Vernal

by Randi Cooley Wilson

  In one achingly slow movement, he runs his warm tongue across my bottom lip. When he’s done, he pulls his head back a sliver and a shadow passes over his face.

  I don’t even have a moment to blink before he presses his mouth against mine in the slowest, most sensual kiss.

  He takes his time, tasting me like a fine liquor.

  A low groan rumbles in his throat, as I twist my fingers in the front of his soaked shirt, trying to get closer.

  Unhurriedly he tugs my lower lip into his mouth with his teeth and then sucks it, all while his hands never leave my face. Our tongues lightly taste one another—a potent combination of rain water and cotton candy.

  At the same time, he backs us up, pressing me against the outside wall of the cabin.

  With each kiss, he claims little parts of me.

  I allow myself to get lost in his kiss, in the dizzying sensation of his mouth as it languidly moves across mine.

  Tristan pulls away, breathless, his eyes still closed. He drops his forehead to mine, and his hands leave my face to rest on my hips.

  “My mother is expecting us,” he says, unmoving.

  “Do you think she’d be insulted if we postpone?”

  Tristan looks at me, and with both hands pushes the wet strands of hair off my face. “Why do you want to?”

  “I don’t think I’d be good company tonight.”

  After a moment of studying me, he nods. “We’ll reschedule, since we’re going to be here for a few days.”

  “Thank you,” my voice is thin and needy.

  We stand like this for a moment longer before I muster up the courage to take his face in my palms, looking him directly in the eyes. I need assurance he’ll keep his promise to keep me safe. In turn, I’ll protect him with my life.

  “Thank you for protecting me,” I whisper.

  He grants me a beautiful smile, one that could light up the world.

  “I’m your fake boyfriend. I live to protect you.”

  My top teeth rake across my bottom lip as I smile.

  His hands come up and guide mine off his face before linking one of ours together and tugging me toward the house. “Come on,” he utters. “Now that the shock has worn off, let’s get you dried off and fed. Then you can sleep.”

  Breathing a sigh of relief, I tilt my head and throw him a curious look. “You’re taking care of me?”

  His eyes are mocking as they crinkle at the edges with smugness. “Apparently, it’s a new hobby of mine.”

  My heart stutters at his words and all of a sudden awareness takes over. There will nothing left in the wreckage of my heart when he’s done.

  Serena

  SIGHING IMPATIENTLY, I CRACK OPEN THE door, letting all the steam out of the bathroom. It’s been an hour since Tristan offered to snag some fresh towels for me while I showered.

  He still hasn’t returned.

  I look back at the countertop. The wet T-shirt I was wearing earlier is balled up next to the sink. I can’t really put it back on. It’s soaked, and smells like rainwater.

  What the hell had I been thinking not grabbing dry clothes before I came in here? Stupid, Serena.

  My gaze slides down the hallway, landing on the guest room door. I can probably make it there in seconds. Enough time to slip in without being noticed. I’ve so got this.

  I push open the door and step into the empty hallway. With quick steps I rush to the door and just as my hand grips the knob, Tristan steps out of a room to my left, holding a towel. He looks up, directly at me, and stills.

  The look on his face is something I’ll never forget. It’s not lust, or love, but torture that crosses his expression. All signs of his earlier carefree demeanor are gone as he lowers his hands so the towel is below his waist. Squaring my shoulders, I turn and fully face him.

  “Hi.”

  “Hi,” he rasps.

  “Is that for me?” I point to the fluffy, white towel hiding the very prominent bulge in the front of his jeans.

  “Is what for you?” his voice is unsteady.

  I clear my throat, swallowing the snide remark I was going to make about his erection. “The. Towel.”

  As color returns to his face, he looks down and then quickly shoves his hands at me. “Yes.”

  “It’s been an hour and I didn’t want to wait,” I explain, taking it and wrapping it around my body, covering up.

  Tristan squeezes his eyes shut and shakes his head, emptying it of whatever notions he was having. His eyes zero in on my face.

