As a Tracker, Lucien would have found Aislan even without the dagger. Aside from his sensitivity to scents, he had felt her inner energy and touched her blood when he healed the light scratches on her hand. He could find her now no matter where she went. Her taking his dagger made it even more effortless. Ahead of him, his weapon vibrated for its master. Aislan headed in his direction, going back up the river, which confounded him. Where could she be going?
He sensed her nearness because her presence fairly crackled the air, and he felt her abrupt change in directions, apparently knowing he was coming. Stopping, Lucien tried to get a bearing on himself. Even without her in sight, he could smell the intoxicating fragrance of her flesh. He remembered all too well the softness of her body, the satiny skin he ached to touch, to taste. He had been fascinated with the silken strands of her long hair, captivated by the stunning beauty of her face. Lucien considered the renegade sorceress, Narisse, who must be an old hag by now. Aislan looked no more than a score in years. Even if Narisse had died and possessed Aislan somehow, it mattered not a damn to him. He only cared Aislan was alive. Lucien quickened his steps.
She appeared in his view, and she glanced over her shoulder to look at him, but she continued walking. Lucien simply followed at a slow pace. She could walk as long as she wanted until she had to face him. He watched the stretch of her long legs. Her hair was partially braided, partially loose along her slender back, giving her a fetchingly disheveled appearance. The blade of his dagger flashed in her hand, glowing faintly. Even though he should be alarmed of the power in her that made it possible for his dagger to react like a living entity, at the moment, he cared nothing about any threat she presented.
Finally, she gave up and turned to face him. She held the dagger in front of her, its point directed at him, as if to engage in a physical fight against him with his own weapon. Lucien stopped and simply waited.
* * * *
He did not move at first, a formidable figure that should frighten her, a duplicate of the phantom that dominated her dreams. A long time ago, she had stopped running from him as she waited for him from her tower. Now, Aislan waited for him to come to her side. Her heart danced, and every pore in her skin tingled with vibrant life in anticipation of what he would do next.
Aislan could not read his expression in the full moonlight, but she knew he wanted her from the intense way he gazed at her face. The huge bulge of the erection he sported at the riverside was again in evidence. Staring at it now, she knew what he wanted from her. Despite their inauspicious beginning, the prospect of him touching her again did not frighten her, as it should. Dangerously attractive, he held her spellbound, appealing to all her senses.
When he stopped in front of her, she tilted her head to meet his stare. The unexpected tenderness in his expression pulled at her, and she could not will herself to look away. His gaze still on her, he took the dagger from her by its blade. For one brief moment, Aislan held tightly. She could not bring herself to part from it, but then sighed and let go. The dagger would pierce chain mail, yet it would no more cut him than her. He sheathed it in the scabbard hooked to his belt.
His clothes were damp from his swim across the river to go after her, but he seemed unaffected by the chilly air. Pulling out a thick cloth from his bag, he wrapped it about her—his dry cloak. As he drew the collars together, the back of his fingers brushed along her collarbone, sending excitement down her spine from the heat of his touch. He stared at her for an indefinite moment, and then stepped back. Taking her hand, he held it lightly.
"Sit down, Aislan."
The sound of her name on his lips caressed her, spoken in the same gentle tone he had used the last time he said her name at the riverside. Though uncertain of his intent, she obeyed, her fingers tightening to hold onto him. He settled a few feet in front of her, keeping his possession of her hand a moment longer before he let go, to her disappointment. No one had held her hand before just for the sake of holding it.
Rifling through his bag again, he retrieved something wrapped in a piece of cloth and unfolded it, revealing a chunk of hard cheese. She watched his long-fingered hands as he carved a thick slice with a small eating knife. He gave her a piece, which she took gratefully and ate without hesitation. She had not gotten around to digging up a root to eat because there had not been enough time. Carving another slice, he then put the pieces on top of the cloth, along with the knife, before settling back to watch her.
Aislan looked back at him with the same curiosity. He exuded energy even as he sat still, drawing her like a magnet. The intensity about him should have made her feel on edge, but she felt safe and unthreatened. It felt natural for him to be with her. Unhooking his dagger, scabbard and all, he handed it to her.
