Bewitched & Betrayed rb-4

by Lisa Shearin

  Almost.

  I needed answers, not a distraction. Focus, Raine.

  “Who did you take your orders from?” I asked.

  “I reported only to Queen Lisara’s father.”

  “Do you report to the queen now?”

  “No.”

  Retired, then. Or at least on inactive status. And he couldn’t exactly be paladin of a politically neutral military order and take orders from the elven queen. Well, he could, but one thing I did know for certain was that Mychael Eiliesor would never split his loyalties.

  “You were in the army?”

  “For a while.”

  I started doing the math. “You’re a highly skilled warrior who can use your voice to make almost anyone do anything; you can heal yourself; you can veil and glamour like nobody’s business, pretending to be anyone and conning your way into and out of sticky situations—then there’s the talents I haven’t even seen yet. No doubt the old king found your services invaluable.”

  “I was adequately compensated.”

  I’d heard of them, the men and women who reported only to the old king. Officially, they had no name, though they were called Black Cats by certain criminal elements who had the misfortune to come into contact with them. And since my last name was Benares, I’d heard the term more than once. Like a black cat in a dark alley, you might catch a glimpse of one, but before you could blink, it was gone. Black Cat operatives were trained to do what was needed, where it was needed, and to whom it needed to be done. They operated where the law couldn’t go or reach. They were never seen, never heard.

  Never known.

  Until now.

  “A Black Cat,” I said simply.

  Mychael arched a quizzical brow at me. He didn’t deny it. That was as close to a direct admission as I was likely to get.

  “Yeah, I’ve heard the name,” I continued. “And I know the reputation. Legendary. So by being paladin, you’re just playing another role, albeit for a different boss.”

  Mychael sat on the side of the bed and began removing his boots. “I am the paladin in every way that the law and my duties dictate. With the deteriorating political state of affairs on Mid during the past few years and the Saghred resurfacing, Justinius needed someone who could work within the law, but also knew how to work the system.” He pulled one boot off and tossed it aside. “Unfortunately, the law can’t solve all problems, and people like Carnades and Taltek Balmorlan are quite adept at circumventing it. Justinius asked me to serve as paladin because he needed someone he could trust to work cleanly outside of the system.” His second boot joined the first.

  “Cleanly meaning not getting caught.”

  Mychael stood, unhooked his belt, and began unbuttoning his trousers. He grinned at me. “At least not getting caught with my trousers down. Would you prefer to turn around while I finish changing?”

  I shook my head. “I can safely say that I’ve seen everything you’ve got. So I’ll stay right where I am and keep getting answers.”

  He dropped his trousers and I tried to keep my jaw from doing the same thing.

  “I . . . uh . . . Dammit, I forgot my question.”

  Mychael’s eyes sparkled. “I’m also an expert in avoiding interrogation.”

  Black Cats were experts at vanishing into the night. I didn’t want Mychael doing the same to me.

  But I also didn’t want Mychael getting killed because of me.

  “How much longer will you stay here as paladin?” I tried to make the question sound matter-of-fact, but my voice sounded kind of small even to me.

  “Raine, I’m not going anywhere. My job here is far from finished.”

  “But let’s say you did need to leave. I mean, if you had to . . . I want you to know that . . . well, that I would understand.” I forced out a little laugh. “I know some kick- ass mages, and I could always call in more of my family. Some of them are crazy enough to take on anything.”

  Mychael had pulled on his gray uniform trousers. His feet and chest were still bare. He padded over to me and put his arms around me, pulling me close. Words couldn’t describe how good that felt.

  “You don’t need to call anyone,” he murmured against my hair. “We’re going to take care of this together.”

  I took a slow breath and let it out against his chest. Just say it, Raine. “Mychael, you’re in enough danger without feeling obligated to me.”

  He loosened his hold so he could see my face. “Ob ligated?”

  “You feel responsible for getting me into this and now you feel obligated to get me out.”

