Broken Dove

by Kristen Ashley

Now, I needed to deal with the matter at hand.

  “Apollo—”

  “And I’m having you again tonight.”

  Here we go. Back to arrogant Apollo.

  “Repeatedly,” he went on.

  I felt my heart thump just as my clit pulsed and I tried to pull my hand from his but his tightened on mine and I failed.

  “And the next night and the next. I think you understand me,” he stated.

  I glared at him.

  “And we’re traveling together and sleeping in the same room.”

  “For protection,” I snapped.

  “Until last night, yes.”

  “And yesterday, you called me Lady Ulfr to the staff at the inn and that was before what happened last night.”

  “Indeed, as my intention was to take you to wife then too.”

  Oh my God!

  Was this happening?

  “This is crazy,” I declared.

  “No, it isn’t,” he disagreed.

  I leaned deeper and bit out, “It so totally is.”

  “And you’d be contented with allowing me to bring you to this world, bring you from yours where you lived in fear and on the run, and let you carry forth working as a barmaid?” he asked curtly. “Subsisting from coin to coin. Forcing down food much worse than our sandwiches today because you could afford no better. A woman who understands and appreciates the finest champagne, reduced to that and me forcing it on you?”

  “It isn’t about champagne,” I snapped, his comment hitting way too close to the bone. “And it wouldn’t be you forcing it on me. It would be my choice.”

  “It would be me forcing it on you, Maddie. Taking you from the other world, that was not your choice. That was mine. You have grand ideas of how you would exist on this world, but you have no idea how those who work in inns or pubs or elsewhere survive. I’m sure there is contentment and even happiness. But you’re not simply a woman who appreciates the finest champagne. You’re a woman who deserves it.”

  At that unexpected and unbelievably nice compliment, I clamped my mouth shut as I felt my heart seize.

  “And my first wife was a physician. She had her life, I had mine and we successfully managed to have both of those together. Do you not think it’s a better idea to be fed, comfortable and safe while you decide how you’d like to spend your time in your new world? And then be the same while you go about doing it?”

  My heart burst into action and was beating so fast, it scared the hell out of me so I focused on that and on his words and didn’t answer.

  He didn’t seem to mind and kept talking.

  “You may wish to go from gale to gale, ball to ball, hunt to hunt and wear fine clothes and jewels, and I would not care, glad simply to have you on my arm. Or you may wish to study a profession and then put it to practice, and I would not care, but only if you share your days with me when they are at an end. You may instead wish to bake the best cakes in all of Lunwyn, and I wouldn’t care, for I’d get to eat them. Hell, you could desire to learn something of my financial interests and become involved, and I would welcome it.”

  Totally.

  Seriously.

  Completely.

  Was this guy for real?

  His hand tightened in mine. “In other words, I don’t care what you do. The only thing I care about is that you’re safe and happy while doing it. You’ve not shared with me but you know that I know that you’ve had a life where you were not either. Not in the slightest. I didn’t bring you here to give you the same ugliness but in a different way, slaving in a pub to feed yourself. I brought you here to give you”—his hand jerked mine—“better.”

  Oh my God.

  Suddenly, the vision of him was swimming and this was because my eyes had filled with tears.

  His hand gentled around mine and his voice was gentle too when he whispered, “Poppy.”

  “Now that,” I started, my voice trembling, “was a marriage proposal.”

  Apollo made no reply and I looked away as I grabbed my napkin to dab my eyes, hoping (even though it was doubtful), that no one was watching.

  And as I did, Apollo again tugged my hand across the table and I felt his lips brush my knuckles.

  I closed my eyes tight.

  I was right before.

  This guy just got better and better.

  He put our hands to the table but gave mine a gentle squeeze.

  “Is that a yes, my dove?”

  I drew in a calming breath and on its heels another one. With tears under control, if not the beating of my heart, I lifted my eyes to him.

  “This is going very fast,” I reiterated.

  “Yes,” he agreed, not letting go of my hand or my gaze.

  “It’s scary.”

  “Yes,” he agreed again and I watched in fascination as his beautiful jade eyes turned hard and determined. “And this, my poppy, will be the last thing on this world or any other that you fear.”

  Oh…my…God.

  My stomach dropped and I forgot how to breathe.

  “Now, is it a yes?” he repeated.

  With effort, I pulled myself together and asked, “Can I have some time to think about it?”

  “Yes,” he answered and I felt myself relax. “But only if, when that time is up, the answer is yes.”

  I stared at him.

  Then I couldn’t help it.

  I burst out laughing.

  When I was done, he was still holding my hand but he was doing it smiling at me.

  And God, God, he was beautiful.

  “I’ll just say that it’s only been a day where things have been cool between us and you’re already doing a bang up job getting in there,” I told him.

  His eyes changed to something else altogether and he replied, “I don’t understand your language, dove, since, last night, I already got in there.”

  My nipples got hard.

  Oh crap.

  “Well, in my world,” I hurried to explain, “‘in there’ means…” I faltered then started giggling as I shared, “Well, pretty much what you said it means.”

  His eyes lit with amusement and he turned our hands, using his thumb to stroke the skin of the inside of my wrist.

