Enchanted (14 page)

“I don’t know. I just know there should. There has to be.” Thoughtfully she reached up to straighten his tie. “You’re the son my parents always wanted. You’re kind, and you’re smart and so wonderfully steady. They love both of us.” She lifted her gaze to his, thought—hoped—she saw the beginnings of understanding there. “So they assumed we’d cooperate and marry each other. And they convinced you that you wanted the same thing. But do you, Alan? Do you really?”

He looked down at their joined hands. “I can’t imagine you not being part of my life.”

“I’ll always be part of it.” She tilted her head, leaned forward and laid her lips on his. At the gesture, the wolf rose, stalked over and snarled. She put an absent hand on his head as she drew back, and studied Alan. “Did that make your blood swim or your heart flip? Of course not,” she murmured before he could answer. “You don’t want me, Alan, not the way a man wildly in love wants. You can’t make love and passion logical.”

“If you came back, we could try.” When she only shook her head, he tightened his grip on her hand. “I don’t want to lose you, Rowan. You matter to me.”

“Then let me be happy. Let me know that at least one person I matter to, and who matters to me, can accept what I want to do.”

“I can’t stop you.” Resigned now, he lifted his shoulders. “You’ve changed, Rowan. In three short weeks, you’ve changed. Maybe you are happy, or maybe you’re just playing at being happy. Either way, we’ll all be there if you change your mind.”

“I know.”

“I should go. It’s a long drive to the airport.”

“I—I can fix you a meal. You can stay the night if you like and go back in the morning.”

“It’s best if I go now.” Skimming a cautious glance toward the hovering wolf, he rose, “I don’t know what I think, Rowan, and don’t honestly know what I’ll say to your parents. They were sure you’d be coming back with me.”

“Tell them I love them. And I’m happy.”

“I’ll tell them—and try to convince them. But since I’m not sure I believe it myself …” He sneezed again, backed away. “Don’t get up,” he told her, certain it was safer if she kept that light hand on her dog’s ferocious head. “I’ll let myself out. You ought to get a collar for that thing, at least … make sure he’s had his shots and—”

The sneezing fit shook his long, lanky frame so that he walked to the door with the handkerchief over his face. It looked as though the dog was grinning at him, which he knew was ridiculous.

“I’ll call you,” he managed to say, and rushed out into the fresh air.

“I hurt him.” Rowan let out a deep sigh and laid her cheek atop the wolf’s head as she listened to the sound of the rental car’s engine springing to life. “I couldn’t find a way not to. Just like I couldn’t find the way to love him.” She turned her face, comforting herself with the feel of that warm, soft fur. “You’re so brave. You’re so strong,” she crooned. “And you scared poor Alan half to death.”

She laughed a little, but the sound was perilously close to a sob. “Me, too, I guess. You looked magnificent coming through the window. So savage, so fierce. So beautiful. Teeth snapping, eyes gleaming, and that marvelous body fluid as rain.”

She slid off the couch to kneel beside him, to burrow against him. “I love you,” she murmured, felt him quiver as she caressed him. “It’s so easy with you.”

They stayed like that for a long, long time, with the wolf staring into the dying fire and listening to her quiet breathing.

*  *  *

Liam kept her busy and kept her close over the next three weeks. She loved the work—and that helped him justify spending so much time with her. It was true enough that most of her sketching could—even should—have been done on her own. But she didn’t argue when he insisted she come to him nearly every day to work.

It was only to … keep an eye on her, he told himself. To observe her, to help him decide what to do next. And when to do it. It wasn’t as if he wanted her company, particularly. He preferred working alone, and certainly didn’t need the distraction of her, the scent and the softness. Or the chatter that was by turns charming and revealing. He certainly didn’t need the offerings she so often brought over. Tarts and cookies and little cakes.

As often as not they were soggy or burned—and incredibly sweet.

It wasn’t as if he couldn’t do without her very, very easily. That’s what he told himself every day as he waited restlessly for her to arrive.

