Desperate Magic

by Rebecca York

  When she was dressed and groomed, she went to the provisions that he had left for her.

  She had also brought some bread and cheese from home, and there was plenty of food left. Taking some of the food to the cave’s mouth, she watched the sun sink behind a nearby hill.

  When she had eaten, she tried to open her mind to her sister.

  “Rowan, can you hear me, Rowan?”

  Her heart pounded as long moments passed. Finally she heard a distant answer. “Willow?”

  “Yes.”

  “Where are you?”

  “I got out of Valleyhold. I’m coming to help you.”

  “Thanks be to the gods.”

  “What’s wrong?”

  “It’s my powers...”

  Before she could say more, the communication cut off abruptly, as though a cloud had passed in front of the sun. Looking up, she saw Cullendor standing in the cave’s entrance, staring at her. She was relieved to see him, but at the same time, she still felt the edge of distrust.

  “Did you do that?”

  “Do what?”

  “Nothing,” she answered, unwilling to explain that she’d been communicating with her sister. If she revealed that power, he would think she was crazy—or a witch—and she must not lead him to fear her.

  Instead she said, “You shouldn’t sneak up on people like that.”

  “In what way?”

  “Like you want to take them by surprise.”

  “I wanted to look at you,” he said.

  The comment sent a little frisson through her. The men she had known in Valleyhold would never make such a bold admission. What did it say about him? About their relationship? The idea of a relationship stopped her. She’d met him only the night before, and he’d proposed that they travel together—a convenient arrangement for both of them.

  All that went through her mind, but the words that came out of her mouth were, “Sneaking up on people is rude.”

  “Is it?”

  “Yes.”

  She saw him take in her words like he was writing notes on a piece of parchment. Last night she’d thought he was strange. Tonight he’d done nothing to change her mind. Yet there was much about him that attracted her. His looks drew her, although she knew that was superficial of her. Instead she thought of what he’d endured. He’d been banished from the only home he knew, and he was trying to make his way in unfamiliar territory. Thinking about that made her want to reach out and comfort him, but that would be a rash gesture on her part. They were alone together, which made her vulnerable to him.

  “We should go,” she said.

  “Yes.”

  She felt her thoughts circling around again. Cullendor had told her to wait for him. Mayhap she should have struck out on her own, although she had the feeling that if she had, he would have been able to catch up and find her.

  “Did you sleep well?” he asked.

  “Yes. And you?”

  “Yes.”

  She began gathering up the food she hadn’t eaten—the provisions he’d left and her own—and putting it back into her carry bag, then stopped. Who was being rude now?

  “If you didn’t have breakfast, you could share some of my bread and cheese.”

  “I did eat, but thank you for the offer.”

  She nodded. “Do you know how far it is to Arandal?”

  “Not exactly. Several days I would judge, if we keep up a good pace. We’d better get started.”

  “And you know which direction?” she asked again.

  “Yes. To the east.”

  It was a vague response. And should she base her travel plans on that? But what was the alternative? She’d been thinking that her sister’s thoughts might help direct her, but not if she couldn’t stay in contact with Rowan. Failing that, she could ask people she met along the way, but that carried its own risk. He said he didn’t know much about the ways of the people in this region. She didn’t either.

  When he started picking his way through the rubble near the cave’s mouth, she followed. In the darkness, loose rocks shifted under her feet and he caught her arm, steadying her.

  “Thank you,” she murmured.

  “Hold my arm until we are on more solid ground,” he said.

  She transferred her hand to his arm, feeling its corded strength as she let him guide her, marveling at the way he moved so easily through the darkness.

  He was a stranger, and she should not be clinging to him, yet it seemed the most practical arrangement for the moment.

  “This is an inefficient way to travel,” he murmured.

  “You mean my holding on to you?”

  “No, I mean walking.”

  “What other way is there?”

  He shook his head. “I was thinking, it’s too bad we can’t fly.”

  “Nobody can fly.”

  “Except birds and dragons.”

  “Do you often have fantasies about what you wish you could do?”

  “Yes. Don’t you?” he asked.

  “Yes,” she admitted in a low voice. If she hadn’t had fantasies of breaking through the invisible barrier around Valleyhold, she would not be here now—making her way through an unfamiliar landscape toward her sister.

  Since she didn’t want to talk about herself, she asked, “How is it that you see so well in the dark?”

  He didn’t answer at once, then finally said, “It’s darker in my country.”

  “How is that possible?”

  “I guess we have more clouds,” he answered, and she sensed that he didn’t want to talk about himself either. But she wanted information.

