Now, he was not certain of anything. And the strangest thing was—he was still feeling her, as though she was standing next to him; hearing her, just like on the day she spent chained to the wooden stake. Raven grabbed for the wall, afraid to open his eyes, afraid to see that the world was not going mad—it was he who was beyond any hope.
Chapter 13
Amira lay on the bed of flowers, her eyes closed, heart still racing. She stretched out her hands, expecting to recuperate from what she had lost, but nothing was happening. Raven had snatched her from Traynan’s clutches, but her magic—that was another story. Her body shook from tension. She clenched her fingers into fists and took a deep breath.
Nothing.
As the last resort, she started singing. But all she could see was him. His midnight eyes piercing right through to her soul. She shook off the image, ceased singing. Being so out of control and fantasizing was not wise.
Did she care about being wise, though? She had had lifetimes of it, and where had it led her? Now, she simply wanted to live. To forget about the shadows haunting her. Death always walking in her wake. She shook off those thoughts also.
Wanting was dangerous. Wanting was painful. She should have learned that lesson by now.
Maybe goddesses hadn’t stripped her powers and left her for dead this time, but who could really guarantee it wouldn’t happen? It had happened to her more times than she could count. Another disappointment was something she didn’t think she could survive.
Amira sighed. This was frustrating. The things she yearned and the things she was afraid of were so closely intertwined with each other, she was not sure where she should start.
“Either give me a sign or end this misery right now,” she shouted. “Do you hear me?”
“Do you often talk to yourself?” Her eyes flared wide open as a voice came to her from nowhere. Rich, silky, tantalizing, just like the creature himself. His green eyes were gleaming at her in amusement.
“Go away,” she said, knowing him she could not command at all.
“Now, now, sweetie—” Dazlog’s towering figure cast a huge shadow over her. “Is this how you welcome your friends?” The man was a demon. Worse, a sweet-talker, who could seduce you to beg him to take your soul for an eternal torture, and then thank him afterwards.
His face appeared more angelic than ever. His lips curled into a lazy smile. His chiseled features beckoned to touch, to kiss, to caress all that tanned flesh … she shook her head, her eyes narrowing.
There should be a ban on looking at him. All these muscles and … nothing inside her twisted, tingled, or ached for his touch. Since when was she immune to those green fires burning in his gaze? Since she craved for darker ones. For Raven’s hands around her. On her.
“Friends?” she snorted, “when you have friends like that, who needs enemies?”
“But we could be” He sat near her, but she refused to acknowledge that she was tempted. He did have the answers she sought.
“Do you honestly think Ven or the others will help you?” he finally asked, referring to the Goddess of Vengeance, the queen among gods, the deity the Order worshiped and Amira’s constant tormentor. “You must hate her just as much as I do.”
“Must is a strong word,” Amira assured him, expecting Ven to be listening to them.
“Admit it, you need my help,” Dazlog said as a matter of fact. “We could help each other.”
“No,” she gushed through her teeth, knowing any pact they made would only help him at the end. “I will prevail. By myself.”
“Suit yourself,” he waved his hand through the air, standing up, “but know this, you will come to me. And when you do—”
“I won’t,” she cut him off. She was determined to prevail. And do it her way.
“See you later,” Dazlog laughed, and promptly disappeared.
“Never,” she retorted to the vanishing shadow.
Do you often talk to yourself? a question echoed in her head. What was she going to do with this one? Amira wondered as the pair of dark eyes landed on her.
“My curse, apparently,” she whispered, raising her head. She didn’t want him to disappear. “How is Nyssa?” She lifted her body, leaning on her elbows.
“Desperately trying to run from her nursemaids.” Raven raked his fingers through his hair, lifting his head upwards as if he was avoiding her eyes. “She asked me to thank you.” The sentence was simple, though not easy. She imagined that by saying it, he was going against everything he believed in. The discomfort was written all over his face.
Step by step, though little ones they were, he was coming around. Oh sweet progress, her heart sang. Precisely what she needed. And without any help from Dazlog.
“Why didn’t she come herself,” Amira paused “Oh, … I understand.” She really didn’t expect a crowd cheering, but to be afraid to approach her … she felt a pang of pain in her heart. “Well, I can’t blame them, can I?” she said sadly. “I am still the spawn of a demon and they are just innocent people.” She deliberately forgot to mention stones and torches. “Sometimes I’m afraid of myself, so why shouldn’t they be?”
Raven sensed it wasn’t really a question. He watched her take a deep breath and lay her head on the grass, realizing he’d never heard her laugh, or seen mirth in her beautiful eyes. Not that there had been a single occasion for it, but all of a sudden Raven wanted to see her smile. For some inexplicable reason wondering how would it transform her face. And before he could stop himself, he was on the ground, near her, his hand reaching.
His fingers found her bruised cheek and gently, so as not to cause more pain, caressed it, regretting his own part in all of this. If only he could…
“How is this possible?” his eyes widened—the bruise was fading.
“Good question,” she sat up and touched her healed face. “I have a better one: who are you?”
“What?”
“Like you said, this shouldn’t be possible. For a human,” she explained. “And yet…” her thoughts trailed off as if she was implying something.