  “How about we cease discussing this, I give you the time you desire and we start that time by enjoying our meal?” he suggested quietly.

  “Okay,” I answered just as quietly.

  His thumb gave my wrist one last stroke (which, by the way, felt unbelievably nice) then he let my hand go.

  He picked up his fork.

  I did too.

  Then I looked at him and called, “Apollo?”

  He gave me his eyes, one brow lifted, his warm with inquiry.

  Yes.

  Beautiful.

  “Even though you knew I might lose it,” I started. “Thank you for telling me anyway.” My voice dipped when I shared, “That means a lot, honey.”

  His gaze grew intense on me and I knew he wanted more.

  But he didn’t ask for more.

  He said, “You’re welcome, poppy.”

  He didn’t push it and for that I was grateful.

  And, just to say, also for that, he got deeper in there.

  Chapter Twelve

  Hedge Clippers

  We were walking down the hall toward our room at the lodge, my hand not in the bend of Apollo’s arm but held in his, lifted up and pressed close to his chest.

  The rest of the “date” had gone well. Really well. No bizarre marriage proposals. No in-depth discussions of birth control. Instead, great food, excellent champagne and the continued discovery that Apollo could be good company.

  I was right. He had a great sense of humor. And I knew I was right because I made him laugh often during dinner. I also found I liked doing it. A whole lot. Mostly because I knew he’d struggled with the loss of his wife for a long time, and his rich laughter and quick smiles made me feel like I’d scaled mountains.

  In fact, it was actually Apollo who led the conversati
on to calmer waters, asking about my world, and laughing about such things as reality television shows and treadmills.

  “Why on earth would someone run on a machine and not through a meadow…or run at all unless they had to which would not be a positive happenstance?” he’d asked while chuckling and I’d had no answer because I didn’t have one and also because I was laughing too.

  He’d also told me a bit more about his world, mostly about the Houses, explaining I was right about Danforth. He was of Apollo’s ilk and he wasn’t Apollo’s favorite person.

  “There is nothing genuine about that man. But then, there are many in the lesser Houses where this is the case. Always scheming to better their positions or attempting to hide their weaknesses.”

  That didn’t make me feel great about socializing with the upper-crust but I’d learned that knowing what you were facing was a lot better than not so I was grateful to know it.

  In other words, the date had gone great. And Apollo had been wonderful.

  But now the date was over.

  So now my mind was in a battle. The battle I knew was totally irrational of the panic I felt that I was about to get me some and it was highly likely it was going to be good but that good was not under the influence of magical tea created by a goddess. This was fighting against extreme excitement that I was going to get me some and it was highly likely it was going to be good.

  I had, of course, noted in all our discussions of adela tea, Apollo had not explained one of its effects was making you an excellent lover. So, my guess was, if you were crap in bed before adela tea, you were the same but more pronounced with it.

  And the opposite was true.

  So Apollo was far from crap in bed. Way far.

  In other words, in my internal battle, the excitement was winning.

  My heart started beating faster when Apollo pulled the key from his pocket, unlocked the door, returned the key and was reaching for the doorknob when my hand in his squeezed and I said, “Wait.”

  He turned into me and looked down at me, brow raised.

  Pol couldn’t raise one brow and I liked it that Apollo could. It was sexy.

  Okay, so pretty much everything about him was sexy.

  That was not what I intended to share with him.

  I looked to his throat, then his shoulder, trying to find the words.

  No, trying to find the courage.

  Crap.

  “Poppy?”

  I looked to his eyes, thought, Fuck it, and went for it.

  “In my world, after a date,” I began and his hand in mine tightened. “The guy…well, he…” I pulled in a deep breath and finished on a whisper, “At her door, he kisses her.”

  His eyes went lazy and his hand holding mine slid up his chest toward his shoulder as his other hand came out to cup my jaw and he murmured, “I see there may be things in your world that I would like.”

  A tingle slid up my spine as I watched his head descend. I then decided he shouldn’t have to do all the work so rolled up to my toes.

  His mouth finally hit mine and his fingers slid back into my hair as he molded his lips to mine, taking his time. Finally the tip of his tongue touched my lips.

  I opened my mouth.

  His tongue glided inside.

  At the taste of him, a taste I really liked, I melted into him.

  When I did, his hand let mine go and his arm wrapped around me tight. I curved my arm around his shoulders, going further up on my toes as he slanted his head, I tilted mine and the kiss went from sweet and wet to sweet, wet and wild.

  So, if that kiss was any indication, I was right about him not needing the adela tea to be good at this.

  He was good at this.

  Very good at it.

  Way too soon, he broke the kiss but not the connection of our lips and his voice was rough when he said, “Oh yes, there are things from your world I like.”

  I knew what he meant and it was sweet, so I smiled.

  He moved away, grabbed my hand, threw open the door and pulled me inside.

  He slammed it shut behind me, turned the lock, all of this with his hand still in mine which was good. It was good because, the minute the door was locked, he gave my arm a firm tug. I fell toward him, colliding with his body seeing as it was moving my way, and both my arms went around his shoulders as both his arms came around me. He started walking me backward and his head began to dip toward mine again.

