And she could smell it, the chocolate. It smelled like heaven.
“For the gods’ sake, woman. What’s the matter? If you love it, then why are you holding back? It’s just food, not manuscripts and gold.” He took a piece and teased it between her lips.
Shocked by his sudden intrusion into her personal space, she felt her mouth drop open and then her tongue came into contact with the sweet. This was ridiculous. She couldn’t spit it out now. She’d licked it.
Meeting his gaze, she burst out laughing, cupping her hands underneath her chin to keep from accidentally dropping the piece.
He grinned. Above his head, his wolf grinned too.
Behind her came a rush of frigid air, and both she and the commander turned.
Gordon had entered, carrying a tray with two goblets and a pewter jug. His expression remained as impassive as ever, but as he took in their laughing faces, his psyche turned sharper, darker. When he offered her the contents on the tray, his psyche hissed at her.
Carefully, she kept from reacting. As she took a goblet, she scanned both him and the drinks he carried.
Was Gordon the poisoner she had sensed back at the dock?
~ 4 ~
No, her wine “felt” safe enough to drink, and this man was too straightforward for poison. She was all but sure of it. If he was going to kill someone, he would go for the throat. Or the heart.
Poison took a stealthy patience, iron nerves, and the ability to lie—or at least misdirect well enough—to someone with truthsense under pressure.
“Thank you,” she said as she accepted it.
He gave her a short nod and handed Wulfgar the other goblet, then set the jug on the table. “Will that be all, my lord?”
“No, you might as well order an early supper,” Wulfgar said. “Have Jada bring two plates for the priestess and me. I want you to prepare quarters for her. After we eat, we’ll get her settled for the night. I want her close by.”
Once again, he was disposing of her as if she were a possession. Frowning, she opened her mouth, but Gordon spoke first.
“Shall I prepare my tent?” he asked. “Since it’s beside yours, it would be easy enough for the guards to keep watch over her as well. I can make a pallet for myself in here, if that would suffice. Or, if you would prefer, I’m sure Jermaine will be amenable if I bunk with him. You’ll have to send for me if you want something.”
“Go ahead and bunk with Jermaine,” Wulfgar told him. “Once supper arrives, I won’t need your services until morning. And be sure to add another brazier and plenty of fuel to your tent. Extra bedding as well.”
“Very good, sir.” Bowing his head, Gordon slipped out.
Sucking a tooth sourly, Lily contemplated the contents in her goblet. When Wulfgar turned to her, she could feel his attention, almost as if it were a physical touch.
“Now what does that expression imply?” He sounded amused.
She took a sip, more to procrastinate for a few moments than from any real desire to drink. She knew what Margot would do—Margot would fume at the preemptory treatment and probably start another argument, but that didn’t seem productive.
The warm wine was an explosion of flavor, spiced with cinnamon, cloves, and orange. After she swallowed, she said cautiously, “I’m not used to being talked about as if I’m not in the room, or disposed of like a… a trunk full of books. But I’m also not experienced at being a liaison for anybody, so…”
“Point taken. Next time I’ll include you in the discussion.” He took a seat, letting his long legs sprawl, and drank wine. “What do you see your role as?”
She shrugged. “I’m not a servant, but I’m not an official ambassador either. I—We—Basically Margot told me to try to behave myself and explain anything you needed to have explained.”
“And assess my camp. Assess me.” His gaze was penetrating. She felt as she had back on the dock, that he was taking in every detail about her and probably seeing more than she wanted him to see. That thought brought a wash of warmth to her face.
“Yes,” she admitted.
“So… assess me.” He gestured at the empty seat across from him. “What do you see?”
Moving to take the seat, she studied him. The black linen shirt revealed the strong, clean lines of his throat and the swell of muscle at the top of his pectoral. Even in such a relaxed pose he conquered the space, the tip of his boots almost reaching hers. His dark hair fell on his forehead, giving his hard features a somewhat boyish look.