  “Raine, I don’t—”

  “Please, let me finish. I’m poison to you. If Nukpana or Balmorlan . . . or hell, even if Carnades manages to bring me down, I won’t take you with me. I don’t know how I’ll stop them, but I’ll do what I have to.” I put my hands on his chest, keeping the distance between us. “Please . . . please, don’t take any more chances with your life because of me.” My vision blurred and there was no smoky fireplace to blame it on. “I care too much about you.” I tried to force down the emotions that thickened my voice. “I couldn’t stand it if you—”

  Mychael looked down at me for a long moment, then he slowly put one of his hands over both of mine. “Raine, some chances are worth taking; they’re so rare and precious that it’s worth risking everything.” He said it with conviction. He said it like a man who had made up his mind and Death itself wasn’t going to budge him.

  I was talking about him surviving the next few days. Mychael wasn’t.

  He was talking about me. About us.

  I felt a surge of panic. “And sometimes they’re not worth taking.” My mind raced. If I left the island, I’d take my trouble with me and Mychael would be safe . . . at least safer. My dad had left Mid nine hundred years ago. He’d had no choice—

  Mychael curled his fingers around my hands, holding them tight. “Then I will come after you.” He paused, the smooth muscles working in his jaw. “And if someone takes you, be they man or mage, I will find you.”

  I didn’t need our bond to tell me what he was thinking, what he felt. I could see it in his eyes.

  Mychael Eiliesor loved me.

  “I don’t regret anything I’ve done—or anything I’ll have to do in the next few days.” He pulled my hands to his lips one after the other, kissing the center of each palm. “I regret nothing,” he whispered, “especially you.”

  Mychael bent his head, his lips hesitating over my mouth. When his lips lightly touched mine, I expected him to pull away after a brief kiss as he’d done before, his passion denied, our propriety maintained.

  Not this time. He didn’t deny himself—or me.

  Mychael’s lips gently explored mine as if tasting them for the first time, or memorizing them if this was the last time. One of his hands cradled my neck and throat, his thumb lightly stroking my face. The other was more insistent, wrapping around my waist and gathering me to him.

  He opened his eyes and gazed down at me. The question was there in those sea blue eyes, unspoken, lingering between us. Did I want him to stop?

  I didn’t need words to answer him.

  My hands reached up to either side of his face and pulled him down to me, the stubble on his face a delicious roughness beneath my fingers. Mychael’s lips had been gentle explorers; mine were conquerors, taking what I’d wanted from almost the first moment I’d seen him. Mychael wasn’t the only one who had denied himself. Death had knocked on my door one time too many; I wasn’t going to deny myself anymore. I’d take what I could, while I could. Plunder, pillage, leave no treasure behind.

  Mychael responded, his passion, his need matching my own. Any fear of the present and uncertain future faded to nothing. All that was left was him and me, taste and sensation, both delicious—both dangerous. His hands slid down my arms and around my waist and back, crushing me against him. A fire flickered and caught between us, familiar to me, new to him. Mychael’s breath caught when he felt it, but he didn’t stop
. Instead he pulled me closer, as if he would wrap himself around me, shielding and protecting me. The fire was the Saghred, but it wasn’t alone. Overshadowing it, forcing it aside, was another fire, white-hot, pure, and unrelenting, burning bright and searing the darkness away from me.

  His magic. Mychael.

  I saw a light through my closed eyelids, and felt a glow, a warmth down the length of me, of both of us, wrapping and entwining, joining us together. I slowly parted my lips from his and looked up at him, my pulse absurdly loud in my own ears. We stood there, our bodies touching, our breathing the only sound. Mychael’s breathing was ragged as he gazed down at me in wonder—and in expectant hope.

  “I’m a Benares, remember?” My voice was low and husky. “If we see something we want, we take it.”

  “Do you see something you want?”

  “I’m looking right at him.” My mouth was suddenly dry, and I tried to swallow. “Do you want me?” I told myself it was a stupid question, but I had to ask. I needed to hear him say it.

