Blood Moon (10 page)

He was silent for so long that she
thought he would not answer at all. “You could not be more
wrong.”

Aslyn threw him an uncomfortable
glance. She didn’t doubt that she was meant to believe he was
expressing an interest in her when in truth his interest was merely
in tripping her up. He was a true hunter, and one far more
dangerous than any she had ever encountered before. She would do
well, and live longer, if she could bring herself to ignore her
attraction to him and guard herself.

Chapter Seven

Since she could think of no response to
his comment, Aslyn focused her attention upon pretending to finish
her meal. When she reached the point where she thought she might
choke if she tried to force down another bite, she wiped her hands
then took the remaining cheese and carefully wrapped it. Collecting
their plates, she rose and took them outside to scrape them,
leaving the soiled dishes outside to be cleaned in the morning.
When she returned, she discovered that Kale was once more strumming
upon his lute. The meat was still hot, but she wrapped it
carefully, tied it with string and put it outside the door,
covering it with her overturned cook pot to keep stray animals from
dragging it off.

She explained to Kale that she’d left
it in the snow to cool so that it would be easier to carry when he
left, hoping he’d take the hint and depart. In truth she was
exhausted from the turmoil of his visit, for she’d run the gamut of
emotions since he’d arrived. More disturbing and unsettling still
was the fact that, despite everything, beneath it all had lain a
simmering desire she could never completely ignore. Every look,
every gesture, his slightest touch had burned her with awareness of
herself as a woman and him as a desirable male.

She could not recall a time when she
had ever been more agitated. She needed to be away from him to
recover her equilibrium and think.

He cocked an eyebrow at her. “I brought
it, and the cheese, for you.”

Aslyn did not want to take it. It was
one thing for him to provide their meal, quite another for him to
be supplying her with food. However, she did not feel up to the
challenge of a debate with him over the matter at the moment. She
merely thanked him therefore, stood uncertainly for a moment, and,
when she saw he had no intention of departing, sat on the edge of
the blanket again.

She fidgeted for some moments,
realizing the obligation of manners and wishing she could ignore
it. Finally, reluctantly, she invited him back to dine with her
once more on the food he’d provided.

The look he bent upon her was far too
perceptive for her comfort, but he did not comment upon her lack of
good manners in making it far too obvious she had only asked out of
politeness. “Thank you, but we are leaving in the morn and may not
return for some time.”

“Oh?” Aslyn asked, trying to keep the
hopeful note from her voice.

Apparently, she didn’t succeed, for he
sent her a narrow eyed glance. “We’ve heard word that there was an
attack near Beaver Falls. There’s little chance we can track the
pack now, but we leave at dawn to try.”

Aslyn nodded, folded her hands in her
lap, and thought hard of something she might say that would send
him on his way without making her appear more rude than she already
had, or worse, suspicious.

She noticed after a moment that Kale
was holding the lute out to her, waiting for her to take it.
Unbidden, longing welled up inside her. She had loved to play when
she was younger, but it had been years since she’d touched an
instrument. She doubted very much that she could even remember the
tunes she had once played, or the words to the songs. Moreover,
commoners rarely owned such things. It would certainly look
suspicious if she possessed a skill she should not have. She shook
her head. “I don’t know how to play.”

He eyed her skeptically for several
moments, and then indicated again that she should take it. “It’s
not difficult to learn. I’ll show you.”

Reluctantly, Aslyn took the instrument
and held it awkwardly, hoping he’d interpret that as inexperience.
He rose, moved behind her and knelt so that his splayed knees were
on either side of her. Reaching around her, he placed her fingers
on the strings, explaining the chords to her. Aslyn stiffened, more
disturbed than she liked by his nearness, but allowed him to guide
her fingers since she seemed to have no choice in the
matter.

Her back burned where he brushed
against her. His male scent engulfed her with his essence, sending
a heady wave of longing through her that demolished rational
thought. Her heart thundered erratically, making her breath rush
quickly in and out of her lungs as if she were trapped beneath a
heavy weight that made her fight for air. The harder she tried to
struggle against it, the more ensnared she became until she was
hardly conscious of his hands over hers except for the currents
that seemed to spread from his fingertips into her hands, rush
along her arms and strum some wanton chord inside of
her.

At last her hands fell idle and she
gave up all pretense of learning the strings, mesmerized by the
movement of his thumb as he rubbed it back and forth across the
back of her right hand. He captured her hand in his finally and
lifted it for his inspection. Almost against her will, her gaze
followed the movement until she was looking up into his golden
gaze. “You have been bitten.”

The comment sent a shaft of fear
through her, dampening the heat surging through her, though even
fear did not dispel it completely. She moistened her dried lips. “I
… It was a hound when I was a small child,” she lied, knowing it
was no such thing, though she could not recall how or when she’d
gotten the scar.

He touched the tiny, white scars with
his lips, brushing them back and forth against her flesh in a way
that sent a fresh surge of heat through her. As she watched, he
turned her hand palm upwards and placed a kiss on the sensitive
flesh there. When their gazes met over her hand, she knew he meant
to kiss her.

Her mouth went dry at the thought. Her
heart lurched painfully. She hovered breathlessly in anticipation,
fighting the drive to give in to her body’s urges.

With an effort, she withdrew her hand
and looked down at the instrument in her lap, knowing if she
allowed him to kiss her she was lost. After a moment, Kale rose. “I
should go.”

There was a note in his voice that told
her he would have far preferred to stay. She knew in that moment
that she desperately wanted him to … and that he was far more
dangerous than she had perceived.