  “Tell me about your home. Do you live in a castle? A village?”

  “We live in caves.”

  She swung her head toward him. “That’s strange.”

  “There are many caves. Some are connected and go on for miles.”

  “But a cave is not comfortable.”

  “It can be. We furnish them as you would your houses.”

  “And how do you make a living? Do you farm or fish?”

  “We keep herds of animals.”

  “And eat the meat?”

  “Yes,” he answered, the words clipped.

  Off in the distance she saw a light and stopped short. “There must be someone living near here.”

  “And we will stay away from them.”

  His evasiveness was making her uncomfortable. Had she made a mistake by traveling with him?

  When they came to a stream, she stopped to drink and looked up to find him watching her. “You’re not thirsty?” she asked.

  “No.” Changing the subject, he asked, “Where do you live?”

  She wondered what to say. Although he’d found her just outside the shield around Valleyhold, she assumed from the question that he didn’t know about it.

  “A village,” she finally said.

  “Where?”

  Hedging, she answered, “Not too far from where you found me.”

  “To what kingdom do your people belong?”

  “None.”

  He turned toward her. “Then who protects your village? Do you have some secret defense?”

  The question was too close for comfort.

  She wasn’t going to tell him that the dragon had helped her break through the invisible dome her people fueled with their mental energy—or tell him that they had fled Arandal because they had been accused of witchcraft.

  In
stead, she said only, “Our home is known to few. We stay away from the outside world—except for some of our men, who trade some of our goods. We weave high-quality blankets from our wool. We have a trade in medicinal and cooking herbs. We sell grain when we have it to spare, and we trade for metals and some spices that do not grow in our valley.”

  “And what was your house like?”

  “Well-built and comfortable. One of the best in the village,” she said with pride. “We have three rooms. Two on the ground floor—one where my mother cooks and we eat and relax, and behind it is the chamber where my parents sleep. I sleep in the loft above.”

  “Can you read?”

  “Yes. My people believe education is important.”

  “Even for girls?”

  “Yes.”

  “That is a luxury in many places.”

  “Our traders have told us that.”

  “But men and women are not equals.”

  “You said they weren’t in your homeland. You said that the women rule.”

  “Yes. And from my travels, I am guessing it is exactly the reverse in this part of the world.”

  “Men protect women,” she answered.

  “Because they are stronger, they make the rules in society.”

  She answered with a small nod, since there was no use denying it.

  “And does a woman have a say in the man who becomes her mate?”

  “Her husband—not her mate.”

  Again she wanted to put the best possible face on her answer, but then she thought of how her sister Rowan had fled the village because her parents had let a wicked man named Telman convince them he would be the perfect husband for her.

  “Mostly parents arrange the marriage, selecting someone they think best,” she finally said.

  “And what of sexual relations?” he asked.

  She felt her face heat. “What do you mean?”

  “Must a woman submit to her mate—her husband?”

  “Yes,” she managed to say. “But most men make their wives want to do it.”

  “How?”

  “We should not be discussing this.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because it isn’t proper. Unmarried men and women do not talk about such things together.”

  “And a woman saves herself for her husband?”

  “Yes.”

  “But you know something of making love?”

  “Yes,” she snapped.

  “If you haven’t done it, how do you know about it?”

  Her face grew hotter. “I heard married women talking. Sometimes they whisper at the stream when we are washing clothing.”

  When he started to ask another question, she stopped him. The whole subject made her uncomfortable because she was walking beside a man she found attractive and her body was reacting—growing tingly.

  Perhaps she needed to put some distance between them. With a sigh, she said, “I can’t keep up this pace.”

  “You can rest for a while.”

  “Maybe I should stop and find a place to sleep.”

  “We still have time before dawn.”

  “I’d rather stop.”

  * * *

  “All right,” Cullendor answered, sensing that they had gotten on to the wrong track somehow. Probably with his questions. She had agreed to travel with him, but now he thought she was regretting the decision. Perhaps some time away from him would help.

  “Stay here and let me find a place where you will be safe during the day.”

  He left her under the low-hanging branches of a great tree, then sprinted off into the forest, faster than any man could run. As soon as he realized what he’d done, he slowed his pace, but it might have been too late. Had she seen him run at superhuman speed?

  That would mean he’d made another mistake. He could already tell from her questions that she was wondering about him. He cursed himself for making her worry about her association with him.