No, that wasn’t the right word. There was nothing boyish about the dangerous man lounging so casually across from her.
Roguish. That was the word. The disheveled hair seemed to bely the discipline he had shown so far. He was amused by her.
She said, “You carry a great deal of rage, and you’re driven to accomplish what you have set out to do. It couldn’t wait until the spring—you needed to take action immediately. You won’t turn back or turn aside. But you’re disciplined about it, and despite your anger you’re thinking about the welfare of your men. From what little I’ve seen, you have a code that you are determined to live by, at least when you can. I haven’t seen enough of you to know what might happen to that code when you’re under duress.”
As she spoke, the roguish gleam in his gaze faded, and she fell silent, suddenly uncertain. Maybe she had read him wrong. Maybe he hadn’t really wanted to hear what she thought. But if he hadn’t, then why had he asked her?
She wanted to flail. She was no good in any social situation.
“Don’t stop now.” He tossed back the last of the wine in his goblet. “You just got started.”
So that meant he truly did want to hear the rest of it. Right?
Biting her lip, she continued. “You’re not above seizing every opportunity that comes your way, and you never stop thinking about how to turn things to your advantage. You’re a strategist. I’m no good at strategy, so I would be wary of playing chess with you because you’re always thinking four steps ahead. Your words carried a ring of truth when you said you did not kill the lord of Braugne. You haven’t said specifically who you believe did, but it is clear you see the king of Guerlan as your antagonist, so naturally there are inferences to be drawn. And yet this campaign of yours is about so much more than just avenging your lord’s death. You have the soul of a conqueror.” She hesitated, and then made herself say the rest of it. “I don’t think you will rest until you have taken all of Ys under your rule.”
As she finished, he watched her with the same hard, grim expression he had worn on the barge. Unpredictable. Uncompromising. The wolf in his psyche watched her as well, tension in its figure as if it were about to pounce.
He said in a soft, even voice, “That was unexpected.”
Wulf watched as Lily bit her lip.
She was a study in delicacy—the narrow features, the slender bones underneath thin skin, the fine hair that had slipped out of its confinement and tumbled to her shoulders in a gleaming fall of silk. Slender fingers wandered along the rim of her goblet, and the light from the fire in the brazier revealed a subtle play of shadows on her throat muscles as she swallowed.
He had known, and appreciated, many beautiful women in his life, but Lily was more than merely beautiful.
She was fascinating.
Unlike fashionable ladies who protected their skin, she still carried a tan from the summer’s sun, but that didn’t prevent him from seeing every fluctuation of betraying color in her cheeks.
She asked, wryly, “Too much?”
“Not at all. To be honest, I didn’t think you had it in you.” He set his goblet aside. “I’m beginning to understand why your prime minister went along with your coming with me.”
Someone who was not watching her as closely as he might not have noticed how she stilled at that.
But he did, and he waited for any confessions she might see fit to tell him.
Bending her face to her drink, she took another sip and asked, “What do you
mean?”
He suppressed a smile. She used that thick, unwieldy goblet as if she could truly hide behind it.
The naivete of that was amusing. After every astute observation she had just made, she should realize nothing could hide her from him, not now that he had fixed his attention upon her.
He said, “You might be clumsy in social situations, but you more than make up for it by how observant you are.” He paused a beat, then deliberately switched to a lighter tone. “I think you should eat more chocolate.”
Sitting straight, her gaze flew wide, and the memory of laughter woke her face to that bright, spectacular something again. “No, thank you. I-I’m sure I shouldn’t… I probably shouldn’t have eaten that first piece, except you shoved it in my mouth, so what was I supposed to do? It’s too expensive to spit on your rugs.”
“I could do it again,” he said, bringing his voice down low, almost to a whisper. “I could press a piece right between your lips, and what would you do then?”