"Keep warm. We cannot have a fire and attract attention."
Aware of his appraisal, she took the weapon and placed it on her lap. Her hand on the hilt, she felt its warmth spreading along her skin beneath her damp clothes.
"Why did you take my weapon? ‘Twould be difficult to swim with it,” he commented.
Aislan picked up the other cheese he had sliced for her but ate more slowly, her hunger assuaged. “It behaved well,” she replied, as if the dagger was sentient. He did not even look surprised. She caressed the inscription along the scabbard with reverence, feeling its warmth.
"I saw where you finally came back on land,” he noted. “You swam a very long way."
"How did you know I could swim?"
"The sorceress who abducted you is a powerful Fluid element."
"Is? She is still alive!” Aislan nearly jumped with her excitement. “Do you know her?"
"I know of her. I...” he paused, and then finally said, “I am tasked to find her, so I know everything I needed to know about her."
Eager in her quest for knowledge, Aislan leaned closer. “What do you mean—tasked to find her? Do you know where she might be?"
"Why?"
"I want to find her, too."
Rubbing a hand across his mouth, he studied her. He looked at her as if he wanted to devour her, a hungry, predatory gleam in his eyes, eyes no longer cold or unfathomable. Aislan licked her lips. The dagger had made her body too hot. A shameful wetness trickled between her legs. Feeling her cheeks flaming in shame, she looked down at her feet, shifting to ease her discomfort.
He seemed to be in a conversational mood, in no rush to attempt to seduce her. While she grew up, Aislan's father had kept a careful watch whenever men appeared around her. After she had married, the possessive Hayton Temple kept her under guard most of the time, fearing she would stray, an unfounded fear because Aislan was frigid, or so she had been told. She might be frigid with Hayton because he forced her, but her imagination played a different game with her fantasy lover.
Lucien continued, “Why do you wish to find Narisse? She will kill you."
Sex had never been high on her list, so Aislan could not believe she found the thought of sex more interesting than a conversation about Narisse. She had thought of Narisse almost every day since she had learned the identity of the mad witch who had tried to kill her.
She knew she sounded insane even as she answered, “I need someone who will train me, who will take me as apprentice. Who else will understand what is wrong with me?"
As suspected, he looked at her as if she had lost her mind. “You wish to apprentice under a renegade sorceress bound to be executed by the Circle if captured?"
"Why should she be considered a renegade? Is that why you look for her, so you can execute her?” Aislan could not help defending her decision. “She is no more wicked or violent than any sorcerer I had the misfortune to meet today."
His expression did not even flicker. “She practiced sorcery through human sacrifices. Mayhap she still does."
"And ‘tis forbidden—sacrificing humans?"
"Yes, ‘tis frowned upon by the Church and by the populace to sacrifice humans to further our power."
She could not determine if he w
as serious or sarcastic. “What about taking human lives? You had no reservation about killing."
"Only by royal decree."
"Sorcerers have all the power, and yet you forbid the killing of mortals?” She did not believe him.
"Sorcerers are mortals, too. The Circle forbids using sorcery on the general populace unless under the orders of the king. There are not as many sorcerers as you might think."
"What about the innocent people this morn, the helpless mortals you killed."
"I only killed your husband,” he said softly, watching her reaction. Looking at the dagger, Aislan wondered if he expected her to ask him why he had executed Hayton. She should have wept, but she had never behaved according to expectations. Anyhow, she no longer had a soul, or so the priests told her. The Church had damned her and declared her insane.
Instead of fearing the man who had killed her husband, Aislan's mind wandered to those many nights she had pretended he was inside her body instead of her husband's, making her more pliant so that the physical ordeal of Hayton's conjugal rights would be more bearable. She had denied her husband, and yet she had fantasized about someone who she believed did not exist. Until now.
