I shut my eyes. I had to. Seeing him, loving him this way, it hurt too much.
Warmth encased the tip of one breast, and my eyes popped open. Dillon’s dark head clouded my vision. I leaned down, kissing his temple as his teeth scraped slow across my nipple. One arm banded about my waist and lifted me higher. A final lick, one last swirl, and he thrust inside me.
I quivered in his arms. He buried his face in my neck, tugged me onto him, forcing my arms around his neck as he drove into me. His breaths were hard, sharp blasts in my ear. His skin was sweat-slicked, and we slid together. His leg shook beneath our combined weight. The strain made his groans pain-laced and pleasure-filled. When his hand fit between us, found me, stroked me, I screamed his name. He shivered, arms cinching, pace quickening. His bellow made my ears ring.
He slid down the back of the stall until we crumpled onto the ground.
Bucking his hips, he almost dumped me from his lap. “What the hell?” Reaching under him, he withdrew half of the horse. Tossing it over the stall door, he said, “I’ll make you a new one.”
“You’d better.” My legs were boneless and loose. “I liked that horse, and I have the splinters to prove it.”
He shifted me on his lap, tucking his face against my shoulder and breathing deep.
A light breeze tickled our bare bottoms. Sand made plinking noises as it bounced off metal.
I scratched Dillon’s scalp and rested my forehead against his collarbone.
Warmth encased me, startled me into realizing I’d dozed for a moment. Blinking sleep from my eyes, I turned my head and spotted my blanket. His wings draped over my shoulders, hiding the scant inches of my skin visible beneath the stall door. Though his nudity concerned him less.
Pressure coiled around my leg. I glanced down to find his tail encircling my ankle. I pressed my smile against his throat. As sleep tugged me under, I said, “I told you it was a very nice tail.”
Chapter Thirteen
Alone in Dillon’s tent, I perched on the edge of his cot and awaited his return with Aldrich. To distract myself, I counted the curls of wood left from his carvings, but my attention wandered toward the tent flap. When a shadow dark with magic glided across the tent’s entrance, I started.
A cowled figure stooped as he entered the tent. His limbs were twisted, his limp pronounced, and power, such power emanated from him. Bleary eyes peered out at me, made my skin crawl beneath his appraisal. “You are feeling better?” He bobbed his head in a birdlike fashion. “Yes?”
I squirmed beneath his gimlet stare. “I am. Thank you.”
“All right,” Dillon said, ducking inside on Aldrich’s heels. “Let’s get this over with.”
“I thought…” I glanced from him back to Aldrich. “Shouldn’t we speak alone?”
If I was to be accused of misconduct, I’d rather it be done in private.
The priest rolled his shoulders. “I have nothing to say that one can’t witness.”
Relief surged through me. If that was the case, then whatever the topic of our conversation, it must not be as dire as I’d imagined. Still, I remained wary. “Dillon, could we have a moment…”
“No can do.” He folded his arms over his chest. “You’re a prisoner, remember? That means no unsupervised personal visits.” He walked to the cot and dropped down beside me. “Carry on.”
I winced at the reminder. Glaring at Dillon, I was torn between gratefulness he was here and frustration that he might hear Aldrich’s accusations, if any were made, but he ignored me. His attention remained riveted on Aldrich, confirming what I’d suspected. He mistrusted all Sereians.
With Aldrich, he had reason to be wary. After all, so was I. As for me, well, his reservations were warranted on that score as well. So far we had both established our breed’s devious natures.
“Your manners haven’t improved, I see.” Aldrich shuffled toward Dillon’s desk and claimed the chair with a soft grunt. He pointed at Dillon’s calf. “Your leg has, yes? Emmaline’s healer has done well I think. Her talents were wasted at the consulate, though it matters not, considering her theft.” His expression turned sly. “My queen could use such a healer. While your Isabeau isn’t my equal, I could train her.” His gaze swung my way, assessing. He licked his dried lips. “Yes, she has much potential. Keep my offer in mind when the time comes to decide her punishment. She would be confined to the castle, to my quarters, and she—”
“Get to the point,” Dillon warned. “While you’re at it, roll your tongue back in your mouth.” He slid a heavy arm around my hip, dragging me across the cot until I bumped against his side.