  “I figured you’d want some time to—relax and stuff.”

  I smirk, letting myself into the guest room.

  “And stuff?”

  “You know, girlie stuff,” he fires back.

  “Oh, I know. I’m familiar with all my . . . girlie stuff.” I lick my lips and close the door behind me.

  Once in the safety of the room, I lean against the door and inhale deeply, trying to stop my body from shaking.

  I wish he didn’t unnerve me so much.

  Stepping farther into the room, I collect myself and go about the business of getting dressed, blow-drying my hair, and applying some light makeup.

  Once ready, I reopen the door, relieved to see the hallway empty. The smell of garlic and tomato hits me, and my stomach rumbles, reminding me that I’m starving.

  I follow the delicious aroma down the hall, taking in the night sky through the large glass window panes lining each side, and make my way back downstairs toward the kitchen.

  “I thought you didn’t cook,” I quip, just as my feet hit the bottom step and I round the corner, coming to a standstill.

  “I never said that, champ,” Zander replies cockily.

  I look around. “What are you doing here?”

  “I’m here by means of a royal decree. Queen Ophelia was concerned when you postponed dinner. She seems to think you won’t receive ‘proper nourishment’ while under Tristan’s roof. I can’t say that I blame her. His cupboards are full of sugary cereal, and his fridge only has expired milk.” He winks and points to a stool by the counter, where a glass of lemon water and a plate of garlic bread are waiting for me.

  “Sit. I normally cook when Tristan’s housekeeper, Maria, isn’t here. She does everything for the big baby.”

  I take a seat, and roll my eyes at the first taste of the buttery, fluffy bread. It’s incredible.

  “Where is he?”

  Zander wiggles his brows. “Why? Nervous to be alone with me?” he smirks wickedly, and slides his hands into oven mitts before taking a lasagna out of the double wall oven and setting it on the stove.

  I snort around a mouthful. “Um. No.”

  He regards me for a moment, before standing in front of me, on the other side of the counter, and leans his elbows on the granite. “He’s in his office,” his head tilts to the left.

  “Doing what?” I ask.

  “He’s on a call,” he replies.

  I hold up the half eaten bread. “This is good.”

  “Thanks. So you’re, like, in love with my brother?”

  I choke. Literally.

  The bite I was chewing catches in my throat, and I have to cough several times to dislodge it. After a moment of allowing air into my lungs, I take a big sip of water. All while he watches me with an amused expression.

  “No,” I respond.

  “Ah, yeah, you are.”

  “Stop being stupid,” I bite out.

  “Your eyes get all sparkly and crazy whenever he’s around,” his own gaze twinkles.

  “They do not,” I counter, like a child. Wow.

  Knowing he has me riled, he chuckles.

  “I thought he was your boyfriend?”

  “Pretend boyfriend,” I correct.

  “So you’re saying it’s not the crazy, obsessive, I will die for you love?” he responds, pinning me with a look.

  “Nope.”

  “I thought girls wanted the knight in shining armor?”

  “Most girls just wan
t to be treated with respect,” I reply.

  “What about spanking?” he quips.

  “Who’s getting spanked?” Tristan asks without looking up from his cell phone, as he approaches us and takes a seat.

  “Your brother, if he doesn’t shut up,” I mumble.

  Tristan places his phone down with a chuckle, while Zander begins to plate the dinner he made. It all seems so normal. We seem normal. But we’re so far from it.

  “Zander could use a good spanking,” Tristan continues.

  I throw a victory smirk at his brother, and he rolls his eyes in response before placing plates in front of us.

  We dig in and a loud, unladylike moan escapes me the minute the warm sauce hits my tongue. Heaven.

  At the sound, both brothers freeze and stare at me.

  “What?” I ask, with my mouth full.

  Zander throws me a disgusted look. “Sexy.”

  Tristan growls, and Zander’s wide-eyed gaze shoots to his brother in surprise and amusement. “Seriously, Trist?”

  I watch the two, fascinated. They argue like my uncles.