Despite their adversarial situation, as she looked at the man facing her, Aislan knew the inevitability of what they would become if she remained in his company. She should be ashamed of herself, this sinful desire for a man who, in reality, represented the violence she abhorred in men. No matter what she should feel, if he touched her now, she would welcome him. Just the thought of him in her body made her wet and aroused. No wonder the Church thought her unredeemable. She wanted what she should not and rejected her roles as an obedient daughter and a dutiful wife.
Aislan touched the dagger. It burned hot now, and she tossed it on the ground in shock.
"I—I...” She stared at it, and then looked at Lucien. Picking up his weapon, he reattached it to his belt, his gaze still on her. She looked away, desperate to maintain some semblance of propriety. After a while, she glanced his way. Aislan gave a small start and came to attention. A faint glow outlined him, lasting merely a glance. She blinked to clear her vision, but nothing seemed amiss. What had she seen? Confused, Aislan turned away to gather her composure. The slow and steady thud of her heart rang in her ears. She had seen the same flicker of light the moment before the ambush this morning. Sensing immediate danger, she had tried to lead Hayton in the opposite direction, but the forewarning had come too close to the attack.
"What could you be thinking?” he asked almost too softly. His gaze moved over her body, and she licked her dry lips again. He wanted her. Lust burned in his eyes and etched on his face. It had been a day full of violence, and she sat here thinking about rutting like an animal.
The day seemed unreal, and she could be in a dream. Aislan's imagination had been active enough for her to live in it most of her life. Cold, tired, and confused, she could no longer think clearly. She tried hard to remain proper, but she felt more like a hypocrite pretending. Wanting to weep for her lack of conviction, she jumped to her feet, and he got up also.
"Aislan."
Not wanting to get close to him, she walked away.
"Aislan.” He caught her by the arm.
She looked back at him, unable to pull away, not wanting to. “I must go. Please, let me go."
Pulling her into his arms, he held her, and she capitulated immediately. He was so big, his arms steely and yet gentle. Pressing her cheek against his broad chest, she closed her eyes at the feel of his face against the top of her head, his mouth brushing back and forth across her hair. Oh, how good it felt, wrapped in his powerful arms. She should remember who he was, but she did not care. The scent of his maleness swept over her until she wanted to open his tunic so she could press her nose and open her mouth against his skin. Dizzy with want, she fought hard with herself to maintain some semblance of hypocritical propriety.
"Milord, let me go,” she whispered weakly, not even sounding convincing to her own ears.
"Where would you go?"
She was inordinately grateful he did not take the matter out of her hands. If he chose to overcome any meager resistance she gave, she would not have been able to resist. When she pulled back, he loosened his hold, but his arms remained looped about her waist. His bulging erection pressed against her stomach, making her breathless with the knowledge of what was to come. Aislan looked at her hands, one on his chest, the other on his muscled arm, her fingers splayed, her palms rubbing against him. Stopping her movement, she struggled to right her unbalanced mind. A man of flesh and blood held her, not a phantom. Anything she did now, there would be no going back.
Aislan made one last attempt at propriety. “The convent will take me."
It was a normal course for women with some status who had nowhere else to go. Never mind that they would refuse her. He did not have to know. The Church had damned her soul for trying to take her own life. It mattered nothing to them she had been a foolish, young girl of not even sixteen at the time, who had lost her mind. Aislan shut out the memory because she could not think about that now.
"You cannot hide from the king. They will hunt you down."
It took a while for her groggy brain to process what he said. “The king? Why should I hide from the king?"
"You know nothing about your husband's treason,” he stated almost flatly.
"Treason! Lord Temple served the king."
"Yes, another king."
"If ‘twas true, why should I be punished for what he did?” she asked incredulously. “I have no control over his actions!"
He touched her cheek gently. “I know that. ‘Tis why I'll not allow anyone to harm you."
Giving in immediately, she nuzzled against his long fingers like a starved puppy caged up for most of her life. She wanted him to seduce her. No, she should fight this. She should slap him, scratch him. Instead, she pulled him closer, lifting her face, parting her lips.