“I am human.”
“I wasn’t saying you weren’t.”
“So what are you saying?” he asked, confused by all of this.
“I’m saying … thank you.”
“You could do better by telling me how I did this.” Raven needed explanation. Anything. This day was getting weirder and weirder by the second, and he yearned for some solid ground he could stand on.
“You wished it,” she simply said as if it explained everything.
“What?”
“If you concentrate on something you wish for, and have enough energy to channel, it happens,” she shrugged, as if it was the same as taking a breath. Though for her, maybe it was—Raven was beginning to believe. “Well, it’s a simplified version. It’s more about will and control. Not to mention you shouldn’t have been able to channel by yourself, no matter what was inside you,” she added, confusing him anew.
What disturbed Raven the most, however, was the fact that she had a better inkling of how much he desired her not to suffer than he did himself.
They stared at each other for the longest moment, neither of them saying a word.
“Why didn’t you heal yourself?” he asked, finally breaking an awkward silence.
“I can’t.” The two words she uttered were information she shouldn’t have shared, but their eyes were still locked together, and she found herself breathless, unable to think rationally. “Although I heal fast, the energy I can take from around me is only for my magic.” If my body is too weak I can’t contain it, or use it—she kept the last part to herself.
Letting him know her weakness was definitely not part of her plan. And yet, she was spilling it out.
“Now you know how it feels,” she finished, her expression serious and fixed.
“As if I haven’t slept in two days?”
“It’s temporal.”
“And it was just a bruise. I wonder how much
stronger the feeling is if it’s a mortal wound?” Raven’s gaze turned peculiar, as if he was studying her, and then he inquired, “why do it?”
“Let’s just say I owed her,” she said, remembering the time when the girl came to her aid, “besides, no one deserves such a fate.”
“But she is not a witch, she is not one of you.” He felt confused—then again, he always had around her. Never knowing where reality ended and fantasy began.
“And the difference is?” she asked, emphasizing every word.
“Never mind.” He didn’t want to go down that path. Too many memories. “So if I understand correctly, healing someone means expending your life force; and what about taking life?”
“You mean killing?” Amira asked, only too aware where he was going with it.
Raven nodded.
“It means gaining strength,” she replied without even blinking. She just watched his face, waiting for another storm to swallow her. “It is the only way I could heal myself,” she explained.
She was stupid and she knew it, but somehow couldn’t help it. Words were flying out of her mouth and she was powerless to stop them. She had already told him too much. Knew this was just the beginning.
“And have you…” he seemed hesitant to ask her the next question.
“Have I ever killed anyone?” she finished it for him. “It depends on which of my lifetimes you’re referring to.”
“This one of course,” he told her, puzzlement showing in his eyes. Mortals didn’t remember their prior lives, she reminded herself. Only witches did.
“I hate to disappoint you,” Amira said standing up, “but none.” Not in this life, at least.
“Who said anything about me being disappointed?” Slowly, he stood up as well. Their eyes met as if searching for each other, and she almost gasped when her lungs constricted. Amira should have been used to this breathless sensation she experienced every time they came close. Yet every time, it caught her by surprise. She took a calming breath in.
“But the day is still young.” She didn’t try to conceal the fact. She wasn’t some lily-white miss, afraid of dirtying her hands. She may not like it, but if it was necessary—it was necessary.
“I hear you,” he told her; and the way he did it made Amira realize it was something they had in common.
Oh, he had killed Venlordians, she was sure. Others? Wasn’t quite as convinced anymore. Was she ever? Had he ever … looked at someone in such an arresting way? Her thoughts wandered off, bones melted at the gaze.
She could not speak anymore, nor move. All she could do was lick her lips, her mouth suddenly becoming as dry as a savanna waiting for the rainy season.
Amira wondered what he saw when he looked into her eyes. What he felt. Because she was burning from within. Slowly liquefying, desperate for his touch.
Had a man ever raised such a tempest inside her, simply by looking? Had anyone made her forget her own name? She didn’t know. Didn’t remember. All of a sudden every single man she had ever been with vanished without a trace. She could see only Raven.
He reached for her face and gently, with the tips of his fingers, brushed a lock of hair from her cheek. A touch so innocent shouldn’t have sent myriad rippling pleasure waves through her, should it? She only knew she felt something far beyond a simple touch. Or the warmth of his breath. She felt his heart beating, his soul whispering.
Impossible. Unbelievable. Undeniable.
Just looking into his eyes made everything around them cease to be. Leaving them alone, surrounded by the mist and their thoughts.
This is a spell, he exhaled roughly. Can’t be feeling…
What? What could he be feeling? What? Every fiber of her being demanded to know.
Tell me it’s a spell, he demanded instead.
Amira groaned, shaking off their locked gazes, severing the connection between them. She wasn’t trying to pry intentionally. This time. Even though she knew that revealing his secrets could save her. Somehow.
Probably not today, she frowned, noticing the same two men who had followed her this morning, and left only when Raven appeared. Had they watched her the whole time she was in the garden? Did they see Dazlog? Probably not—if Dazlog didn’t want to be seen, no one saw him. Still, she couldn’t believe she hadn’t sensed them. Even in her weakened state.
