Having nothing to say to that, she stepped back from the magnetic heat of him, her jaw clenched tight with the strain of his nearness, a ghost from her past, alive and breathing and dredging up impossible feelings.
The corner of his smile twitched. “I’ll fetch the water for you.”
Before she could tell him that she could get it herself, he was gone and soon back with two steaming buckets. Dumping them in the tub, he moved to the buckets of lukewarm water she had not noticed sitting along the wall. Had he planned ahead for her? The thought made her uncomfortable. Made her remember the way they used to be, the way he’d always looked out for her.
“I can do that,” she offered.
He ignored her and dumped the remaining buckets, his biceps rippling against his shirt.
She looked away, releasing a small breath as he turned to leave, glad for a moment to herself.
With one hand on the doorknob, he paused. “Notice,” he said with a nod at the bathroom walls, “the lack of windows.”
She narrowed her gaze.
“When you get out, we’ll eat. I imagine you’re hungry.”
Famished. Evidently she hadn’t eaten in days. “And after that, I’ll be on my way.”
His lip curled. “I don’t think so.”
Her fingers folded into fists at her sides.
“We’ve got a lot to talk about,” he continued. “You’re not going anywhere until I’m convinced you won’t take it into your head to hunt down another demon witch.”
“Just Tresa,” she spat out. “She’s the only one who matters.”
“Whatever the case, we need to be straight on this point or …”
Or what?
What did he leave unsaid? That he would kill her? So much for playing hero and saving her.
A sick, wilting sensation flushed through her, dampening her misplaced ardor for him. She trembled with the horrible realization that someone she had admired so much before, respected for being different from her father—compassionate and decent, better—would now protect and shelter evil.
His eyes grew chilly, hard as marble as they looked down at her. “You’re not leaving until we settle this—” He broke off without saying anything else, but the words were there, the threat hanging in the air. If she didn’t relent and give up hunting Tresa, he would stop her … keep her prisoner—or worse. She clenched her jaw, ground her teeth together. He could try.
Pressing her lips together, she pressed a hand against his chest and pushed him from the bathroom, fighting to not appreciate the play of muscles beneath her palm. Without saying a word, she closed the door in his handsome face. Turning the lock, she sagged against the hard wood, the slight click making her feel strangely better. For now, it was the only barrier she had.
EIGHT
She took a long time before emerging. Jonah didn’t know if it was to avoid him or if bathing in two feet of water presented a challenge. He paced, anxious to see her again, to piece together the enigma she had become … starting with why she was so determined to destroy Tresa.
When the door finally opened, he had to stop himself from crowding her, from demanding information, from learning all there was to learn about her. From breathing in her scent. He shook his head. He’d have all the time in the world to learn about this new Sorcha. She wasn’t going anywhere.
“Feeling better?” he asked.
Nodding curtly, she wrapped a fist around her hair and tugged on it as if she were readying it for a ponytail, but then dropped the wet strands.
He watched her dark hair fall in a rhythmic sway past her shoulders. The black sweater she wore looked thick, plush. The loose collar was gathered around her neck, revealing an enticing strip of creamy throat. All in all, she looked thoroughly touchable.
“Where’s my gear?” she asked, her voice all business.
“I set it by the front door.”
She still thought she was leaving? A tight smile curled his lips. Shaking his head, he moved into the kitchen where a pot simmered on the woodstove. “Hungry?” he called out, forcing back a knowing smile when she followed, entering the kitchen, watching warily as he opened a glass cabinet door and removed two bowls.
He caught her uncertain expression as he dished up two bowls of soup. She sat down on a bench at one side of the kitchen table.
He sat across from her, studying her closely. “You need to eat if you want to regain all your strength.”
They ate in silence. He didn’t mind it. He’d eaten a few times with Darby and her coven and their chatter gave him a headache. They were greedy for him, making certain he knew that slayers commonly married white witches. Covens encouraged it, seeing it as a way to strengthen a particular slayer’s bonds to them.
