Sabine (2 page)

Her body warmed, but she shivered under his gaze. Memories of him had sustained her even as she'd ached for his touch, and the temptation to fall into him was strong.

Sabine shook herself. “I cannot touch you. I don't know what would happen.” She might lose him yet, a risk she couldn't bear to take.

“I know.” He turned his back on her, laying his hand on the chair. His rough leather armor emphasized the new broadness of his shoulders, the intimidating bulk of a man who had lived as a soldier. “Forget breakfast. My packs are attuned to me. We'll gather what you do not wish to leave behind and start back to the palace as wolves. It will be faster.”

“You want to go to the palace?”

“The witch may still be there. If not, I will find her. I know my mother's contacts well.”

So he'd meant the offer. Something inside Sabine mended suddenly, something she hadn't realized was broken. “Thank you, Ciar.”

“Do not thank me.” His words whipped through the cabin, harsh enough to cut. “It is because of me you suffer. You live in a hard, sad little hut, alone—”

His hand clenched convulsively on the back of the chair, and the wood shattered in his grasp. When he opened his fist, blood welled where splinters of wood had pierced his skin.

Sabine grabbed a clean apron and dipped it into the water bucket, only remembering at the last moment to hand it to him instead of ministering to his wounds herself. “It isn't your fault. I knew they were desperate to rid themselves of me. I thought…”

She'd thought she could handle it. That her will—and her love for Ciar—would triumph over any games they tried to play. But she hadn't counted on the witch.

“You're mine to protect,” he whispered. “I would have mated you before I left, if I could have. I was almost selfish enough to do so, even knowing you'd be bound to solitude if I died.”

“You were protecting me.” The last thing he'd wanted was to fall in battle and leave her alone and grieving him for the remainder of her days.

“Was I?” He pulled a splinter from his hand, the gesture rough and careless. “Have I saved you from solitude, then?”

Irritation pricked at her. “Very well, you left me to rot. Does it help to punish yourself?”

He blotted at the blood on his hand and sighed. “Perhaps I feel as if I deserve it. The punishment as well as your anger.”

She'd long since burned through any hurt or anger that he hadn't come to rescue her. She was strong enough to survive on her own. “This is new for you, but I have had time to ponder where blame lies. You should not punish yourself.”

Silence grew between them as he settled the cloth on the table and turned slowly. He bowed to her, not just an incline of his head but a full movement, putting his head lower than hers. “Very well. Please pack your things, Sabine. We have many days of travel ahead of us.”

“All right.” Everything she needed would fit into one of his packs, with plenty of room to spare. She took it wordlessly and crossed the room, where she began to tuck her belongings inside.

It didn't take long. The last thing she retrieved was the small glass vial she'd hidden behind a stack of wooden bowls. She checked the stopper and wrapped it in a spare bit of linen before shoving it in a small pouch sewn into the pack.

It's only in case,
she told herself for the hundredth time.
Just in case.

She dressed quickly in her only remaining attuned garments and turned to Ciar, though she avoided his eyes as she held out the pack. “I'm ready.”

 

 

Ciar could have run long into the night. He had, on the journey in search of her, snatching bits of sleep as he hunted rumors that faded to whispers. His time at war had, after all, accustomed him to hard living and exhaustion. He could have entrusted the bulk of his army to his First Warlord—Farran was more capable in the arts of death than Ciar would ever be—but a High Lord did not demand of his soldiers what he would not suffer himself.

Sabine was strong—she'd always been strong—but she couldn't tolerate the same punishing pace. After resting in a small village at noon, he led her toward a larger hamlet as the sun dipped in the west. A place where they could find a warm meal and a soft bed, where she could soak tired muscles in a hot bath.

They stopped in a copse of trees on the edge of a large clearing. Though they'd traveled mostly in silence, he reached out to her now, calling on the magic to wind his thoughts with hers.
“We'll spend the night here.”

She looked at the trees that surrounded them.
“This will do.”

“No,”
he corrected.
“We will change here and stay at the inn. I have been here before. The food is delicious, and the beds very soft.”