  His night vision was excellent, since that was his natural time to be awake, and his senses of smell and hearing were keen. He used these gifts to search the forest until he came upon a hut where he smelled the scent of humans. But when he approached, he found that no one was living there. He stepped inside, and deemed it an acceptable place to leave Willow.

  Quickly he retraced his steps, remembering that she wanted some warning of his arrival.

  “I’m here,” he called out.

  “Yes.”

  “I found an abandoned dwelling where you can spend the rest of the night and the daylight hours.”

  He led her through the woods, walking ahead of her as they approached the shelter.

  “Here.”

  She cautiously stepped inside.

  “I can gather some soft grasses for you to sleep on.”

  “No need. You can leave me now.” She took a step farther inside, and her foot caught on something on the floor. Before she could tumble forward, he caught her in his arms.

  He had wanted to hold her since the night before, when he had kissed her and touched her. And watching her bathe had spurred his desire to take her in his arms. Now he steadied her on her feet, drawing her in so that her body was pressed to the length of his.

  He thought of the woman he had seen riding the dragon, her legs spread wide so that she could grip his back. And he thought of what Willow had said about husbands and wives—that the husband made the wife want to have sex with him.

  With his ability to shape-shift, he had made himself into a man who was attractive to human females, fair of face and strong of limb. He had seen women respond to him. He had kissed a few of them. Touched their bodies.

  But none of the women he had held had made his blood pump hotly in his veins the way Willow did.

  He admired her. He knew she had set herself a difficult and dangerous task. She hadn’t wanted to accept his help, but he thought he had swayed her because she felt the same pull toward him that he felt toward her. Her lips had moved against his when he had kissed her. That was a sign of agreement. And her nipple had beaded when he’d cupped her breast. Like the way his own body was responding now, his cock growing stiff as he pulled her more tightly against himself.

  In some part of his rapidly fogging mind, he knew he should have turned her loose as soon as he had steadied her on her feet, but it was already too late for that.

  He dipped his head and found her mouth, moving his lips over hers, slipping his tongue between them to taste the sweet honey of her.

  She had said she wanted him to leave her, but she was acting just the opposite of that now, and he wondered if he could take advantage of her current mood.

  He walked back a few steps so that he was leaning against the wall of the hut. Bending his legs, he brought their bodies into more propitious alignment so that his cock was pressed to the cleft at the top of her legs.

  Her blouse was tucked into the waistband of her skirt. He pulled it free, so that he could slip his hands inside and caress the silky skin of her back. When she didn’t object to that, he brought one hand to her front, catching the fullness of her breast in his palm and stroking his thumbs across the hardened crest.

  When she answered with a moan, he drank in the sound, his passion rising as he kissed her and touched her and moved his lower body against hers. If he gathered her skirt in his arm, he could hold it out of the way and his cock would be ready to enter her.

  He bent to reach for her hem, then felt her stif
fen. In the next second, she was pushing her hand against his shoulder.

  “What are you doing?” she gasped.

  “It wasn’t only me.”

  “You have to stop,” she said, as though he was pressing unwelcome attention on her.

  He took a step to the side, staring at her. Her breath came hard and fast.

  “You said the man should make the woman want to do that.”

  “Is that what you were doing?”

  “You were enjoying it. We both were.”

  “It’s not proper. Making love is for husbands and wives.”

  “Yes, well...”

  “You had better go.”

  He walked backward to the doorway. He shouldn’t leave her, but she wasn’t going to let him stay near her now. He had gotten swept away by what he was feeling. She had too, only she had decided they must stop.

  “Go,” she said again.

  “I’ll come back at sunset tomorrow.”

  “Yes.”

  “Do you have enough to eat?”

  “Yes,” she answered again.

  “Are you sure you want me to leave you here?”

  “Yes.”

  There was no more to say, yet he felt uneasy as he turned and left the hut. For him it was only a short distance back to the cave where they had spent the previous night. He walked until he was sure she wouldn’t see him before changing to dragon form. With her in his arms, he had felt exhilarated. Now he felt more alone than he had since he had crossed the divide between his world and hers.

  Chapter Three

  Willow waited with her heart pounding. Finally, when she was sure Cullendor was gone, she pushed herself away from the wall and stood wavering on shaky legs.

  When he had pulled her into his arms, she hadn’t resisted. She had welcomed his embrace. Now she tried to make excuses for herself. She must have let her guard down because she was so off balance that she couldn’t think straight. But somehow she had realized what they were doing before it was too late.

  She’d been angry with him. She should be angrier with herself. She had melted in his arms, but luckily she had come to her senses and stopped him at the last moment—thank the gods.