me while I waited at the gorge. I told Ben it was because I needed him to take charge of the Vampire Guard, but it always felt like more, like I didn’t want him or any other vampire near you.”

  Tears bit her eyes as she glanced once more at his stomach.

  “Hey, I didn’t mean to upset you.”

  “It’s not what you think. I’m just suddenly so grateful you no longer have pain. And I was able to do that for you.” All mastyr vampires suffered crippling stomach agony as a result of chronic blood starvation. She’d fed him often back when they’d been together, but he’d never been free of pain as he was now.

  She shook her head, the truth of her situation hitting her hard. She was a blood rose and so long as she fed Ian, he’d never experience his previous suffering again.

  But she didn’t want a relationship with him either. There was too much contention between them for that. Yet, she cared about him and would as long as she lived. “You can always open my vein, Ian, anytime you want. No matter what happens.”

  He faced her again. “It won’t be that simple. I saw what having a blood rose did to Zane and I’ve talked to several of the mastyrs. And now that I’m feeling the effects of this phenomenon—”

  Without warning, he drew close and gathered her into his arms. He levitated, lifting her at the same time, then moved her into the hall, pushing her up against the wood paneling.

  Connecting his hips with hers, he said, “This is the problem.”

  The linen gown she wore, with not even a thong to add another layer between herself and Ian’s leather pants, allowed her to feel the full length of his arousal.

  Oh, sweet Goddess, she was in trouble. “Ian, don’t.”

  “Don’t what? Don’t feel what I’m feeling? Right now you smell like a flower, like jasmine, but there’s a citrusy lime scent as well. And I’ve got a cloud in my head instead of a single rational thought. And only one drive.” He ground his hips against her.

  Regan hadn’t been this close to Ian in such a long time. She put her hand on his cheek, her gaze falling to his lips. Would it be so bad to surrender to what she felt, to the strength of the emotions racing through her? Her body called for him, longing for him. But there were too many memories. “We fought badly, remember?”

  A haunted look entered his eyes. “Something I try to forget and haven’t in all this time.” He eased away from her.

  “You blamed me.” Her chin rose and some of her desire started sliding away. “You were so angry. You never forgave me for the massacre at Raven’s Overlook.”

  With these words, Ian planted his hands against the wood paneling, his jaw moving back and forth. “None of the mastyrs had ever lost an entire village to an Invictus attack, not before or since. Yet, I did. My sister and her two daughters died as well.” He pushed away from the wall but pounded his fist against the paneling at the same time.

  If his words hadn’t convinced her, his behavior did: Ian still hadn’t forgiven her. She doubted he ever would.

  “Ian,” she called to him sharply, commanding his attention. When his gray eyes grew fixed on her, she said, “Just for the record, I did nothing wrong. You shouldn’t have blamed me for what happened.”

  “But it was all your fault!” he shouted, his face turning a dark reddish hue. “You had me enthralled with your fae abilities and because of it, I shirked my obligations to the realm-folk of Camberlaune. I should have been with my Guard that night. Instead, I was in Swanicott mooning around your feet.”

  And that’s how he saw it all, that she’d enthralled him leading him to forfeit his duties. But his anger, and completely misplaced judgements, fueled her own rage.

  Straightening her spine, she lifted her chin. “You can’t control the tides, Ian. You never could. We were two people in love. Ben had charge of the realm that night; you’d left everything in capable hands. But because the absolute worst happened, you chose to believe the worst of me and to blame me. But you’re wrong about all of it and I resent the hell out of you for it.” Her own face flamed now and his deep, earthy scent faded along with her desire. “Now, show me to your guest room, because I want a shower and then a long day of nothing but sleep.”

  CHAPTER TWO

  Despite her insistence on not needing anyth
ing but sleep, Ian offered her a sandwich, or anything else she might want, but she refused. Apparently, Margetta had fed her well, even if she’d tortured her.

  He led her to his guest room, opposite the master bedroom, expressing his hope she slept well. She thanked him, though her tone was chilly.

  He left her and grabbed a glass of sweet, German wine, afterward heading to his library. He sometimes sat among his books, looking at the scenery before retiring for the day. After what Regan had said to him, he’d needed something to calm him down.

  But like hell she wasn’t to blame.