Aldrich glowered at the possessive show, but warmth sparked clear to my fingertips.
Face flushed, Aldrich snapped at me. “You were reckless with your powers, and there will be consequences for your actions.” His displeasure lashed over my skin. “Even now, your energy is draining. Magical parasites aren’t easily removed. They’re not easily caught, either. You abused more than your own power; you exploited a lethal tool of your trade. A grimoire is at fault, yes?”
My shoulders bowed with the knowledge of how right he was. How foolish I’d been. “Yes.”
“If you intended to break your vow, you should have bound it so that no harm came to you or whoever finds it.” His glare sharpened. “It is lost, yes? That you didn’t take the proper precautions suggests incompetence, but you are far from an amateur spell crafter. You are a priestess of Zaniah.” Dillon tensed beside me. “Otherwise, there would be no grimoire to lose.”
I straightened with ease now that Dillon’s fingers had loosened. “I have no excuse.”
“You surprise me.” Aldrich appeared taken aback. “Yes, you would be a fitting apprentice.”
“I appreciate the offer, but I’m content with my work.” Or I had been. I exhaled. No regrets.
“Ah, yes. I don’t doubt you were, once, but betrayals aren’t easily forgiven.” He coughed up a ragged laugh. “If your prison’s walls become too restrictive, send word and you will be freed into my custody.” He turned a cold smile on Dillon. “He is not the only one with favors owed.”
“Get back on track, priest,” Dillon snapped. “She’s not yours, and you can’t have her.”
Tension crackled through the air. Burnt hair wafted to my nose as Aldrich’s temper flared.
Escape was a tempting offer, but after what Roland had done to Nesvia, the old priest’s offer was conditional. Or would be once he realized who had taught me. After hearing my master’s name, his offer would swirl from my hands the same as sand snatched by winter winds. Oh well.
He had his allegiances, and I had mine. I touched my locket, a gesture not lost on him.
“You have a child, yes?” Aldrich adjusted his robes. “Female, I heard. Perhaps consider—”
Low growls sliced through Aldrich’s offer, and my heart swelled. For a moment I let myself pretend my daughter and I could claim this fierce champion. That he was ours and would protect us against the threat of recruitment. I was sullied. I would be barred from my temple, as Mother had been after my birth. My daughter, though, was born of powerful bloodlines, and some would covet her, believing her father would compensate their efforts at grooming even his bastard heir.
Once, an offer of status through education would have tempted me. Apprenticing to Aldrich was an honor, one difficult to dismiss. But I wanted my daughter with me, not raised in a temple. I would teach her. I would protect her. It was my duty to keep her safe from choices I had made.
Another rumble brought my attention to the angry tic in Dillon’s jaw. I patted his thigh, and he jumped on contact. Being so intent on Aldrich, he hadn’t noticed when I moved closer. Soon enough, he relaxed beneath my touch. When he dragged me against him and pressed a lingering kiss to my temple, my eyes rolled shut.
“I won’t let him have you, either of you.” His lips trailed my cheek. “You’re safe here.” Crossing to my ear, he said, “Say the word and he’s out of this tent, out of thi
s colony, hell, out of this realm if it makes you happy.”
“I’m fine.” I caught him unawares, my lips brushing his before he withdrew.
“My patience wears thin,” Aldrich groused. “Let us settle this matter so that I might leave.”
Untangling from Dillon was impossible. His grip was too firm. I gathered as much dignity as I could muster while plastered from hip to shoulder with him. “All right. What are your terms?”
“In exchange for the absolution of my debt to the queenmaker, Harper Delaney, I offer my blood to seal your grimoire. Should you accept my offer of aid, then I ask our bargain be sealed as well.” His bony shoulder rolled. “Considering your current situation, I am well within my rights to ask for such precautions to be observed.” He gave me a half smile. “You have a knife?”
“No, she doesn’t,” Dillon said, “but I do.”