  My eyes were closing, my head tipping back, ready for it, wanting it, all of it, when suddenly he stopped us and his head jerked up.

  I was about to ask him why he’d stopped when I was unexpectedly flung to the side. I gave a small, surprised cry, my thigh hit a chair, I tumbled into a table and as I reeled, I saw Apollo bend to his boot.

  “Run, Maddie, now!” he roared.

  I didn’t run.

  This was because my blood had turned to ice seeing as not one, not two, but three men all wielding freaking swords were flooding into the small sitting room of our suite.

  As I noted, they had swords and there were three of him. But although Apollo had produced a knife, he had no sword and there was just one of him.

  And they weren’t delaying in attacking.

  Shit!

  What the fuck?

  I watched as, with some fancy footwork, a lot of ducking and lunging and his small blade crashing against their long ones, Apollo was holding his own. But even as he executed a ducking lunge and pulled another knife out of his other boot, I knew he couldn’t hold his own for long.

  No one could.

  There were three of them!

  With swords!

  It hit my brain I couldn’t run because if I did, I’d be leaving him and there was no doubt in my mind that if I left him, I’d never see him again. Or I wouldn’t see him when he was breathing.

  I liked him breathing.

  I just liked him.

  And we’d just had a great first date. Sure, it started out rocky, but it ended up with that kiss and I’d be damned if he was going to die as a finale.

  So I instantly prioritized and ran past the fray to the bedroom. I got to his saber that was resting against his trunk, grabbed it and extracted it from its scabbard on the dash back as I heard the battle clash on.

  I will note this was hard because that mother was freaking heavy, but I still managed it.

  I was thinking, in the movies, if you tossed a sword to someone who knew how to use it, they could catch it by the handle and carry on fighting without delay.

  When Apollo had taken on Pol, he demonstrated he could use a sword.

  I just hopped he was really good at it.

  I hit the outer room and was thrilled beyond anything he was still holding his own.

  But his attention was kind of taken.

  Crap.

  There was nothing for it.

  I had to create an opening.

  I grabbed the handle of the saber in both hands, shifted it so the flat was what sang through the air and did what Apollo did with Pol.

  I smacked one of the bad guys upside the head with it.

  Hard.

  He staggered to the side.

  Me entering the fray caused a diversion that Apollo took advantage of because it surprised the men, but not him.

  He didn’t miss a beat, shoved one of his knives in his belt, held a hand toward me and shouted, “Saber!”

  God, I hoped he was as good as those guys in the movies.

  I tossed it to him point up.

  He caught it by the handle in one hand, whirled, and with a mid-body slice, gutted one of the bad dudes.

  Holy crap!

  When the guy’s innards became outtards, I felt my eyes go huge as bile shot up my throat and I staggered back.

  But Apollo barked, “Maddie, bloody go!”

  The one Apollo sliced was down on his back and I was thinking it was a good guess he was continuing the swordfight on some celestial plain. However, the one I’d conked was reentering the action
and Apollo again had his hands full.

  Two against one. Still no fair.

  I focused and not on my wave of nausea. Instead, on a lamp on a table close by. I grabbed it and lifted it over my head. Shuffling this way and that around the battle, I tried to get my opening to smash it on one of the bad dudes’ heads.

  “Maddie, what did I say?” Apollo thundered, still clashing steel.

  I ignored him because there it was.

  My shot.

  Crash!

  I landed the glass lantern hard on the guy’s head and he went down instantly, out like a light.

  I turned to Apollo just in time to watch him make light work of the last one. That was, he disarmed him of his sword with a whirling flourish that actually pulled the sword from the guy’s hand but kept control of it with the tip of his saber whereupon Apollo could twirl it aside, far out of reach.

  Oh yeah. He was good at this sword shit.

  Alas, as this was happening, Apollo was momentarily engaged in doing it, so the guy went for the knife on his belt.

  Before I could cry out a warning, Apollo came back and carved his saber through the side of the guy’s neck.

  A sickening spray of blood spurted.

  I gasped and took a step back.

  The guy lifted a hand to his neck, his eyes slid to Apollo and then he fell down on his knees right before he crashed to his front.

  Okay, well.

  I was thinking he, too, was a goner.

  Holy cow.

  I stared at the bodies and blood littering our little sitting room and I did this for a millisecond before Apollo roared, “When I tell you to run, you bloody do what I say!”

  I looked to him to see his eyes were burning and not in a good way. Not that there was anyone left to talk to that wasn’t dead or unconscious but still, those burning eyes were locked on me.

  “I—” I started.

  He began to move my way and cut me off.

  “Did it occur to you that if you’d run, you could have called for assistance?”

  He stopped in front of me so close my head was tipped all the way back to keep hold of his gaze.

  And seriously, our date—which included its shaky start, sure, but it also included great champagne, delicious food and Apollo and I eventually chatting and laughing, another fab horse ride back with Apollo, a brilliant kiss and the promise of an orgasm (or more than one since he’d said we’d be doing it repeatedly)—but it ended in death and destruction and him shouting at me and being sarcastic—I don’t think anyone would blame me that his words pissed me off.