She closed her eyes against the desire,
trying to close her mind to the little voice that urged her to take
what joy she could of life. She was cursed. She knew in her heart
that she would never find the cure, never be a wife and mother. It
mattered little that it went against everything she had been
brought up to believe in to even consider taking a lover. What
she’d become against her will went against everything she’d been
brought up to believe in, and it had deprived her of any chance of
love and marriage.

In the end, it was fear that made her
reject the offer she wanted so badly to accept … not the fear of
condemnation by her peers--she had already been condemned to
damnation by her malady--but rather the fear of loss. Far better
never to have loved, she thought, than to have loved and
lost.

She knew if she gave herself to him she
would be giving all of herself, not just her body and her passion,
but her heart and her soul.

Without a word, she offered up his
lute.

He studied her for a long moment but
did not take it. “I’ll be back for it,” he said finally and strode
toward the door.

She found she was too weak to rise at
once when the door had closed behind him. Finally, however, she
rose and bolted the door.

After banking the fire and dousing the
candle, Aslyn shook the blanket and made her way to her bed, but
she found little rest. She ached for his touch with a yearning that
filled her mind with heated dreams.

It took an effort to drag herself from
her bed the following morning. Still bleary eyed, she made her way
to the necessary behind the cottage, noting as she did so that the
camp had been struck. A mixture of relief and sadness filled her.
She should be glad the soldiers had gone. It meant her secret was
safe. It meant she had the chance to leave without the danger of
being caught fleeing the area.

It meant she would probably never cross
paths with Kale again.

The urge to weep at the thought was
strong. She quelled it with an effort, turning her thoughts to the
necessity of leaving while she had the chance. Somehow, however,
she could not seem to find the energy to gather her few belongings
and set out. She’d slept so little the night before that her head
ached, making coherent thought nearly impossible. She was tempted
to simply crawl back into her bed and try to sleep for a few hours.
She was certainly in no condition to travel as she was. She would
need to move fast and put many miles behind her if she was to
attempt it at all or she would run the risk of still being too
close to Krackensled when … if … the soldiers returned.

A sickness had crept into the village,
she soon discovered, when first one and then another of the
townsfolk appeared upon her doorstep with a child bearing spots. A
different sort of dread seized her when she realized what it
was—small pox. She did what she could, but in truth there was very
little she could do except to warn them to keep the sick as far
from the well as possible. Her supply of medicinal herbs was low
and even if that had not been the case, there were none she knew of
that would cure the illness. The strong would survive. The weak
would die.

She was so weary when she finally
crawled into her bed that night that she could hardly keep her eyes
open, and still her dreams were plagued by Kale’s touch. When she
woke the following day feeling worse, if possible, than the day
before, she began to wonder if he had somehow placed a spell upon
her. Her obsession with Kale seemed unnatural. He had done no more
than kiss her hand.

But he had not merely kissed her hand.
He had enfolded her in his embrace. Remembering the feel of his
arms around her, the brush of his chest against her back, the
woodsy scent that clung to his flesh, was enough to send a rush of
heat throughout her body.

If she were truthful with herself, she
had been lost long before he had touched her.

As much as she would have liked to
discount her feelings as the result of some sort of black magic,
she knew very well that it wasn’t. With no more than a careless
caress, Kale had aroused a sensual awareness in her that she began
to doubt that she would ever be able to put to rest. She might flee
from him, but she could not flee the memory of her body’s response
to his nearness.

She lost count of the days, for she
found little rest at night, and none at all during the day.
Finally, however, the traffic to her door began to slow as the
small pox ran its course with surprising speed. The death toll was
relatively small in numbers. She’d seen whole villages wiped out by
the disease, but, doubtless because it was far too cold for anyone
to be out unless absolutely necessary, more families were untouched
than those that were hit. The villagers were convinced that it was
her doing and lavished gifts of appreciation on her, much to her
embarrassment. It did no good, however, to claim she’d done nothing
to earn their gratitude.

Weariness finally took its toll and
Aslyn slept dreamlessly throughout the night and most of the
following day. It was nearing dusk when she finally roused herself
enough to rise. Disoriented, it took some moments to realize that
she’d slept throughout a night and entire day and that it was not
morning approaching, but evening when she opened her door at
last.

Shaking off the haziness of sleep, she
made her way around the cottage to the necessary, trying to recall
when she’d eaten last. If the clamor of her stomach was anything to
go by, it had been days.

As she was returning to collect her
cook pot, however, she heard the snap of a twig close by and it
drove all thoughts of hunger from her mind. She froze, instantly
alert, and turned slowly toward the sound. A snow fox stood less
than two yards from her, watching her with a steady, golden eyed
gaze.

He was by far the largest fox she had
ever seen, nearly as big as a small wolf. In fact, for several
moments she thought it was a wolf, but as she stared at him in
fright, she began to notice the subtle differences.

Her fear subsided somewhat, but she
could not help but be uneasy about discovering a fox virtually at
her door step. After a moment, when he made no move to leave, she
took a cautious step back. To her dismay, the fox took a step
toward her.

Aslyn stopped, studying him. He did not
appear to be mad, but perhaps hunger had driven him this close to
town? If that were the case, then he was easily as dangerous as a
wolf, for he was as big and his teeth sharp enough to rend her
flesh.

She took another step back. She was on
the point of whirling to run when the fox leapt at her. Uttering a
shriek of fright, she jumped back, tripped and went down even as
the fox struck her chest. Disoriented by the fall, it took several
moments for Aslyn to realize that the fox was standing over her, on
top of her, his forepaws planted firmly on her breasts.