  His hands were on my shoulders and he slid them down to just above my breasts. “I’ve wanted you—and loved you—since the moment I woke up in that bedroom in Mermeia and saw you standing in the corner.”

  I think my heart stopped for a few beats. “Loved me,” I heard myself say.

  His hands slid down farther. “Loved you.”

  He was wearing only his uniform trousers. I was wearing way too much. I reached up to unbutton something, anything, but I was suddenly at a loss as to where to start.

  Mychael caught my hands in his. “May I undress you?”

  “Okay.” I suddenly felt shy, awkward.

  “Are you sure?” His deep voice rubbed against me like hands in velvet gloves, sending a delicious shiver down through my belly and lower.

  “No one’s ever undressed me before.”

  Mychael grinned. “I have, but you weren’t awake for it.”

  I was awake for it now and then some. I wrestled my way out of my sword harness, then I let Mychael take it from there. Truth be told, my hands were probably shaking too badly to undo my doublet’s buttons. Mychael made short work of them, and shorter work of the buttons on my shirt. Then he slowly pulled my shirt and doublet aside and stopped, staring down at me. The room wasn’t cold, so I didn’t have any excuse for my breasts tightening and nipples hardening except for the truth. They wanted to be touched and they wanted it badly.

  Mychael bent and wrapped his arms around my hips and lifted me off my feet. When his lips closed around my nipple, the shock of sensations made me gasp.

  He raised his head and my mouth took his, tasting, delving, devouring, and he backed to the bed, one arm holding me tightly against him, the other exploring, kneading. The backs of his knees bumped against the edge of the bed and he sat down, pulling me with him. I opened my eyes and looked at him. I’d seen his eyes darken before, but nothing like this; his pupils were dilated so much that they were dark pools that I could fall into, wanted to dive into.

  Mychael’s fingers were spread wide under my shirt and against my bare back to touch as much skin as possible. I unwrapped my arms from around his shoulders and dropped them to my sides. Mychael didn’t need me to say what I wanted him to do. He reached up with his other hand, grabbed a handful of my doublet and shirt at the back of my neck, and pulled them down. They came halfway off, then stopped, snagged on something just below my elbows.

  What the—“Dammit . . . hold on.”

  Mychael’s lips were busy on my throat. “Daggers,” he murmured, his mouth working its way down to nip at my breast and lower still to pull on my nipple.

  A sweet shiver ran through my body, ending with an unbearable ache between my legs, and I suddenly forgot how to breathe or what the hell daggers were.

  Mychael’s mouth and tongue and hands paused from doing those wonderful things they were doing. “Daggers,” he said again, and went back to sucking and rubbing and kneading and teasing.

  A tiny part of my mind that wasn’t dazed from sensation shouted at me what the rest of me couldn’t remember. Daggers. In forearm sheaths. Doublet can’t come off until they come off, stupid.

  “Oh . . . wait.” I wiggled my doublet back up on my shoulders and with shaky hands unfastened the cuffs and reached inside. I pulled off one sheath, then the other. Only then did I look at Mychael. “There,” I almost panted. “Try again.”

  He did. He grabbed my doublet’s leather in both fists at my shoulders and, in one smooth move, pulled it and my shirt off and threw both across the room. Nice.

  I pushed him back on the bed, kissing him again, deep enough to taste the tannins of the Caesolian red he’d had. I tried to shift my hips to get closer to him, to satisfy that ache. I still had my trousers and boots on. This was a problem. A big one. I swore silently, but the only thing that made it out of my mouth was a whimper.

  Mychael heard, and better yet, he did something about it. He looked up at me and grinned. “Hold on.”

  I did.

  He slid his hands down to pull me tight against him, and flipped me over onto my back.

  I yelped in surprise, and then laughed and wrapped my legs around him.

  Mychael’s grin broadened, then he leaned down and trapped my bottom lip between his teeth, nipping. “You like?”

  “Oh yeah.” My heart was only about to pound its way out of my chest, I liked it so much.

  “Uh . . . if you want me to do anything else, you’re going to have to unwrap your legs.”