In a moment, a heartbeat, she knelt before him in her human form. “Must we, Ciar?”

It was habit now to stand as he changed, to be on two feet and ready to charge into battle. A mistake, since it meant she knelt before him, her blonde hair streaming down her back and her face tilted up. Desperate fantasy stirred, an image of golden locks wrapped around his fists as her sweet little tongue lapped at his cock, all eagerness and arousal he could scent in the air.

Maybe his leathers hid his fierce hunger. Perhaps it didn't matter, when he couldn't keep it out of his rasping voice. “Why do you wish to stay in the forest?”

She lowered her eyes, though not before her gaze hesitated on the front of his pants. Her pale throat worked as she swallowed. “Still trying to protect you, I suppose. Silly, isn't it? A woman like me, trying to shield the High Lord.”

Not silly at all, when she held his heart in her slender hands. “Protect me from what?” he asked gently. “Nothing in that town holds any danger for me.”

She didn't answer. Instead, she stretched out her hand only to quickly pull it away. “Take me to the inn, please, and we will see.”

He wanted to help her to her feet. Offer her his arm. Sheer torture to do neither, but he didn't question his self-control when her heart was at stake. “It's only a short walk,” he promised, then stepped into the clearing.

Sabine followed him silently, keeping behind him but not far. She didn't speak, not even when he opened the inn door and ushered her inside.

A dark-haired woman with a sweet face waved them to a table in the corner. “Good evenin'. Fancy a drink or some supper?”

Perhaps they could escape to a private room without being recognized. “A room—a suite, if you have it—and dinner in private.” He unhooked his pouch from his belt and drew out a heavy gold coin, a dozen times the worth of the finest room and ten meals.

The barmaid's eyes went wide. “We have but one room that would suit. There's stew in the pot, but I'm bettin' we could find something else in the larder, if you prefer.”

“Is Nadia still in charge of the kitchens?” At the girl's hasty nod, he smiled. “Tell her that her tall friend from the north is here and needs dinner for two. Her best, and as much of it as she has to spare.”

“Dinner for two, you and the lady.” The woman beamed and turned for the kitchens.

Sabine stood beside him, fidgeting with the lace cuff on her dress. “Did you travel this way often before the war?”

He didn't wait to be led to the suite. He knew where it was, and he
was
the High Lord. “From time to time. Nadia is the best cook in a hundred leagues.”

Sabine smiled, a tiny curving of her full lips. “Better than Henkel?”

His sudden, deep laughter startled him. How long had it been since he'd laughed freely? “I should think it a testament to my regard for you that I suffered through five courses of that meal.”

“Honestly? I half wish you had demanded we leave in a fit of royal pique.”

“The next time someone puts charred duck and barely cooked bread in front of us, I will most certainly do so.”

She laughed at that, a sound he remembered all too well. “I would be eternally grateful.”

The innkeeper puffed up the stairs behind them, red faced and out of breath. “My Lo—I mean, good sir.” His face turned redder, making Ciar intensely grateful that the poor man had no need to make deception a daily habit. “The suite is at your disposal, you and the lady. May I show you the way?”

“You may,” he allowed, stepping aside to give Sabine room to back up without brushing against him. “Thank you for your discretion. My lady and I wish to enjoy an undisturbed dinner and evening alone.”

“Yes, yes, of course.” He panted as he pulled a ring of keys from his belt and led them down the hall. “Nadia has started your meal, as requested. Would you like anything in the meantime?”

“No, thank you.” Ciar waited until the man opened the door and gestured Sabine inside, then pressed another coin into his hand. “For your understanding,” he murmured.

He inclined his head as he backed away. “You're too generous, sir.”

When the innkeeper had gone, Sabine wrapped her arm around one of the bed's four posters and smiled ruefully. “He probably thinks I'm another man's wife, you know.”

“Perhaps.” Ciar closed the door and turned the giant brass key for good measure. If Nadia arrived and found the door locked, she would leave the food, knowing better than to disturb him. “Were it mine to choose, you'd be naked already.”