  “Did I miss something?” I inquire.

  “Your pretend boyfriend doesn’t like me saying you’re sexy.” Zander points his fork at me. “He went all caveman.”

  “Speaking of which, you are mine,” Tristan states flatly.

  Zander’s eyes widen again and then narrow into slits at his brother’s declaration. His fork clanks down on his plate.

  “Tristan—” Zander begins, but is cut off by my squeal.

  “E-Excuse me?”

  “Mine. You’re mine.” Tristan says simply. Slowly, to be sure that I comprehend what he’s trying to say. I don’t.

  I release a bitter laugh, and watch him to see if he’s serious. A muscle flexes across his jaw as his cognac eyes bore into me. “That funny, raindrop?” His expression is hard.

  My mouth hangs open, unable to form words. “Um . . .”

  “Tristan, I think you need to think this through, man.”

  Tristan ignores his brother, his focus solely on me.

  “Under my protection, nobody lays a hand on you. Until this whole fiasco is over, it’s you and me, raindrop. I’ll destroy anyone who touches you, or tries to. If another being so much as looks at you disrespectfully, I will end their existence, on the spot and without warning. Your blood runs through my veins, however temporarily. It makes you mine for the time being. Understand?” He stares at me, waiting for a response.

  I search for the ability to breathe and find my voice.

  “You do know that I am a royal protector? I can defend my own honor and fight for my own life?” I challenge.

  “When you declared me as your boyfriend earlier, you handed over your trust to me and officially became mine. Your existence is now tied to me, until it’s not.”

  My eyes dart to the front door and then back to him, as he leans into my personal space.

  “If you run, I will chase.”

  “What makes you think I’m going to run?” I ask.

  He lowers his voice. “It’s all over your face. I’m not Rulf, Serena. I won’t accept rebelliousness or defiance when it comes to your safety. I’ve explained to you just how serious a situation you are in. As your guard, I can’t be worried about you running when I’m supposed to protect you.”

  I bristle and watch Zander stand taller, folding his arms uncomfortably across his chest. His expression is stupefied.

  I turn back to Tristan. “I may be in your realm and under your protection, but I am not one of your cronies or associates. Nobility or not, your word is not law—or final—when it comes to my protection, Tristan.”

  Tristan tenses before his hand reaches toward my face. I jerk back, but he continues to advance, and runs his thumb over my bottom lip. At his touch, I instantly calm.

  “Stop talking, Serena,” he uses a quiet tone.

  I have no idea why, but I do. Damn him.

  A knowing smiles crosses his face. “You see that? In the short time I’ve known you, I’ve managed on numerous occasions to get you to submit to me with a simple touch. In our world, that makes you mine. Only one of us can be in charge here. Moving forward, it’s me. Stop being defiant.”

  “Ask me—nicely,” I demand, trying to take control.

  “Raindrop, please don’t do anything stupid that requires me to rescue you—at least until after breakfast,” he replies.

  Kind of backhanded for a polite request.

  I smile at him and dip my chin submissively.

  “I understand,” I bat my eyes and, without warning, jab my fork into his upper thigh.

  Tristan doesn’t flinch, but holding my gaze, he curls his hand around the cutlery and yanks it out, before throwing the bloody tableware onto the granite counter.

  “It’s evening, so technically, she listened,” Zander taunts.

  Tristan

  Fuck, that hurt. I watch Serena’s retreating form as she storms up the stairs toward the guest room. Now that she’s out of earshot, I grunt in pain. Zander chuckles as he takes the first-aid kit out from under the sink.

  “I like her,” he says, pushing the kit toward me.

  “I bet you do.” I take out the antibacterial lotion and bandages to clean up the wound so it can begin to heal itself.

  “You battle-worn yet?” he inquires.

  “It takes more than a pretty, smart-mouthed gargoyle to wear me out,” I reply, hoping I sound convincing, because—truth be told—I’m exhausted.

  “I hate to state the obvious here, but you do know that you have no right to claim her. Protector bond or not.”