She met his gaze, her expression a delicious concoction of scandalized rejection, helpless desire, and that suppressed laughter that flitted like a white butterfly on an unpredictable wind.
An invisible connection throbbed between them, unexpectedly powerful and undeniable.
He had meant to tease her. He had not expected to find this small, awkward woman sexy.
Moving slowly so he didn’t frighten her, he pulled out of his lounging position and stood as he asked, still in that low voice, “Should I tell you what I see about you?”
The hint of laughter vanished. “I don’t think that would be a productive use of our time together, Commander.”
He was almost sorry to see her laughter go. Almost, except this consternation was even more delicious than anything else.
But her attempt at a more formal address was irritating. “Don’t call me Commander. Call me Wulf.” Scooping the opened bar of chocolate from the table, he strolled toward her. “What, in your opinion, would be a productive use of our time together?”
“Shouldn’t we continue talking about Calles, and Braugne, and what might be the best way to–to… to…” As he knelt in front of her, she leaned back in her seat, her widened gaze bouncing from his face to the chocolate he held in one hand. Coaxing the goblet out of her hands, he set it to one side.
“To what, Lily?” he asked, breaking a piece of chocolate off from the bar. “To strengthen relations between us?”
The tantalizing color rushed under her fine skin, and she turned scolding. “You should not be so–so…”
“I should not be so what, Lily?” Leaning toward her, he teased the plump edge of her bottom lip with the chocolate as he whispered, “I think you might know what I intend to do. Tell me yes or tell me no.”
As he looked deeply into her eyes, he could tell she had begun to wonder if he was still talking about the chocolate. She opened her mouth, those delicate, fine lips trembling on the verge of a response.
In that moment, he felt desire as keen as a sword thrust. Slipping the chocolate between her parted lips, he stroked it along her tongue. After hesitating, her lips closed on the candy and she sucked it.
He took a deep, quiet breath as his groin tightened. Oh yes. Now they had begun an entirely different conversation.
The tent flap lifted, and a tall, thin man wrapped in a cloak shouldered his way inside. It was Jada, carrying in the food tray.
At the intrusion, Lily jerked away from Wulf, wiping her mouth with the back of one hand. Smoothly, he straightened from his kneeling position. An experienced campaigner knew when to press forward and when to retreat.
Jada had frozen halfway in. His quick gaze bounced from Lily to Wulf, then to the laden tray he balanced.
“For the gods’ sake, man!” Wulf snapped. “Don’t stand there with the tent flap open. Come in!”
“Of course, my lord!” The other man jerked forward, and the tent flap fell behind him, blocking out the bitter cold. “I’ll just lay out the supper and be on my way.”
Wulf glanced back at Lily. She had snatched up a book and opened it, appearing to study the text intently while red color bloomed in her cheeks. He bit back a sudden urge to laugh.
He couldn’t remember when he had last wanted a woman as badly as he wanted this one or when he had last been so entertained.
We’re not done with our discussion, he told her, his telepathic voice silken with intent.
She snapped the book shut and grabbed at another. I don’t know what you’re talking about, Commander.
Not ‘Commander.’ Wulf.
Oh fine—Wulf! I shouldn’t have eaten that second piece of chocolate either. I’m probably going to hell for it.
What are you talking about? He wanted to laugh. What is this hell you refer to, and why would you go there for eating chocolate?
She hunched her shoulders. The religions of the Elder Races don’t really have a hell, do they? It’s an Earth concept. It’s where you go when you’ve been very bad.
And how are you being very bad? Is it the politics of it? The appearance of support? All the evidence of any chocolate transgression has melted away. He couldn’t resist and strolled over to her.
Even though she never looked up from her book, her breathing quickened as he drew near. She was as aware of him as he was of her.
Coming up behind her, he bent to whisper in her ear, “Relax. I give you my word, no one need ever know what transpires in this tent.”