He had no intention of marrying. Ever. And certainly not to some mortal white witch like Darby he would have to bury at the end of her life. And how unpleasant would it be for her to age while he remained forever young? It might tempt her to accept the dark promise of a demon in order to gain immortality.
Sorcha’s voice broke the silence as he was finishing the last of his soup. “So. You’re dead set on keeping me here.”
He glanced at her swiftly. “Did you think I had a change of heart?”
She leaned back and crossed her arms over her chest, her voice mocking as she said, “But we’ve been playing so nicely together, Jonah.”
“Have we?” He cocked his head.
She shrugged one slight shoulder. “We aren’t fighting.”
“Not at the moment, but if you insist on leaving, we’re headed in that direction.”
She leaned across the table, her expression earnest and so beautiful he could only stare, marveling at what changes time had wrought in her. Both inside and out. She was hardly recognizable. “She’s long gone by now. Why are you doing this?”
“It’s what I do—” he started to say.
“Hold other dovenatus captive? Protect evil witches so that they can keep on killing and springing curses that fate millions to death?”
“Yes,” he snapped. “And aren’t you even a little curious as to why? Because you’re right. She’s all of that. So don’t you want to know why I care to keep her alive?”
She lifted one shoulder in a shrug, her brown eyes gazing at him coldly. “I know why. You’re a bastard.”
“Come now.” He smiled without humor, her words angering him as they shouldn’t—as he shouldn’t let them. “You know there’s a reason I’m here and that’s not it. You know me. I wouldn’t protect her unless I had reason to.”
With a snort, she propped her elbows on the table and stared at him intently, her expression tough and vulnerable at the same time. God, if the look didn’t affect him … didn’t send the beast prowling through him, searching for release. “You keep talking as though I should know you. It’s been what? Over ten years? We don’t know each other, Jonah. I’m not sure we ever did.”
“Then why are you here?” he asked abruptly. “Since you won’t hear me out, why don’t you explain what you’re doing here.”
After a long moment, she confessed, in a near whisper, “She took someone from me … Tresa, her demon, whatever. I want them both gone.”
He cocked his head, reading the bleakness in her gaze. “Who? Who is this someone?”
She swallowed, the tendons of her neck working. Rising, she took her bowl to the sink, moving away as if she couldn’t stand his gaze, or the reminders his question provoked. “I won’t talk about him,” she murmured. “Not with you.”
Him. Her answer only inflamed him. As if Jonah weren’t good enough to know about her special him. His hand rolled into a tight fist where it sat on the table. “Then is it my turn now?” he began. “Are you ready to let me explain my reasons?”
“Not really,” she replied casually. “There can be no justification for protecting the likes of Tresa.”
“You won’t even listen? You’re right. You have changed. The Sorcha I knew had more sense. She wasn’t mule-headed or blind to the t
ruth.”
“The Sorcha you knew was a fool!” Dishes clanked in the sink and she whirled around on him, her doe eyes bright. “She thought you were honorable! Worthy of respect and love.” Hot color stained her cheeks and she quickly bit her lip, looking away.
Ah. So she wasn’t as immune to him as she pretended to be. She remembered him as well as he remembered her, for all that she appeared unaffected by him.
Her gaze turned back to him, cool and distant as the stare of a stranger. “You’re just the mercenary dog you always were.”
He inhaled sharply the sting of her words. The air smelled different, adrenaline-laced, and he knew she was braced for a fight again.
He swallowed a growl, not eager to knock heads with her once more. There were other things he would much rather do. Other ways he could distract her and make her forget her vengeance for a demon witch he could never let her kill.
His gaze roamed over her slowly, assessing, enjoying the way her too-tight slacks hugged her legs. “We don’t have to fight at all, you know. We can be friends. Again.”
