She had to stop him.
A panicked cry escaped her. “Please, Lachlan, please, you must stop.”
Lachlan’s eyes flew open as Evangeline’s desperate plea penetrated his lust-addled brain, her glazed violet eyes wide in her pale face. He tried to speak. Her wrist was pressed to his lips. Like a vise, his hand held it in place.
He flung her hand from him. “Sweet Christ, what have I done?” As he twisted away from her to roll onto his back, a searing spasm stole his breath away.
“No, you didn’t do anything. Stay still,” she said in a reedy, thin voice.
The gnawing ache eased as he returned to his side. Without the pain dulling his senses, he became aware of his hand on her rounded behind, of her soft, full breasts molded to his chest. His throbbing cock pressed to her belly.
He licked his parched lips in an attempt to offer an apology, some form of explanation, and froze at the coppery taste. Blood. His gaze shot to hers. He brought his hand to her face. “Tell me. Tell me what I have done.” His belly lurched at the only explanation he could think of. He’d done to her what had been done to him.
The fog lifted from his brain. He remembered being attacked by the two white beasts—badly wounded, certain of his death. In his pain-filled stupor had he relived his nightmare at Glastonbury, dragging Evangeline into it with him?
Covering his hand with hers, she raised her unwavering gaze to his. “You did nothing wrong. I’m sorry, Lachlan. I didn’t have a choice. You would’ve died.”
She winced. He frowned down at his hand. He’d barely firmed his grip. How could that almost imperceptible tightening hurt her? He’d been so relieved to hear her banish his fear that he’d taken her blood, only now did he begin to process what she said. “How, Evangeline? How did ye save me?”
She glanced at her hand, worrying her bottom lip between her teeth. He lifted his palm from her face, sliding his fingers to her wrist, turning it to the light. Blood dried on the mottled skin surrounding the deep slash slicing her wrist. He lifted his horrified gaze to hers. “Ye gave me yer blood?”
“We didn’t know what else to do. I ... we couldn’t let you die.”
At the thought he put her through even a fraction of what he’d endured in the dungeons, he said, “It would’ve been better if ye had.”
She lowered her gaze from his, but not before he saw the shimmer of tears in her eyes. “I’m truly sorry. Gabriel said you’d understand. Because of my magick, they thought you’d recover faster if it was my blood you were given.” Her body trembled as she tried to pull herself upright. Swaying with the effort, her pallor intensified.
Lachlan reached for her, wrapping his hand around her upper arm. She winced. “Why do ye keep doin’ that? Are ye hurt?”
She rubbed her arms when he released her. “You’re strong. My magick has made you stronger.”
He prided himself on his strength. To think he’d possess even more didn’t displease him, but the thought of what it had cost Evangeline did. “Lie down. Ye’re as weak as a kitten.” His mouth quirked when she cast him a perturbed look, relieved to see some small sign of her spirit.
Once she’d settled in beside him, he carefully placed his fingers beneath her chin, gently forcing her gaze to his. “Be honest with me, did I hurt ye?”
“No.”
“Did I frighten ye?”
A faint tinge of pink colored her cheeks. “No. I know you are worried it was my blood you were forced to accept, but they didn’t give me a choice.”
“Are ye sayin’ ye didna wish to give me yer blood? That—”
“No, I just thought you would’ve preferred Gabriel or Broderick’s to mine, considering my ...”
Was she daft? When he thought of his reaction to her blood at the same time he thought of Broderick and Gabriel giving him theirs, he shuddered. He’d been consumed with lust for her. If he had to accept anyone’s blood, it would be hers. Why would she think otherwise? Remembering her reaction when he said she should’ve let him die, he narrowed his gaze on her, certain something more was at play.
“Considerin’ yer what?”
“My blood is tainted.”
Something inside him stilled when he realized she thought he would have preferred death to being given her blood. He had a fairly good idea what her answer to his next question would be. With the tips of his fingers, he stroked her cheek. “How is yer blood tainted, Evie?”
“I carry my mother’s blood.”