Her breath hitched. “You are the High Lord, leader of all the wolves. I imagine everything is yours to choose.”

“Is it?” Oh, what a dangerous game he played—but what could brand her in his memory more fully than the sight of her lost in ecstasy? “You never bent to me unless it pleased you, sweet Sabine. And you never let me forget the power you could wield from your knees.”

She toyed with the end of one blonde curl. “Was that what enchanted you, Ciar? That I never gave a damn about your birthright? That I only wanted you?”

Enchanted him, bewitched him. “It's a heady thing for a lord, to be craved as a man.”

“Yes, I craved you.” Her fingers trailed from her hair to the laces of her bodice. “I dreamt of you. Your hands on my body.”

He couldn't have the triumphant homecoming he'd dreamed of, but he could have her. He backed up, dropped onto a padded chair and reached for the laces on his left boot. “Show me,” he commanded. Not the High Lord to a subject—a man to a woman. A strong wolf to his mate.

“You will not touch me?” She seemed torn between relief and disappointment.

“You will touch yourself at my command. Your hands, my will.” He smiled at her as he tugged his boot free, a wicked smile with a feral edge she would recognize. He had taken her so many ways, and this was just one more. A game to be played, until the pleasure made the rules irrelevant. “Unlace your bodice, my love.”

She swayed as if weak-kneed, though it took her only a moment to steady herself. “Say it again,” she whispered as she unknotted the lace.

“My love.” He traced her features, studied the sweep of her pale brows and her high cheekbones, how color flooded her cheeks when he watched her. It was impossible to believe that magic could erase this beloved face from his memory when the years and endless bloody battles had not.

Her bodice loosened, and she let the dress billow to the floor before reaching down to gather her gauzy shift in both hands. “I remember your smiles,” she whispered. “The way you held me. Even the way you would stroke your thumb over the back of my neck as you rested your hand on my shoulder. Everything. And you're beautiful.”

She kicked off her slippers, stripped the shift over her head and stood there, naked and waiting.

Three years had changed so much and yet nothing. She was still gorgeous, lush and desirable. But her curves were more pronounced now, her hips more rounded, her breasts fuller. He ached to touch, to trace his fingertips over every inch of her. To taste her. To possess her.

Instead he stripped off his other boot and reached for the fastening on his leathers. “I'm not as beautiful as you are. No one could be.”

Her gaze lingered on him, a caress that she echoed by skimming one hand lightly over her own skin. “I don't believe you. You're…Ciar.”

“Only with you.” His sturdy vest hit the floor, and he nearly snapped the ties on his shirt in his haste to pull it over his head. “Kneel on the bed. Facing me.”

She did, moving gracefully. When she knelt, her knees parted wide, he could see the wet glisten of arousal. He remembered how it felt to slide deep into her cunt, to have her hot and tight around him.

His cock strained against his pants as he reached for his belt. “Lick your fingers.”

Sabine touched her mouth, and her tongue snuck out to slick over her fingertips. “Can I see you?”

“Soon.” Not too soon, though. He slowed his movements. “I would take your nipple between my lips. Tease you until your back arched, then use my teeth.”

She held his gaze and caught her nipple between her fingers. “How hard would you bite me?”

“Until you whimpered, and I knew it was close to too much.”

She twisted the hard peak and moaned. “Never too much, Ciar. Never
enough
.”

He dropped his belt and reached for his pants. “Now the other one.”

Her back arched as she squeezed her other breast. “You don't even need to touch me, do you?”

Oh, he needed to touch her. Needed it more than his next breath—but he'd never pain her with that knowledge, wouldn't break the spell and make tonight
not enough
. “Do you want to see how hard I've grown from watching you?”

She shook, her hunger painted plainly on her features, and one hand dropped to her thigh. “Please, Ciar. Show me your desire.”

He stripped off his pants and stood before her, naked and aroused. On display, and unaccustomed nervousness stirred. The years had changed him, too, and there was always the chance she could look on him now and find him lacking.