She studied him, wariness bright in her eyes. “Friends?” She uttered the word as if it were the most ridiculous thing she had ever heard and not where they had once been in their relationship. Her hands held the edge of the countertop behind her, knuckles white and bloodless where they gripped.
Without a word, he rose and rounded the table, walking in a hard line toward her, stretching out his arms and caging her between himself and the counter.
“Friends,” he murmured, watching the light in the centers of her brown eyes start a steady smolder. He cocked his head and breathed in the scent of her neck, marveling at how easy, how natural it felt to have Sorcha back in his life again. Even if the way he was feeling toward her was decidedly new and more than friendly.
NINE
Is this your plan, then? Subjugate me through seduction?” Sorcha asked breathlessly, squeezing past him and moving out of the kitchen and into the larger living area. Much-needed space. Distance from him.
Outside, the wind howled, gaining force. Snow fell past the living room window in thick, white sheets.
He stared after her with a hungry look in his eyes. The way she had prayed for him to look at her as a girl, so that he might sweep her off her feet and run away with her. That had been an especially favorite fantasy following any unpleasant encounters with her father. A foul taste coated her mouth. Yes, she’d come a long way from those days. She was not about to go back.
He shrugged one shoulder. “I’d hardly call it subjugation.”
“No? What would you call it? Rape?”
His head jerked back, eyes changing, glittering like ice, colder than the arctic winds outside. “Don’t be dramatic. We are what we are.” He flipped a hand in the air. “I’m only saying that there are more enjoyable ways to spend our time than fighting, Sorcha.”
“Pleasant for you.”
“And you, too.” He leaned closer and sniffed near her neck, as if he smelled her even after her bath. “Even you see that. You’re not a little girl anymore. You must feel it between us …”
Her breath locked in her lungs. She had craved such attention from him years ago. And the way her heart beat a little faster, she had to admit that maybe she craved it still. Just a little.
“I’m sure you’re a real stallion,” she mocked, “but I prefer the human variety.”
He blinked and she knew she’d surprised him. It took him a moment to reply. “I suppose they’re easier for you to manipulate.”
She laughed lightly.
His eyes narrowed.
“Is that the reason, you think?” she asked.
He stepped nearer, until his chest brushed against her. She tried not to shrink back from the contact, the imposing size of him, the overwhelming maleness. “Yeah. That’s what I think. Being with someone like me requires trust. Both in me and in yourself. Clearly, the years have robbed you of that. Too bad.”
Her smile slipped as his words sank in, too close to the truth.
He continued, “How about taking on someone who can give as much as he takes? Someone you can’t dominate? Or is that too risky?”
“No. I simply want a man with a soul.”
“You think I’m not in possession of a soul?” His jaw hardened. “I’m not lycan. I’ve not—”
“You’re no better … just someone who values the life of a demon witch like Tresa.”
His gaze raked her up and down, his scorn palpable, something that reached out to slap her. “You have no idea the hell that will break loose if you kill Tresa. Killing her sets her demon loose.”
“I’m aware of that.”
He blinked, then looked at her as if she had lost her mind. “And you don’t care?”
“I fully intend to kill her demon.”
“You couldn’t even kill the witch! What makes you think you could destroy a demon once it takes form?”
She swallowed down the hot thickness in her throat. Her anger was too great. She felt that. Recognized the swarming heat in her face. He was nothing to her, and she should act that way.
She shook her head and took several steps away. “You don’t know me anymore, Jonah. And I don’t want to know you.”
He stepped closer. His gaze flicked over her. “Really? I don’t believe that. You know I’m speaking the truth. You’re just afraid to hear it, though. To find out your mission is over. To accept that you’re out of your league here.”
“It’s not over,” she hissed, thinking of when the demon had possessed Maree. He’d told Sorcha he’d been warned that she could destroy him. Clearly, there was a way. She could do it. She would. “You’ve delayed me, sure … ruined my plans. For now.”