“Ye’re no’ evil. Overly confident, opinionated, and cranky.” He ticked off his fingers, refraining from adding verra bonny and sweet. So verra sweet, he thought, recalling the taste of her. “I’m sure I’m forgetttin’ somethin’, but if ye’ll give me a moment ’twill come to me.”
The beginnings of a small smile wavered on her lips. “I’m serious.”
“Aye, so am I. Ye’re no’ evil, and doona ever let anyone tell ye ye are. And so we’re clear on this, I ken ye had no choice but to give me yer blood just as ye must ken if I wasna dyin’ ’tis the last thing I would want. But since ’twas necessary, ye must also ken there’s no one else’s blood I’d want but yers.”
“Why?” she asked in a confused tone.
“First off, ye have more magick in yer baby finger than all the Fae put together,” he repeated her own words back to her. “And second, considerin’ the state I awoke in, I’d rather be suckin’ on yer wrist than on Broderick’s, Gabriel’s, or the three witches’.”
Her brow furrowed. “Three witches?”
“Aye, Fallyn, Shayla, and Riana.”
She pursed her lips. “Is life just one big jest to you?”
Oh, no, he wasn’t going to let her start poking around in his head. “Ye’re too serious, Evie. Ye’ve got to start enjoyin’ life fer a change.”
“I know what you’re attempting to do. I should, since I’ve seen you apply the strategy often.”
“I doona ken what ye’re talkin’ aboot.” He reached for her hand, stroking the delicate skin at the edges of her wound. He lifted her wrist to his lips, pressing a kiss to the bruised and swollen skin. She gave a startled jerk. “Does it hurt, Evie?” he murmured, gently sliding his lips back and forth over her abraded flesh.
“No ... it’s ... it’s much better.”
The delectable scent of her, the faint whiff of her drying blood intoxicated him, and he swirled his tongue along the raised welt as the heat swirled higher inside him. Sweet Christ, he burned for her.
“I ... I have to check on Aurora,” she said. Pulling her hand from his, she struggled to her feet then stumbled headlong from the cave.
Lachlan groaned, and it had naught to do with the pain from his injuries. He’d only meant to distract her with his teasing, but instead, all he’d served to do was make himself more aware of the feelings she’d aroused in him.
A fine time to realize the jest was on him.
Chapter 10
Lachlan MacLeod wielded magick more powerful than any Evangeline had ever faced. He’d turned her into an unthinking, quivering mass of desire with his touch. But it wasn’t the desire he’d ignited in her body but the desire he’d ignited in her heart that terrified her. He’d made her want things she had no business wanting. Her limbs weak and trembling, she leaned against the frozen wall of the mountain for support, pressing snow-coated hands to her overheated cheeks.
The crunch of snow heralded someone’s approach. “What’s wrong? Is he ... is he dead?” Fallyn asked, clutching Evangeline’s arm.
“No.” Far from it, she thought with an aggrieved glance at the cave.
“But will he survive?”
“He is no longer in any danger.” And nor would Evangeline be if she stayed far from the cave and the master seducer within. Oh, yes, he was a master seducer all right. No woman was safe from him, least of all her.
He knew the words to touch a heart bereft of kindness and compassion. He’d had many years of practice. He’d probably been doing so since he’d been able to utter hi
s first words. “Perhaps you can ask Gabriel and Broderick to look in on him while I see to Aurora.”
“I’ve been keeping an eye on her. I think she was most distressed by the king’s injuries. She seems somewhat subdued.” Fallyn pointed beyond the men hunched over the campfires. “Just follow the path. She’s about a hundred yards from where the last of the tents have been pitched.”
Evangeline nodded. A brisk wind buffeted her against the rock. No longer overheated, she shivered, but there was no way she would return for the cape she’d left in the cave. She flicked her finger to conjure another. Nothing. Not a low-level heat, not a faint spark. Nothing but a tortured sense of loss flared to life inside her.
Fallyn studied her. “What’s the matter?”
“I’m tired, and ... perhaps I depleted my ... I’ll be fine.” She swallowed the admission, seeking refuge in the warmth of the long white fur cape Fallyn cloaked her in, hoping it would somehow ease the cold weight of her despair.
“How much blood did you give him?”