Aldrich considered him for a long moment, until I felt sure he would deny the possibility of Dillon acting as my proxy. “If she breaks her vow to me or abuses my blood, then you will be the one who suffers for it. Are you willing to risk a blood tie to me for her? A Sereian? A priestess?”
So Aldrich knew of Dillon’s disdain for our kind. Having spent time together while Dillon was wounded, several days as they journeyed from the city of Rihos toward Feriana and the consulate, his dislike would have been obvious. Dillon wasn’t one for keeping his opinions quiet.
Dillon offered his arm. “Do it.”
I tried to press his arm to his side, but he locked his muscles. “You don’t have to do this.”
“You’re too weak to give more blood, besides…” his eyes searched mine, “…I trust you.”
My throat constricted, trapping the warning I owed him after what we shared. You shouldn’t.
“I see now why you’re slow to accept my offer.” Aldrich patted his pockets. “It seems your jail has fewer bars than I’d realized.” He grinned. “Or else it has incompetent jailers.” When he withdrew his hand, he clutched a vial and uncorked the lid. After Dillon supplied a knife, Aldrich sliced through the thick scarring on his forearm, digging deep until reluctant blood surfaced. He gave no indication the cut caused him pain, but his brow wrinkled as he measured his donation. I watched as crimson filled the vial and it was stoppered. Without warning, he slashed Dillon’s forearm, pressing the seam until crimson ran in rivulets. Then he clasped arms with him and let their blood mingle. Dillon hissed as Aldrich’s magic wormed beneath his skin. I rested my face behind his shoulder and stroked his back until the worst of his tension ebbed. When I withdrew, damp splotches marred his shirt, but at least my eyes were dry. Foolish, foolish male to trust me.
Aldrich held fast. “I’ll have your word my debt is paid once the grimoire is contained.”
“You have my word.” Dillon gritted his teeth. Aldrich raised his eyebrows, so Dillon spat, “Once the grimoire has been contained, I give you my word your debt to Harper has been paid.”
Aldrich’s low chant filled the tent. Strain from the binding spell beaded sweat on Dillon’s skin. “It is done.” Aldrich dropped his arm and passed me the vial. “You know the incantation?”
“I do.” His blood warmed my hand through the thin glass, and I swallowed to keep down my meal. “Would you like me to clean your arm? I’m sure Dillon has bandages and ointment if—”
He frowned. “There’s no need.” Air clotted his messy wound, and he appeared content with that. “If you’re capable of binding the grimoire, then a tracking spell should be a simple enough matter.” He inclined his head. “I could be persuaded to help, if my services were compensated.”
“Isabeau?” Dillon touched my arm, and blood dripped onto me from him.
Fisting his sheet, I dragged it onto my lap and blotted his arm. “I can manage.” To Aldrich, I said, “Thank you for your help.” I forced a smile. “Your offers were generous and appreciated.”
“Yes, they were.” He grunted as he rose. “Keep them in mind. You may change yours.”
“I will.” I think we both knew my acceptance hinged on my last resorts being exhausted.
After he’d shuffled from the tent, Dillon caught my wrist. “Save the doctor routine for after we get that tracking spell off the ground.” He stood and pulled me to my feet. “Are you ready?”
“Yes.” I realized I was ready. I had means of binding the grimoire without further sacrifice, I had Dillon prepared to aid me in my search for the book and the salt. In exchange, I offered him a chance to protect Daeza and other Evanti. After we had the salt, then my plans became muddled.
Find the salt. Bind the book. Escape the male.
The first and second parts were executable. The third, well, that part might be my undoing.
Stinging pain coursed through Dillon’s veins. He had a funny feeling Aldrich’s let’s seal the deal ceremony did more than bind him at his word, but the alternative had been letting him carve up Isabeau, and that wasn’t happening. Ever since the mine, his protective instincts had kicked into overdrive. Hell, if he were being honest, he’d been strung out since he first laid eyes on her, and he didn’t mean her half-naked race to the colony, which too damn many males had watched.
The growl in the back of his throat revved up a notch. “Why are you dragging your feet?”
“I’m not.” Regret softened her voice. “How are Mason…and the legionnaire?”