They didn’t come near her, but stopped fifty feet away. Their eyes on her.
“Strapping young fellows you have there,” she pointed out, “though I would suggest you look for someone more like Owen; their hearts are too pure for the job.”
Raven looked at the pair of footmen, then at the witch. Then at the footmen again; and signaled them to approach.
“Jim and Willy are here for your protection. They will watch you in case—”
“In case someone takes a notion to chain me up?” she interrupted him, feeling anger rising inside. Deep down she knew she wasn’t being rational. She’d known about Jim and Willy, hadn’t she? She also knew she’d revealed too much of her powers, and not a single reason why she wouldn’t try to escape. Still, she hoped, against all hopes, that he wouldn’t think of her as a murdering monster. Not that she saved Nyssa just to prove something. Stupid, she was so stupid. And strangely … hurt.
Amira bit down on her lip to wait out the wave and not fall to temptation, but…
For my own protection. For my own protection. For my own protection.
It rang and rang in her head.
Weren’t the guards around all the corners not enough? He had to appoint someone to follow her. Right, for her own protection! Was that why they wore amulets? This was a humiliation. What next? A demonstration down through the streets of Areth? Was that a game for him?
She glanced at Raven, and any remaining restraint vanished as if it had never existed. Well, two could play it just as good as one—maybe even better. She knew there was one more thing he craved besides what she had come to believe was revenge. Herself.
He constantly dismissed his attraction to her as magic; which gave her another weapon against him. And Amira was angry and hurt enough to use them.
She was not about to bow down and take another humiliation. Never again.
Chapter 14
Raven scowled at the change so unexpected and sudden, every instinct he possessed went hunter-still. The transformation was stunning. One moment the witch was furious, her eyes promising a slow, excruciating punishment, and the next—pure wickedness sparkling in her gaze.
She tilted her head and brushed her ebony locks aside to expose a long, graceful neck she traced with her fingers. With a lingering caress, her hand went lower, almost to her breasts. Her feet carried her forward and before he knew it, she was standing an inch from him.
There was no escaping those eyes so fiery. They caught him, took him prisoner. A lump welled in his throat. But when her fingers sank deep into the thickness of his hair and her breasts nestled against his chest, his breath fractured.
Raven drew back, his eyes finding their way to her lips as if of their own volition. The slight pull of his body caused her nails to trail down the back of his head, sending sensation after tantalizing sensation through his skull and down his spine. Raven couldn’t restrain a shiver.
Her infliction of torture didn’t cease at that. She brushed her cheek against his, and breathed out gently and seductively. Her hot breath enveloping him in the honeyed fragrance as it wafted through the air.
“What kind of game are you playing?” He tried to uncurl her fingers, but it proved to be harder than tearing wreathing bindweed apart, although she used no force, offered no resistance.
“Yours,” she spoke against his lips and immediately wrenched herself away before the contact was made. Yet instead of leaving him be, her hands landed on his biceps. They caressed, slowly traveling upward to his shoulders, his neck. The moment her fingers reached his bare skin, flames ignited, leaving a trace of burning wherever her fingertips brushed.
Raven suppressed
his urge to take her in his arms. To kiss her. A part of him yearning for nothing more than to let her do whatever she wished with him. Another part knowing this had to be a trick. Possibly a spell. Not real.
Fight it. It’s only magic. Only magic, he repeated, ordering himself to take control. He couldn’t. Only magic. Uttered silently.
“Not yet,” apparently not silently enough.
Raven felt a feather-light touch against his jaw. Her thumb went to his lower lip and he sucked in his breath.
“I am fire,” she whispered. “I am stronger than desire.” She moved even closer, her lips all but touching his ear. “I am the flame within your cravings.” Her voice, a soft, low-pitched enchantment, rippled through his veins. “Heat awaken, doom awaiting.”
Raven almost fell to his knees. Something inside him was definitely awakening.
She let go of him. He wanted to beg for her touch. Beg? He was surely doomed.
If it was a torture before, this was now something words could not describe. Raven felt as if he was choking. As if phantom hands were digging inside his chest in an attempt to wrap their fingers around his heart in an ironclad fist. He had an urge to rip his shirt open to ascertain that there was no wound, no hole. Despite everything suggesting otherwise, it wasn’t a dream he could wake up from, nor a fantasy he could banish to the darkest, smallest corner of his mind; it was real. Or as real as she wanted him to believe.
He couldn’t even trust his amulet to help him. Worse still, a part of him didn’t care. Not anymore. Not while he was transfixed by the luscious lips, by the tip of her tongue tracing their soft edges. He was helpless.
Ye gods! but he hated it. Deep down he knew what she was doing. Deep down the last shreds of his sanity screamed. A scream so silent, though. Fading away with every lustful thought surfacing in his mind. Deep down, he was dying.
He couldn’t breathe. Could barely support his own weight. Couldn’t stop his hands from shivering. Couldn’t cease the craving.
Till Death And Beyond (Witch World) Page 11