When she didn’t answer, Fallyn grimaced. “Too much, I see. No wonder your magick is weakened. You should be resting. Why don’t you let me get Aurora for you?”
Desperate for reassurance, she chose to believe Fallyn was right. She had to be. It was only natural her magick would be depleted. Some of the tension eased from her shoulders. “I think it would be best if I speak with her.” After all, it was Evangeline’s fault Aurora had witnessed the attack on her king.
“When you have retrieved her, come back and I’ll prepare a meal to help replenish your blood.” Fallyn tipped her chin to a larger opening cut out of the bedrock several feet from where they now stood. “You’d best hurry,” Fallyn advised, lifting her gaze to the turbulent sky. “It appears we’re to have another snowstorm.”
Weaving her way past the white tents dotting the mountainside, Evangeline hesitated before striding past a cluster of warriors as their conversation reached her ears.
“I hear she gave him her blood,” said one of the men who stood with his back to her. His companions tried to warn him of her presence with waggling brows, but he paid them no mind. “I’d rather fade than have her cursed blood in me.” The man shuddered dramatically.
His companions lowered their eyes as she walked past them with her head held high. Lachlan’s acceptance of her and her blood took some of the sting from the warrior’s censure. Whatever small hurt remained, she cast aside to pick her way carefully down the narrow path to where the fur-wrapped child lay on the frozen pool at the base of the ice-encased waterfall.
“Aurora, come ... Oh,” she gasped. Evangeline’s foot slid out from under her, sending her flying down the small incline on her back. She scraped the side of her face on the rocks protruding from the snow, then landed with a hard thud on her bottom to spin like a top before coming to a halt inches from the little seer.
Groaning, a hand pressed to her stinging cheek, she frowned when Aurora uttered not a word at her inauspicious arrival. Hands cupped to her face, the little girl peered at something beneath the ice. A chill that had nothing to do with the cold skittered along Evangeline’s spine. “Aurora,” she said, cautiously bracing herself.
Aurora raised her gaze. Evangeline released a relieved breath that the child’s eyes retained their natural color. Her relief was replaced by guilt that she’d been the one responsible for the sorrow shadowing those vivid blue eyes. She sought to reassure her. “King Lachlan’s going to be—”
Aurora shook her head. “No. It’s Iain.”
“Iain?” Evangeline’s chest tightened, hoping against hope it wasn’t who she thought it was.
“The king’s cousin, Iain MacLeod. His ship foundered then broke apart somewhere in the Mortal realm beneath us. I saw him clinging to the debris. He was all alone.”
Trying to keep the images Aurora’s words conjured at bay, she stretched out beside the little girl. Using her cape to rub the light film of snow from the ice, Evangeline peered into its frozen depths. “I don’t see anything.”
“I can’t see him anymore either. I keep trying, but I can’t.” Aurora latched on to Evangeline’s hand. “Please, we must go to him. He’s badly injured. I don’t think he will—”
“Don’t. Don’t say that!” Evangeline cried, her heart aching at the thought of the handsome highlander. She’d met Iain a number of times at the MacLeods’ family gatherings and had a soft spot for the charming seafarer. He’d often come to her defense when Lachlan was being his typical arrogant self and tormenting her at the occasions.
“But I can’t help it. That’s what I saw.”
No, there had to be some mistake. Iain had recently lost his wife; perhaps somehow Aurora had tapped into his pain. “Maybe you have seen his wife’s death. She recently—”
“No. She watches over him, she’s an angel now, but she can’t help him. We have to, Evangeline. We must go to his aid.”
How could they go to his aid when they’d yet to rescue Uscias? She rubbed her temples, desperate for some way to help Iain without putting Uscias’s rescue at risk. She could take Aurora with her to look for him, but the seas beneath them were vast. It could take days, and Lachlan might have need of her. And in her heart, Evangeline knew Uscias didn’t have days. No, she couldn’t be the one to go, but what of Fallyn and her sisters, or another group of warriors? The carnage she’d witnessed on the battlefield came back to haunt her—the carnage and the great white beasts. They were outnumbered. Her belly churned at the realization there was no one to spare. She reminded herself that there was a distinct possibility Aurora had misinterpreted her vision. She’d never had visions without being in a trance. Evangeline desperately clung to the hope the child was simply distraught after witnessing the attack on Lachlan.