“You hurt them pretty good. Mason’s shoulder was barbequed. So was Osher’s hand for that matter.” Guilt made his pace slow. “Christophe used the opportunity to practice a basic healing spell Aldrich taught him. It was enough to take the sting out of the burns, but they’ll both scar.” He shrugged. “Otherwise, young males get bored fast out here. I figured it was more humane to let them go back to work at their own pace than put them on bed rest.”
She touched his shoulder, and heat blazed a trail to his gut. “Is Mason well enough to handle the spell?”
“Well, I was hoping you could tell me.” Mason’s tent lay ahead. Even if Dillon didn’t know the way by heart, the handful of legionaries doing their best to appear casual while guarding the entrance would have tipped him off. When Isabeau’s hand slid down his back, he faced her. “He’s not holding a grudge, if that’s what has you worried. You did what you felt you had to do.”
“Oh.” Her smile was too fast, too bright to be sincere.
“It’s not just the situation with the kid.” He cleared his throat. “Your daughter, I mean.” The pain behind his eyes ached. “When I found him, he tried to warn me off, like I’d ever hurt you.”
She nodded once. Her shoulder brushed his on her way to the tent. Even that small contact made his skin tighten. Every step straightened her spine, raised her head, until she was prepared to face her first victim. That she hadn’t balked made him proud. Made him believe her crimes hadn’t been committed by choice. Guilt mantled her shoulders. Good. He could work with guilt.
Damn it, he ought to feel guilty. He was skirting the line of betrayal with Harper’s trust. Planning Isabeau’s defense in as much detail as he could scrape together was one thing. Calling in favors from Aldrich was another. He could argue saving Isabeau was what Emma would want. Harper wouldn’t say a word if that was the case, but the truth was, Dillon was saving her for him.
Mating wasn’t possible. Was it? He cursed the thought even as he had it.
He’d said he trusted her, and the shocker was—he did. While he wasn’t fool enough to think she’d given him the whole story, he believed she would. With the right motivation. Now that he thought about it, he didn’t know much other than she had a kid and must have been set up by someone able to use her kid, or their kid, as leverage. He didn’t see her abandoning her friends or ruining her perfect cover for anything less than her daughter’s security. Or her safety. Leading him right back to the question of who her master had been, who the father of her child was. Emma mentioned finding Isabeau in an outland slave market. How had she gotten there? Right time and right place or somet
hing else? Something planned? Pretending to be Evanti was a surefire way to catch Emma’s eye. No way would she have left Isabeau there to fend for herself.
One way or the other, he was going to have to pry the answers from Isabeau’s sweet lips.
Securing the salt was a priority for both of them. After that, well, he wasn’t so sure.
No use stressing over the endgame yet. Finding the horse was step one. Whether Isabeau had fallen as she claimed, or the partner she denied having stranded her, she had lost the salt and Dillon had no qualms tracking the mare or her ex-lover. And yeah, the male would be exed out one way or the other. Isabeau wasn’t mated, lie or truth didn’t matter. She was his. Based on his earlier conjecture, if her ex-lover was her ex-master, that explained why he’d had no qualms risking her neck for his gain. Some slaves remained with their masters, afraid of carving out their own lives. His Isabeau wasn’t afraid, but she was running scared. Now he had to figure out why.
Knowing how her kid fit into the equation would help. She must be the root of the problem.
Ahead of him, Isabeau paused with her hand on the tent flap. Legionaries to either side cast her sideways glances. One leaned forward, made a comment that earned him a laugh. The sound grated in Dillon’s ears. The fact her pitch was off and she’d taken a graceful step left meant less than the fact the male’s face had split into a huge grin as he tracked her step with one of his own.
Dillon kept his eyes on Isabeau and let her actions dictate his reaction.
Her head turned, dark eyes seeking his. The legionnaire followed her line of sight straight to Dillon. The male muttered something, and this time Isabeau’s laugh was genuine. He parted the flap and held the halves open until darkness swallowed her outline. Then he resumed his post. He waited for Dillon to reach hearing range. “I didn’t know Isabeau was yours.” His smile was fond.
Eversworn: Daughters of Askara, Book 3 Page 16
