The Matchmaker's Mark (25 page)

~*~

With Lily wilted over him, Dare watched the vines of moonflowers shrink back into the earth, the blooms winking out one by one. He found the fading as beautiful as the blooming she'd created.

Tracing her nape, shoulder and spine, he used his magic to keep her warm. While he might have begun this night intent on finding and protecting the Matchmaker, possibly even tying her down until she came to her senses, none of that held much importance at the moment.

He suspected Amy had more gifts she'd forgotten and they wouldn't fail her if she was in trouble. As Camille's bodyguard, he'd learned much of the Campbell history. Their inherent power through the centuries seemed a bit self-serving to him, but maybe that was the way it should be.

Lily trembled under his fingers. "That tickles."

He stilled his fingers, surprised to realize he'd been tracing symbols of protection on her hips.

"Is this better?" He boldly palmed the round cheek of her bottom. Her soft hum felt like a purr against his chest. "That sounds like a yes."

He couldn't stop touching her, hoped she never moved, unless it was to start the fun all over.

She hummed again, pressed kisses over his chest. The moment couldn't be sweeter. Until she shifted up and away from him.

He tucked her next to him, not quite ready to move in any direction. Moving meant thinking about the next step, and he didn't know what that was yet.

"That was lovely," she murmured. "Thank you."

Thank you?

"I saw flowers," she added.

He seized the moment. "Flowers you made."

A self-deprecating snort was her answer. He pushed the issue. She needed to recognize her power. "I'm serious. You kissed me and moonflowers grew all around us." He rolled just enough to face her, to hold her chin still so she could see him and believe in herself. "All around us like a bower seeded by the queen."

She shook her head, denial pooling in her eyes. "Don't talk like that. I'm just a halfling."

"Nothing 'just' about you. You're a female with a soft heart. You've already accomplished two transfers and even blocked one." He released her chin to touch the pulse jumping in her throat. "With tough hands." He skimmed her arm to trace her calloused palm. "And deep magic." He feathered his fingertips over the outline of her mark.

She sucked in a breath, but he couldn't tell if it was pain or fear or excitement.

"Enough," she said, the word sounding far too final. "You have things to do. And we shouldn't be here."

"Lily." He waited until she stopped searching for clothes to spare him a glance. "Lily," he started again. "This was special, important. For me. For you too?" He hated his love struck tone, but he couldn't help it. He'd just made love to the woman of his dreams. Literally. He'd taken her virginity and now he laid his heart at her feet. Expectations and futures be damned, he'd happily forget duty and retirement, he'd live apart from his family house if necessary. He sure as hell wasn't living without her.

"It…it was fine. Dammit!"

Fine? Just when he thought his pride couldn't sink lower. She'd been avoiding eye contact, but he'd been storing up every nuance of the way she moved, of the night hiding and illuminating her body in turns. She held the sweatshirt he'd sliced off, her face terribly sad.

He reached for her, but she flinched away. Tears choked her voice. "This was my lucky sweatshirt. I can't believe I let you do this."

Seemed to him the sweatshirt had been plenty lucky for both of them. But the knife was enchanted so anything it sliced couldn't be repaired. "I'll replace it."

"No." Her hair billowed in a cloud around her face, hiding her expression. "No. You can't replace this. I can't believe I let you slice through my wedding sweatshirt."

"What?" In all his years with the Matchmaker he'd never heard of such a garment. And he'd heard of many an odd tradition and costume on their travels. She sounded as though she was taking full blame when she had to realize they'd both been lost in the moment, in each other.

Feeling an uncertainty he'd never known, he wanted the shelter of his own clothing. Clothing he was fairly sure was marked with her own brand of damage.

"Well, that's classic. Mention a wedding and the males run for cover."

He bit back a terrible retort. Why was she sniping at him? After the beauty of their mating, after he'd laid his feelings at her feet, where was this hostility coming from? Grateful for years of shielding his own emotions as well as Camille's, he tugged his jeans into place before he faced Lily.

"I did not know the significance of the garment." I knew only the significance of you. "I am sorry." He thought his teeth might crack on the effort of restraint. "When were you meant to wear it?" And how would he bear losing her, much less make it up to the elders of her house for deflowering her?

He spun away, fury twisting his gut, searing his heart and licking up his throat. He wanted to shout, to shake her for not telling him she was promised.

She made no sense. He'd heard her just days ago, speaking of a cruise in order to find a man to bed her. Although if she were promised, and thinking such thoughts, it would be one more reason Cade guarded her so well.

"Next Saturday."

"What?" He blinked. She'd somehow circled around and was peering up at him. So lovely. He drowned in the details, the bit of lace from where her bra was not quite stuffed in her pocket, her jacket zipped up to cover all but the sliced collar of the sweatshirt in question. The soft, wry tilt of her mouth and laughter in her eyes.

Laughter?

"What?" He would've felt more comfortable in a barren desert.

"You asked when I was supposed to wear it again." Her lips bloomed into a full smile. "This is my lucky sweatshirt. I enter bridal design competitions, though I don't have the staff for big wedding work."

Her talented hands slid over his, stroking his wrists, sliding upward to caress his biceps and shoulders, finally linking at his nape. He couldn't move. She pressed close, searing him with her sweet, hot mouth from his chest to his ear, along his jaw until finally, finally, her lips claimed his.