  “What? Oh . . .”

  I slid my legs down from his hips and Mychael got off of the bed and went to work on my boots. They were tall boots, over my knees, and weren’t easy for me to take off under the best of circumstances, but Mychael made short work of them, and they joined my doublet and shirt on the floor.

  I reached up and tugged him down on top of me. Mychael’s eyes were gleaming as he put his hands on either side of me and dipped his head to my belly, the tip of his tongue running a quick, warm swirl around the edge of my belly button. My hips arched up in a shock of sensation. Mychael slid one of his hands under me, the other quickly unbuttoning my trousers.

  I swallowed and tried to pull in some air. “Nimble fingers,” I noted.

  He smiled up at me. “Just wait.”

  I couldn’t.

  Mychael slipped his fingers into the top of my trousers and after a few squirms from me, they joined the pile of my clothes on the floor. Then he stood and I watched. Pulling his uniform trousers on was a lot easier than taking them off now, but a few minutes ago, he didn’t have nearly as much to pull them over.

  I’d seen him naked before, but then just a peek briefly visible above a sheet, and the room had been almost dark. I could see everything now, and my power of speech abandoned me completely.

  Mychael slid onto the bed and I hooked my leg around his hip, pulling him down to me. The hard length of him slid against my thigh until it touched the source of my ache, and my breath caught in my throat. Mychael’s eyes met mine, dark pools of midnight blue, steady, certain of what he wanted . . . and hungry.

  My eyes flicked toward the door. “Is it locked?”

  He blinked. “What?”

  “The door, is it locked?”

  “Yes.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Positive.”

  “I mean, well . . . it doesn’t have a latch.”

  “It doesn’t have a latch on the outside, either.”

  “But what if—”

  “It’s sealed. The door and this room are spellproof.” His grin was slow and wicked. “And soundproof.” He grabbed me around the hips, rolled, and swung me up on top. “There. You want control? You got it.” His eyes glittered up at me in challenge.

  I opened my mouth and Mychael laid his fingers across my lips. “This is bodywork, Raine.”

  I smiled beneath his fingers and reached down to touch him. Smooth and velvety at the same time. I ran my fingers across the tip and he gasped and jerke
d beneath me.

  I reached for him again, but he caught my hand in his.

  “You don’t like it?”

  Mychael took a ragged breath. “I like it too much.” His voice was hoarse, raw. “I’ve wanted you for too long to let it end like that.”

  I grinned. “Say no more.”

  “If you do that again, I won’t be able to.”

  Neither one of us said another word as I lowered myself onto him, settling with a trembling sigh. Oh . . . yes. Oh yeah, that was good. That was so nice. That was so far beyond good and nice that a word hadn’t been invented yet to describe it. I stayed like that, panting, unmoving, then Mychael shifted beneath me with a gentle thrust and someone moaned softly. It was me.

  I braced my hands on his chest as we moved together, his hands on my hips, his fingers spread wide, gripping me. A warmth spread through me that had nothing to do with our mysterious bond and everything to do with us, what we were doing, together, here and now. I leaned down and Mychael rose up to meet me, our lips meeting, our quickened breath mingling. The heat swirled faster, and lower, building in my belly and beyond, tightening, gripping. Molten. Our bodies moved faster to match the liquid fire spiraling through us, and I heard Mychael’s long drawn-out growl from beneath me as he thrust once more, hard enough to send us both over the edge.

  In the next instant, for both of our sakes, I really hoped that room was soundproof.

  I sprawled on top of Mychael, my breathing harsh and ragged against his shoulder. His hands slid lazily up my spine and down along the curve of my waist and hips and back again, the heat sparking beneath his fingers, sending little shivers through me. I stretched, slow and languid, and I swear I purred.

  “Sleep would be great,” I murmured against his lips.

  “Too bad we can’t have any.” His eyes sparkled. “Though we had something even better.”

  “Yes, we did.” I ran my fingernails lightly down his chest. “Thank you, very much.”