  If he hadn’t been enthralled, he would have been patrolling Camberlaune that night. He was convinced he could have prevented the massacre.

  He sighed heavily. The room faced northwest and since the sun never hit the windows in this part of his home during late fall and winter, the shutters hadn’t come down. The window had a curve to it because of the disk-like shape of his house. With the bend in the gorge he could almost see the river below.

  The sky was blue now, the sun having risen well past the skyline. He had a view of snow-capped mountains, dotted at the lower elevations with evergreens and the bare branches of elms and chestnut oaks.

  He frowned and touched his face, then blinked his eyes. Where were his sunglasses? He must have lost them when he flew Regan to safety over the river.

  He blinked again, several times, expecting to experience the sharp darting pain he’d known for years. But it wasn’t there. The pain was gone, just like the cramps in his stomach. He could look at blue sky and his eyes didn’t hurt. Unbelievable.

  He shook his head. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d set his gaze at a sunlit vista without cringing in pain. A lot of the vampires he knew, once well away from direct sunlight, could enjoy all kinds of scenery.

  When he’d first become afflicted, he’d sought out a powerful fae healer. But all she could tell him was that it was part of his mastyr suffering, unique to him. And somehow, tapping into Regan’s vein, had corrected the problem.

  He still couldn’t believe she was a blood rose.

  He also felt the whole thing a cruel irony since the woman who’d cured him with her blood was someone he could never be truly connected to.

  He knew he needed his bed. He was tired, not just from the night’s vigil, but from a month of stress, of worrying about Regan, of not knowing if she was even alive. But there were a couple of tasks he needed to get done before he could make his way to the master bedroom.

  He pulled his cell from his pants pocket and called Ben.

  “Ian. Been waiting for your call. Everything okay?”

  For a moment, Ian didn’t know how to answer the question. Having fought with Regan before he’d been with her even half an hour, had left a sour taste in his mouth.

  “I’ve got Regan with me. She escaped Margetta’s fortress and yes, she’s fine.”

  “That’s great news. I’m relieved. Have you let Mastyr Zane know?”

  “My next call.”

  “Good. Good.”

  “How’s Camberlaune?”

  “The usual number of Invictus sightings through the night, but the Guard and the Shifter Brigade performed as expected. We only had one injury, with dozens of casualties on Margetta’s side. And we were able to send nine Invictus pairs to Ethan and Samantha for separation and rehab.”

  Ian wanted to rejoice; this was all good news. But a stone sat on his heart. “Glad to hear it.”

  Ben fell silent for a long moment. Ian’s gaze had settled on a chokeberry shrub twenty feet from the window. A red cardinal was flitting around like he was lost, then suddenly darted away.

  “All right, mastyr, what’s going on?”

  Ian shook his head. Ben could read him better than any of the Guardsmen or even any of the other ruling mastyrs. Of course, Ben was at mastyr level himself and not far behind Ian in power, which meant, yeah, he could read Ian. “I’ve just learned Regan’s a blood rose. And before you congratulate me, believe me, this sucks.”

  Ben remained silent for several beats. “Are you kidding me? Why, Regan, of all women?”

  Something inside Ian relaxed. Ben understood the nature of the dilemma.

  Ben continued. “Oh, shit.”

  “What?”

  “I just realized I won’t be able to be around her.”

  “Unless you’re interested in bonding with a blood rose.”

  “Not funny, Ian.”

  “No, it isn’t.”

  Once more, Ben grew quiet. Ian knew his best friend needed to process the information as much as Ian did. The attack on Raven’s Overlook had taken the life of Ben’s older brother as well, a devoted Guardsman named Sean.

  But Ben had never faulted Regan for the massacre. If anything, he’d taken responsibility for the disaster himself. He’d been on duty and somehow he’d misread the Invictus movement that night and an entire village had died.

  But Ian had never thought for a moment Ben was to blame. And so help him, as long as he had breath, one day he’d make Regan see how she’d been in denial for five long centuries.

  “Listen, Ian, get some rest. You’ve had a shitty month. And whatever you might think of Regan, she’s served the Nine Realms faithfully for a long time and I’m glad she’s okay. Call me later when you’re up for the night. I’ll be happy to take charge of the Guard and the Brigade for however long you need. My guess is Margetta will be on the hunt for Regan.”