"I overreacted," she said when she paused for breath. "I'm sorry." The apology swept over him, through him, washing away his burning temper. It fizzled and a new fire caught: the healthy heat of sexual energy.

He wanted to fan the blaze, to let it rise up and consume them, but he could feel the sunrise as if he were the one who set it in motion. "We need to go." Her pout did more to sooth his ego than any apology. "Back to the Tree of Life."

"Back to my shop."

He didn't miss the way her fingers trailed long his arm. She was looking for a sign of the mark that would match them.

He secretly hoped for the same thing, had been hoping for her, specifically, long before they'd met. Now, seeing her, knowing her, he was desperate for a fated mark to appear anywhere on his body, as long as the damned thing matched the mark on her arm. Maybe Amy had been wrong about Lily's mark being of different magic.

But his skin was unchanged and only his heart affirmed his choice and the choices he now knew he would make in the coming days.

He took her hand and thought his way back to the Angel Oak. The air smelled different, richer, but when he opened his eyes he was alone.

"Lily!" He shouted her name, then cursed his stupidity. The last thing he needed was the attention of humans. Or anything else.

Only the great Tree of Life filled his senses. He circled the massive trunk, but Lily wasn't anywhere nearby. He touched only his fingertips to the rough bark of the ancient oak tree and pictured Lily.

"Oh, thank God!"

Her body slammed into his and he wrapped his arms around her protectively.

"I didn't know if you could get back to me."

"Shhh. Why didn't you hold on?" His magic should have been enough to carry her back to a source as strong as the Angel Oak.

"I did!" she insisted, turning his palm up. "See?"

Red lines scored his palm where her fingernails had bit hard, trying to hold him. "What power binds you here?"

"I don't know," she wailed, her expression crumpling. "I don't know." She sniffled. "You left and I tried to follow. When that didn't work, I tried to walk."

"Tried?"

She marched away from him, toward the trees that circled the clearing. When she reached the point where her moonflowers had circled them she slammed into an invisible wall.

He cringed when she bounced back a half step. "See?"

"How?" He didn't understand what spell or curse could hold only her. There was strong magic in her birthmark and it worried him that someone – or some thing – was using it against her now. "Lily, let me help. Tell me what ties you here." He was terrified he already knew.

My dearest Amy,

Do you remember the games and letters we would play with myths and legends? That was such fun. I wonder do you ever study lykae literature with your students? There are so many varieties of the shape shifter myths - at least one for every culture. Why do you think people are so afraid of what might lurk below the surface? Is it because we're all trying to hide the one thing that will transform us?

There I go waxing philosophical. Just let me know if there are werewolves in your syllabus, the answer will amuse me either way.

Your loving aunt,

Camille

Dare looked around the clearing and sighed at Lily's troubled face. He reached for her, but she turned away, shoulders slumped in defeat.

'An elf on a mission is a force of nature,' Camille had teased him often with the phrase. Usually when she didn't like his interference with her idea of freedom. He'd been an elf on a mission to see the Matchmaker safely through her tenure. Before leaving with Camille, he'd been an elf on a mission to learn as much intellectually, physically and magically so he could rise in the ranks of the elite guard.

His career might not have gone the way he'd planned, but his time with Lily was certainly proving that he'd studied all the right things.

"Let me hold you," he said, standing behind her, praying she'd say yes.

"No. That didn't work."

"Let me hold you."

She peeked at him over her shoulder and his heart clutched to see her eyes full of tears. She sniffled. "You should go." Sniff. "You can go."

"I'll stay." He considered using magic to turn her into his arms, but feared it would backfire. This place was special to Lily, whether or not she'd ever been told of the significance. It was a special place to him as well, having seen her play here in his dreams.

Now he knew, in the very pulse of his blood, this place and time was significant to the future. A future they might yet enjoy together. He sat down to wait it out.

Her back still turned, her ragged voice floated over him. "I'm not trapped here forever. One of my brothers will show up. You don't need to stand guard."

Not forever? He smiled at the first drip of information. "But that's what I do."

"What was it like being with the Matchmaker?"

He followed her diversion, for now. "I'm not officially assigned to the Matchmaker you met in the cemetery. But the one before her was an amazingly wise woman." And he was only beginning to appreciate that.

"How long…how long did she hold the position?"

"Are you asking if she is the one who marked you?" That brought her around, finally, treating him to a view of Lily in a fiery temper.

She towered over him, eyes flashing. Behind her, circling them, where moonflowers had bloomed earlier, an elvish plant burst from the earth.

"Fire weed!" she gasped.

It had been a long time since he'd seen it as well. For a moment they just stared in wonder at the ring of flaming grass that waved gently, casting a glow and soft heat around them.

"You did that, Lily." He knew her magic was connected to the plants she worked with and he suspected her power was much stronger than she knew. "You touched the Tree of Life and brought us both here."

"I'm –"

"Hush." Dare cut her off before she could apologize. "You coaxed beauty from this earth while we explored each other. What's inside you now, Lily? What is it you need to do here before you can leave?"

"I don't know what you mean." She shivered and stared at the fire weed.

It took every ounce of training to keep him on the ground, apart from her. Easier to wrap her up, to cast the vision of her as a child into the air. But easy wouldn't get them through this. He hung on to his control and decided to lead by example.

"You danced here when you were young." The statement brought her gaze back to his. "Casting daisies, you laughed and smiled and danced right here in this clearing."

"Trying to cast daisies. How can you possibly know that?" she whispered, sinking to her knees beside him.