If he went to her nightly in wolf form, it was only because he understood she was lonely, and that she looked forward to the visits. Perhaps he did enjoy lying beside her on the big canopy bed, listening to her read aloud from one of her books. Watching her fall asleep, invariably with her glasses on and the lamplight shining.

And if he often watched her in sleep, it wasn’t because she was so lovely, so fragile. It was only because she was a puzzle that needed to be solved. A problem that required logical handling.

His heart, he continued to assure himself, was well protected.

He knew the next step was approaching. A time when he would put the choice of what they became to each other in her hands.

Before he did, she would have to know who he was. And what he was.

He could have taken her as a lover without revealing himself. He had done so before with other women.
What business had it been of theirs, after all? His powers, his heritage, his life, were his own.

But that might not be the case with Rowan.

She had a heritage of her own, one she knew nothing of. There would also come a time he would have to tell her of that, and convince her of what ran through her blood.

What she would do about it would be her own choice.

The choice to educate her had been his.

But he guarded his heart still. Desire was acceptable, but love was too big a risk.

On the night of the solstice, when magic was thick and the night came late, he prepared the circle. Deep in the woods, he stood in the center of the stone dance. Around him, the air sang, the sweet song of the ancients, the lively tune of the young, the shimmering strains of those who watched and waited.

And the aching harpstrings of hope.

The candles were white and slender, as were the flowers that lay between them. He wore a robe the color of moonglow belted with the jewels of his rank.

The wind caught his unbound hair as he lifted his face to the last light of the yielding sun. Beams of it fired the trees, shot lances of glimmering gold through the branches to lie like honed swords at his feet.

“What I do here, I do freely, but I make no vow to the woman or to my blood. No duty binds me, no promises made. Hear my voice before this longest day dies. I will call her, and she will come, but I will not use what I have beyond the call. What she sees, what she remembers and believes, is for her to decide.”

He watched the silver owl swoop, then perch imperiously on the king stone.

“Father,” he said, formally and with a bow. “Your wishes are known, but if I were ruled by them, would I rule others wisely?”

Knowing that question would irritate, Liam turned away before the smile could touch his lips. Once more he lifted his face. “I call Earth.” He opened his hand to reveal the deep, rich soil he held. “And Wind.” The breeze rose up high and wild, tossing the earth into a spiral. “And Fire.” Two columns of ice blue flame speared up, shivered. “Witness here what fate will conspire. A song in the blood, the power at hand.”

His eyes began to glow, twin flames against the glowing dark. “To honor both I’ve come to this strange land. If she’s mine, we both will see. As I will so mote it be.”

Then he turned, lighting each of the candles with a flick of his hand until their flames shot up clear gold and straight as arrows. The wind leaped up, howled like a thousand wolves on the hunt, but remained warm and fragrant with sea and pine and wildflowers.

It billowed the sleeves of his robe, streamed through his hair. And he tasted in it the power of the night.

“Moon rise full and Moon rise white, light her path to me tonight. Guide her here to the circle by the sea. As I will so mote it be.”

He lowered the hands he had flung up to the sky, and peered through the night, through the trees and the dark, to where she slept restlessly in her bed.

“Rowan,” he said with something like a sigh, “it’s time. No harm will come to you. It’s the only promise I’ll make. You don’t need to wake. You know the way in your dreams. I’m waiting for you.”

*  *  *

Something … called her. She could hear it, a murmur in the mind, a question. Stirring in sleep, she searched for the answer. But there was only wonder.

She rose, stretching luxuriously, enjoying the feel of the silky new nightshirt against her thighs. It was so nice to be out of flannel. Smiling to herself, she slipped into a robe of the same deep blue as her eyes, tucked her feet into slippers.

Anticipation shivered along her skin.

In that half dream, she walked down the steps, trailing her fingertips along the banister. The light in her eyes, the smile on her lips, were those of a woman going to meet her lover.

She thought of him, of Liam, the lover of her dreams, as she walked out of the house and into the swirling white fog.

The trees were curtained behind it, the path invisible. The air, moist and warm on her skin, seemed to sigh, then to part. She moved through it without fear, into that soft white sea of mist with the full white moon riding the sky above, and the stars glimmering like points of ice.