“We can’t help him, Aurora.” She wouldn’t hurt the child’s feelings by saying she didn’t believe her. “If I thought we could save both Iain and Uscias I would, but we can’t.”
“Bu ... but he’s hurt and all by himself.” A tear slid down Aurora’s wind-kissed cheeks. “I heard him crying out. He called for his wife.”
Tortured by an image of Iain injured, calling for Glenna, Evangeline pressed a hand to her mouth, afraid she’d be ill. Even if Aurora had seen Iain, they couldn’t save him—the Faes’ safety depended on retrieving Uscias. No matter how much it pained her, she could not let anyone, especially Lachlan, learn what Aurora had told her. Knowing she was possibly sacrificing Iain made it one of the most heartrending decisions she ever had to make. But there was no other option available to her. “We must pray, then, that his wife will save him.”
“But ... but I think it was her who gave me the vision.”
“Oh, please, Aurora, don’t make this any more difficult than it already is.” Raising her eyes to the heavens, Evangeline prayed the child was wrong. But she doubted the angels would listen to her pleas. They never had before. Snow pelted her upturned face and she reached for the little girl. “Come. We must seek shelter.”
With Aurora’s hand in hers, Evangeline sought a less treacherous path to the encampment. She refused to ask the child to transport them to the caves. Aurora had witnessed her diminished powers once today, and Evangeline couldn’t stand for her to see her helpless again.
As they drew closer to the tents, she pulled Aurora aside. “You must make me a promise.” She waited until she held the child’s attention. “No one must know what you’ve seen today, especially King Lachlan. It must remain our secret.”
“But—”
Her conscience balked at what she was about to say, but it couldn’t be helped. Aware of Aurora’s adoration of her king, she had no choice but to use it to ensure the child’s silence. Lachlan must never learn of Aurora’s vision. In her own way, Evangeline was protecting him from having to make a horrible choice, to save his cousin or to save Uscias.
“King Lachlan is only just beginning to recover from his injuries. To hear such news would set him back. You don’t wish that to happen,
do you?”
“No. I would never cause him pain. I won’t tell him, I promise.”
“No one must know.”
“No one.”
The plaintive cry of the wind captured the little girl’s solemn promise, the words echoing through the deep caverns. Together they battled the blinding snow to stagger toward the opening in the bedrock Fallyn had pointed out earlier. Evangeline’s gaze went to the mouth of the cave that housed Lachlan, the flames dancing within on a gust of wind. A part of her wanted to go to him and tell him of Aurora’s vision, but it was hopeless. Even if it was true, they would never find Iain in time.
For the greater good.
She took comfort in the mantra’s truth. What was the sacrifice of one life when so many were at stake?
The three sisters looked up as Evangeline entered the cavern with Aurora. The women had made themselves comfortable in a cave twice the size of Lachlan’s. They sat on a long red velvet settee, balancing gold-rimmed plates piled high with food on their knees. Noting the floor was covered in furs and overstuffed pillows, Evangeline said, “I see you’re lacking none of the creature comforts.”
“Just because we’re warriors doesn’t mean we have to live like the half-wits. I don’t know who they think to impress by surviving the elements.”
She understood Fallyn’s sentiments. It was like the Fae men needed to test their endurance. As though they competed with the Mortal warriors they so often derided, but who Evangeline thought they grudgingly admired.
Fallyn flicked her wrist and another settee appeared. Two plates piled high with food appeared on top of the crimson velvet. Spying the slab of uncooked beef, obviously meant for her, Evangeline wrinkled her nose.
“Don’t turn up your nose. You need the meat to replenish your blood. Sit and eat.” Fallyn motioned them over to the settee with her gold-tined fork.
Evangeline tentatively nudged Aurora, who stood staring out into the blizzard, and prayed the child kept her promise. “Aurora.” She tipped her chin toward their dinner, relieved when the little girl walked over to the settee, sat down, and took up her plate without a word.
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