  “I know,” I growl.

  “So then why do it? If the queen finds out—” he adds.

  “She won’t,” I bark. “Listen, it’s just until I’m done with the assignment. Serena is a . . . handful. She needs authority or she’ll run all over me as her protector, like she does with Rulf. The only way she’ll respect me is by being mine.”

  “Even if it’s not real?” he poses.

  “Even if I can’t keep her at the end of all this,” I confirm.

  “You really going to be able to walk away from her?”

  I snap my gaze to his and glower. “I have no choice.”

  Zander exhales and throws me a sympathetic look.

  “You’re my brother. I know you better than I know myself. Don’t lie to yourself about your feelings for her. It’s written all over your face. Any fool can see it when you look at her. This plan, it’s bad. And it will backfire on your ass.”

  “I’ve got it under control,” I assure him.

  He releases a bark-laugh. “You keep telling yourself that. Maybe after the millionth time it’ll actually be true.”

  I watch him toss his plate in the sink and motion to the lasagna and salad. “Put these in the fridge so the poor girl has something to eat until Maria comes.”

  “Where are you going?” I ask.

  He throws a pointed look my way. “You’re not the only one with a stubborn female protection detail. There is a betrothed nymph princess who could use some company.”

  I give him an appreciative nod and watch as he makes his way to the front door. Without turning, he yanks it open.

  “She isn’t yours and you aren’t hers,” he says, his tone final as he leaves me in silence to ponder his words.

  Zander is wrong. Serena was mine the minute we met.

  I look up the stairs after her. She’s so damn stubborn. It’s time to draw a firm line in the sand with her. I stand and take the stairs two at a time.

  Given Zander’s reminders, I need to do this. He’s right.

  When I approach the guest room door, I still before lightly knocking, hoping she won’t stab me in the other leg. Serena doesn’t answer. Worried, I push open the door and look around the empty room. Stepping in, I take everything in. Nothing looks out of place. Yet, she isn’t here.

  I close my eyes and reach out through the bond, sensing she’s still in the
house. Through her emotions I feel she’s calm and rejuvenating, which means she must be outside.

  Within seconds, I cross the hall to the master and make my way toward the open balcony, where she’s standing.

  Naked. Fuck.

  Her arms are out and her head is tilted toward the sky. The rain has turned into a light drizzle. The dampness on her pale skin is causing it to glisten.

  Serena’s long silky ringlets move the slightest amount across her back when the wind shifts.

  The breeze brings me her scent—spring flowers. I inhale deeply. I love her scent.

  My eyes follow the length of her spine, stopping on her lower back. For a moment, I appreciate all her curves.

  Recognizing she isn’t alone, she looks over her bare shoulder at me, and suddenly I can’t breathe. She’s so fucking beautiful.

  Tonight her eyes are so blue, they almost hurt to look at. They’re enchanting. I swallow and lift my hand to run it through my hair, and realize I’m shaking. My heartbeat picks up. Without even knowing it, she’s woken up my heart.

  This is what happens when you live in darkness. You want what you can never have—a small piece of light.

  I look away, breaking our contact.

  My hands continue to tremble, as I reach behind my neck and aggressively yank my T-shirt off my body. I need to take control.

  Serena spins to face me. My hand snaps out, throwing the shirt at her.

  “We should establish some rules,” I snarl.

  Huffing, she puts the shirt on and stomps into the room before standing by the lit fireplace. “I don’t really do rules.”

  “You do now,” I state.

  “Like, never go to bed angry?” she throws out.

  I glare at her. “That isn’t what I mean.”

  “What do you mean? Be nice? Always wear clothes?”

  “Wearing clothes is a good start,” I sigh. “Another is not stabbing me with dinner cutlery.”

  Regret falls across her features. “Does it hurt?”

  “I’ll live,” I scowl.

  She has the audacity to look offended at my response.

  I stand there just staring at her, because she’s so damn pretty, and no matter how much I try to put emotional distance between us, she closes it.