  “Thanks, Ben. Can’t tell you how much that means to me. But before you go, there’s one thing I’d like you to do for me.” When he delivered his request for Ben to find a replacement jacket for Regan, Ben said he’d see what he could do.

  When Ben hung up, Ian spent the next several minutes talking with Zane of Swanicott, reassuring him that Regan was well. He also told him what Regan had said about the size of Margetta’s army, to which Zane whistled low and added one powerful ‘motherfucker’.

  “What’s the plan?” Zane asked.

  The question was logical, but Ian’s brain wasn’t functioning at top speed. He swirled his wine in the clear glass goblet. “Hell if I know. I’m still adjusting.”

  “To Regan in your house?” Zane was also a good friend and had asked the right question.

  “That and something else.” He didn’t want to speak the words aloud again, but he needed to face up to his new reality, the sooner the better. “Regan’s a blood rose.”

  Zane responded as he had before and another beautiful ‘motherfucker’ left his lips. “And Regan, of all women. Yet, I don’t know.” He paused, then, “It feels right to me.”

  “Since when are you ‘feeling’ anything, my friend?”

  Zane laughed, a deep resonant sound he hadn’t heard in maybe the whole of Zane’s life. “Since Olivia, that’s when. Sweet Goddess, that woman can make me laugh. And I see a lot of things differently now.”

  “No, shit.” Ian didn’t think he could handle much more of Zane’s current positivity gained from his recent bond to his own blood rose.

  He frowned as he settled his elbow on the arm of his leather chair. He rubbed his forehead with his thumb, then looked at the etched silver rings he wore. “I’ll say one thing. It’s incredible not having pain.”

  “I’m with you there.” Zane paused for a moment, then lowered his voice, “Ian, it’s not so bad having a blood rose enter your life. There’s a certain amount of mystery to the process. I can only say Olivia changed just about everything for me, and all of it good. Try to be open to Regan if you can, though I know, given your history, it would be tough.”

  Zane didn’t know the half of it. “Yes, it would. But I wanted you to know I’ve got her and she’s safe. I’ll probably bring her back to Swanicott later this evening.”

  “You do what you gotta do.”

  ~ ~ ~

  Regan held the edge of the blanket between her index and middle fingers, rubbing back and forth. She’d soothed herself this way from the time she was a child. The sh
ower had been heaven, and her escape from Margetta’s fortress was a wave of relief that kept delivering.

  Her hair was damp as were her cheeks. She wasn’t even sure why she wept. Maybe for Sandra and the rest of those enslaved by Margetta. But also because she’d fought with Ian and because he’d never forgiven her for something she hadn’t done.

  She doubted he ever would.

  He believed she’d bewitched him in some fae-ish way, though she hadn’t. She’d never done anything like that in her life and never would. Unlike the powerful Vojalie, who could enthrall easily and take over the minds of those less powerful than herself, Regan’s ability was quite limited.

  His accusations had cut deep for so many reasons. How could he have known her all the months they’d been lovers, yet not really known who she was, her integrity, her innocence?

  She wiped at her tears some more.

  She wasn’t sure she’d be able to sleep. She threw back her covers, and though Ian had given her one of his freshly laundered t-shirts to sleep in, she needed something else.

  Roaming the house, she went into the living room and found exactly what she was looking for. A small leather pillow with a crinkled texture sat against the gray wool sofa back.

  She picked it up and pressed it to her nose.

  There it was, the rich, deep forest and fern scent that she’d smelled earlier.

  She returned to her bedroom and closed the door tight.

  Crawling back into bed, she dragged her nose across the leather once more, then held the pillow to her chest.

  Within a few minutes, she was sound asleep.

  ~ ~ ~

  That night, as Ian sat in the kitchen, he heard Regan’s footsteps in the hall, then heard her call out, “What’s this?”

  He lifted his head from the Camberlaune Chronicle, shifting his gaze to her as she drew close to the marble island. She held up the new soft black leather jacket, the one he’d asked Ben to hunt down for him. For a last minute’s notice, Ben had done well. Of course, he had several trolls on his staff who’d probably done the leg work during the day given that trolls had no aversion to sunlight.