He moved before she could even register his intent. Hard hands seized her by the arms. “Get over it. She’s gone. Move on to something else.” His eyes glowed brightly, twin torches dancing at the centers where dark pupils should be. Her heart pounded against her chest.
“You mean you?”
His gaze swept over her face, clearly digesting her words. “Why not? Like I said, you’re not a little girl anymore, Sorcha. You felt something for me once.”
“Yeah,” she spit out. “Once.” She struggled in his arms, amazed—even as she knew his strength rivaled her own—that she could not simply break free. It had been years since she’d been around anyone like herself, someone who could physically overpower her. The realization both terrified and exhilarated.
His head descended, inching toward hers. The old insecurities rose inside her. Even now she wondered if any of this was genuine. Was Jonah truly interested in her, truly attracted to her? Or was this his way of distracting her from her purpose?
She jerked her head out of the way and cut a swift circle out of his arms. He grabbed her and hauled her back, colliding them chest to chest. Seizing her by the back of the head, he held her still, his face so close their noses almost touched.
They glared at each other, chests heaving hard. She tasted his breath then, his lips so near hers. When his eyes dipped toward her mouth, her stomach clenched. She bit her lip to keep a sigh of longing from escaping. It was too much.
In that moment, she could think only that this was Jonah. Jonah, whom she’d wished for, dreamed of, all those years ago. Who made her smile when her father made her cry. Jonah, whom she’d wept for when she thought him dead.
While she was trying to summon the strength to push him from her, he made the final move.
He kissed her.
The strong hand at the back of her head slid to her face, his palm rasping her cheek as he swallowed up her cry, drank deep of the sound.
His lips burned, a scalding shock in the cabin’s pervasive chill as his mouth devoured hers.
She was not inexperienced, had not lived as a nun. Even though she and Gervaise had a platonic marriage, men had passed through her life, through her bedroom, since his death. She’d hoped a lover would end the loneliness. Or at least offer some so
lace from it. Of course it hadn’t worked.
Jonah’s kiss felt new. Like the first. The brush of his warm lips robbed her of all struggle, weakening her knees. Like an easily awed virgin, she clutched his shoulders, clinging, fingers curling into the hard muscles of his body so she wouldn’t drop. She held on for dear life, the mere texture and taste of his mouth completely devastating her.
This. This was what she had been missing. What she’d never had.
After a moment of shocked stillness, she kissed him in return, giving back with all the fervor that he treated her to. She couldn’t help herself. Her body burned, skin pulling and rippling, overcome and ready to shift. For the first time she didn’t have to worry about that. She didn’t have to fear liking a guy too much, responding so much that she shifted without thought or control.
With him, there was no secret to protect. She could let go.
Her lips moved over his, nibbling the top lip first, then sucking on his bottom lip, moaning when he slid his tongue inside her mouth. He skimmed his hands down her back, grasped her and lifted her off the ground.
She wound her legs around his waist, her arms around his neck. Weaving her fingers through his hair, she deepened their kiss, not even minding when he strode across the lodge with her locked in his arms, his each step jarring. In the bedroom, his full weight fell hard over her, sinking her into the soft mattress.
Her legs parted, instinctively inviting him to settle into her body. He ground down against her. Her core clenched in need, for more of his hardness, more of his driving heat. More of him.
He held her head, kissing her thoroughly, biting at her lips in sharp nips. His fingers pressed into the tender flesh of her cheeks, holding her face in place for him.
Growling, she struggled to move her head, to sample him as he sampled her, but he held her, trapped her for his enjoyment … a delicious torment.
It wasn’t enough. None of it was enough. Her body burned. She wanted to lick him, bite him, kiss him all over. She whimpered in protest at the barrier of their clothing. When he slid a hand between their bodies and palmed her between the legs, she cried out against his lips, surging into him, into that pushing hand. Hunger burned a fiery trail to her core.
My Soul to Keep Page 8