He watched her profile in the golden light, the way she licked her lips, the lacy shadow that lay on her cheeks from the curve of her dark eyelashes. She looked at him out of the corner of her eye, and he almost took her in his arms right then and there, despite the manservant behind them who lay the supper dishes out on the table.
He had no time for this. For her.
His brother’s killer sat on Guerlan’s throne. Weather mages were working constantly to threaten his army, and he had ambitions. Yes, by the gods, she had been correct. He did have ambitions.
This woman didn’t factor into any of his goals or schemes. And yet he was drawn to dally, if but for a moment or two, to share warmth on a bitter winter’s night, to smile at the multitude of ways she managed to be so transparent and yet still surprise him.
To discover the taste of her mouth, the sensation of her body against his.
In the fleeting privacy created by his bigger body as he stood between her and the manservant, he reached around her shoulder to lightly trace the satiny skin of her neck, the line of her jaw. He felt her swallow at his touch, and he was so rock hard from that tiny interaction he had to move.
Move toward her or away.
“I’ll just refill the wine goblets, my lord, and add them to the table,” Jada murmured.
Quiet though the manservant’s voice was, it was a shattering intrusion. Lily jerked away from his touch, slapped the book shut and slammed it down on the pile. Her hands were trembling.
After sucking in a deep breath to compose himself, Wulf clamped down on his temper to avoid snapping at the manservant. “Of course.”
Moving neatly around the space, Jada collected the goblets and set them at the table, then refilled them and stepped back. Biting back a smile, Wulf wondered how a dinner conversation with Lily would go. He could hardly wait to find out.
She had backed several steps away and was staring at him as if she half expected him to come after her.
And he was definitely more than half tempted.
But a strategist also knew how to play a long game.
Gesturing toward the table, he said, “Come have a seat. I don’t keep an elaborate table during a campaign, but the food will be hot and filling.”
“It smells delicious.” Her gaze went to the table, and her slender brows drew together. Walking over, she sat at one of the tree-stump chairs before he could move to pull it back for her, then inspected the food on her plate.
Wulf glanced at his plate too. It was piled high with generous slices of
roast venison, potatoes, carrots, and gravy, all perfectly straightforward and easily recognizable, so he wasn’t sure what to make of her reaction.
“Like I said, it’s not fancy, but I have a good cook, and one of my guard tastes everything before any food or drink is brought into the tent.” He sat opposite her and picked up his wine goblet.
As he brought it to his lips, her expression changed.
Jumping up, she slapped the goblet out of his hand. It spun through the air, wine spilling from it in a wide crimson spray like blood spurting from an arterial wound.
He met her wide, frightened gaze. Aggression roared to life in his body, and his thoughts raced like a runaway horse.
They had already drunk from the wine in the jug. When it had been brought into the tent, it had already been tasted. The only way it could have poison in it was…
Before the wine goblet could descend on its inevitable downward arc, Jada moved when he did, whipping out a long knife from a sheath at his waist. As Wulf grabbed his sword from where it lay, the other man kicked the tabletop.
The planks were only loosely laid in place on the wooden frames. Supper dishes, jars of caviar, and chocolate flew everywhere. One plank struck Wulf squarely in the chest, knocking him back a beat, while Lily scrambled away, tripped, and sprawled on the rugs.
Jada leaped.
At Lily.
Wulf gripped his sword by the sheath but he had no time to draw the blade. Growling, he thrust the plank aside and sprang at the other man, body-slamming him.
Agile as a cat, Jada twisted to slice at him with the knife. Jerking up the sword, he blocked the knife from reaching from his throat, but fire ran across the heel of his hand as Jada’s blade bit deep.
Lily cried out. Still on the ground, underneath the two men, she had rolled onto her stomach and was trying to crawl away.
Shifting his grip on the sword sheath to use it like a blunt weapon, Wulf slammed the pommel into Jada’s face. The man’s cheekbone shattered under the force of the blow.
The Chosen: A Novella of the Elder Races Page 4