He did not refuse her. His mouth covered hers instantly, hard and commanding, his tongue probing deep, hotly taking control as he plundered what she willingly offered. Almost roughly, he sucked and devoured her like a ravenous beast, but she reveled in the intensity of the kiss.
Anchoring the back of her head, his fingers tightened in her hair, his onslaught of her tongue and lips making her dizzy and weak. Her knees buckled, and she clung to him. Grabbing his hair, she kissed him back, savoring his male taste as his tongue rubbed and dipped into every corner, every crevice. She could barely breathe and took his breaths as hers as she gasped and panted, returning each kiss for kiss. His other hand tunneled under her tunic and beneath her shift to push it down until he cupped a bare breast. First, he squeezed one globe and then the other. He pinched her nipple, his touch firm but gentle. He nipped at her upper lip and then her bottom one.
Dazed from the pleasure of kissing and touching, she could barely focus on anything but his mouth and his hands. He made her feel alive. The intensity about him reached into and sparked inside her, bringing every nerve ending alive. She wanted to know what it felt like to have the man she wanted in her body. Her clit pulsated and contracted, her pussy throbbing with desire while moisture gushed and trickled down her legs. The physical craving for release became so fierce, she could not think beyond this moment. Even though he barely contained his roughness in his demanding exploration, she felt no fear. Even from the first touch, he had yet to hurt her, and she sensed that he would not.
Abruptly, he pulled from her and took a few steps back, unsheathing his weapon. She watched him, her senses still swimming even as she wondered what had come over him.
"We have company.” He grasped her by the waist and held his sword at ready as he looked around. Barely seconds later, animals growled. Dark-haired beasts with bright, slanted eyes emerged from nowhere, four huge wolves with snarling jaws. They leapt.
Aislan screamed and wrapped her arms about Lucien's neck. In a blur of motion, the blade of his sword danced in his hand and
zigzagged to keep the animals at bay. One of the wolves flew back with a slash across the chest, yelping. The other three surrounded them. As each leapt, Lucien swiped, forcing them to veer from the blade. Something dragged at her near her feet. Aislan looked down to see her cloak caught in a wolf's fangs, tearing. With a flick of the sword, Lucien cut the cloth barely inches from the beast's mouth. In a flash, Aislan saw the sword make its way upward and slash across the animal's chest. It yelped fiercely.
Three wolves leapt at the same time. Aislan's breath knocked out of her as she and Lucien fell in a heap of bodies and animals tussling and then separating. One of the beasts lunged at her. It stared at her with eyes that appeared almost human, hesitated for one instant, and then went straight for her throat.
Shrieking, she grabbed its open snout with both hands, realizing the wolf was actually human, sensing its determination to kill her. It bit her hands, and she nearly passed out from the intense pain. If she did not fight, Aislan knew she would die. Somewhere deep inside, she became enraged at her helplessness in the face of powerful sorcery. She stared at the wolf and willed herself to fight, wanting to kill it with her bare hands as she tried to pull its jaws apart to free herself.
Blood splattered everywhere, spraying onto her face and in her mouth.
The wolf squealed and died.
Chapter 6
The Predator
Sheathing his sword, Lucien grabbed the wolf's snout and pulled the jaw apart to free Aislan's hands. He had disabled the other three just enough, but he had killed one sorsvasus brother, running his sword partially through his head. Lucien had only the blink of an eye to decide. They had shown no mercy and had forced him to choose Ais
Lucien reached for Aislan, who sat on the ground, gagging while frantically spitting and wiping her face of the wolf's blood. The other three wounded wolves shifted back to human form, one of whom was Colen who had left earlier with the decollator Mallers. At first, Lucien could not bring himself to look at the face of the sorsvasus he had killed. Pulling Aislan to her feet, he held her securely with one arm around her waist. He could not tarry any longer even though the men were no match for him. Because he had to know, Lucien paused for a brief instance to glance at the face of the dead sorsvasus. Daman. Then he picked up Aislan and ran. The speed sent her legs flying behind her against the force of the wind. Even though she did not make a sound, he sensed she remained conscious.
Vision of Light [The Renegades 1] Page 5