Trees closed in like sentinels. Ferns stirred in the damp breeze and shimmered with wet. She heard the long, deep call of an owl and turned without thought or hesitation toward the sound. Once, she saw him, huge and grand and as silver as the mist, with the glint of gold on his breast and the flash of green eyes.

Like walking through a fairy tale. A part of her mind recognized, acknowledged and embraced the magic of it, while another part slept, not yet ready to see, not yet ready to know. But her heart beat strong and steady and her steps were quick and light.

If there were eyes peeking from between the lacy branches of the ferns, if there was joyful laughter tinkling down from the high spreading branches of the firs, she could only enjoy it.

At each step, each turn of the path, the fog shimmered clear to open the way for her.

And the water sang quietly.

She saw the lights glowing, little fires in the night. She smelled sea, candle wax, sweet, fragrant flowers. Her soft smile spread as she stepped into the clearing, to the dance of stones.

Fog shivered at the edges, like a foamy hem, but didn’t slide between stone and candle and flowers. So he stood in the center, on clear ground, his robe white as the moonshine, the jewels belting it flashing with power and light.

If his heart jerked at the sight of her, if it trembled on the edge of where he’d vowed it would not go, he ignored it.

“Will you come in, Rowan?” he asked, and held out a hand.

Something in her yearned. Something in her shuddered. But her smile remained as she took another step. “Of course I will.” And walked through the stones.

Something throbbed on the air, along her skin, in her heart. She heard the stones whisper. The lights of the candles flickered, swayed, then flamed straight up again.

Their fingertips brushed. Her eyes stayed on his, trusting, when those fingers linked firm. “I dream of you, every night.” She sighed it, and would have moved into him, but he laid a hand on her shoulder. “And long for you through the days.”

“You don’t understand, neither the rewards nor the consequences. And you must.”

“I know I want you. You’ve already seduced me, Liam.”

A tiny finger of guilt scraped up his spine. “I’m not without needs.”

She reached up, cupped his cheek. And her voice was soft where his had been rough. “Do you need me?”

“I want you.” Need was too much, too weak, too risky.

“I’m here.” She lifted her face to his. “Won’t you kiss me?”

“Aye.” He leaned down, kept his eyes open and on hers. “Remember this,” he murmured when his lips were a breath from hers. “Remember this, Rowan, if you can.” And his mouth brushed over hers, once, then again. Testing. Then a gentle nip to make her shiver.

When she sighed, one long, quiet breath, he covered her mouth with his, drawing out the moment, the magic, sliding into the taste and texture of her. The warm, slow tangle of tongues thickened his pulse, called to his blood.

On either side of them, the cool blue fire burned bright.

“Hold me. Liam, touch me. I’ve waited so long.”

The sound he made in his throat was caught between growl and groan as he dragged her to him and let his hands roam.

Take her here, take her now, in the circle where we’ll be bound. It would be done. That primal urge to cover her, to bury himself in her, warred viciously with his honor. What did it matter what she knew, what she wanted or believed? What did it matter what he gained or lost? There was now, only now, with her hot and eager in his arms and her mouth like a flame against his.

“Lie with me here.” Her lips tore from his to race wildly over his face, down his throat. “Make love with me here.” She already knew what it would be. Dreams and fantasies danced in her mind, and she knew. Urgent
and elemental, fast and potent. And she wanted, wanted, wanted the mad, mindless thrill.

In one rough move, he pushed the robe from her shoulder and set his teeth on that bare flesh. The taste of her swirled through him, drugged wine to cloud the senses. “Do you know who I am?” he demanded.

“Liam.” His name was already pounding in her head.

He jerked her back, stared into her dark eyes. “Do you know what I am?”

“Different.” It was all she could be sure of, though more, much more hovered at the edge of her senses.

“You’re still afraid to know it.” And if she feared that, how much more might she fear her own blood? “When you can say it, you’ll be ready to give yourself to me. And take what I give you.”

Her eyes glowed, deep and blue. Her trembles weren’t from fear or cold, but from desire straining for release. “Why isn’t this enough?”