Captive (19 page)

SARAH SLEPT WITH
her head resting against Tristan’s chest. Tristan had woken some time ago, but he
hadn’t wanted to disturb Sarah. Her lips were slightly parted, her breath a warm caress
on his skin. She’d wrapped one arm around him, and though she slept, her embrace remained
strong, as though she needed him to stay close.

The sheets had slipped down in the night, baring one of Sarah’s breasts for Tristan’s
admiration. He’d been resisting the temptation to trace the curve of her skin and
tease her nipple until it hardened under his fingertips. Now that the full light of
day spilled through the room, Tristan decided to indulge his urge.

He stroked Sarah’s shoulder and collarbone, slowly moving his hand down and then cupping
her breast. Tristan smiled when Sarah gave a sigh of pleasure and arched her back
so the fullness of her breast filled his hand. Squeezing the soft flesh, Tristan circled
her nipple with his thumb until it became erect. Sarah stirred but didn’t wake.

Carefully lifting Sarah, Tristan bent his head and took the peak of her breast into
his mouth.

“Tristan.”

He looked up. Her eyes were open, her cheeks flushed. Sarah’s hands cradled his head,
her fingers tangled in his hair. Tristan teased Sarah’s nipple with his tongue. Her
breath came faster.

Still suckling Sarah’s breast, Tristan reached beneath the sheets and pushed her thighs
apart.

“Yes,” Sarah breathed as Tristan began to massage her clit. Her hips rocked against
his hand, encouraging him to increase the pressure of his touch.

Tristan rubbed the hot, sensitive nub, using the rhythm of Sarah’s movement to gauge
the speed of his strokes. She was panting now, her body writhing against his touch.
Her hands moved from Tristan’s head to grip his shoulders. Sarah’s nails dug into
his skin as she cried out, her hips thrusting forward and slick heat spilling onto
his fingers.

Sarah was still trembling from her climax when Tristan gently pushed her onto her
back and pushed his stiff cock inside her. His head dropped forward as he fought to
control himself. Her sex was still rippling from her orgasm, pulsing around Tristan’s
cock.

Gritting his teeth, Tristan forced himself into a slow, steady rhythm, wanting to
bring Sarah back to the brink before he came. Sarah reached up to wrap her arms around
Tristan’s neck. She pulled him down into a kiss, tasting him as her hips arched up
to match his thrusts. Their kiss deepened as he stroked deeper and harder inside her.
When Tristan felt Sarah’s sharp pull of breath as her sex tightened around him, he
let himself give in and fuck her the way he needed to. He rode her faster, thrusting
to the hilt. Sarah broke from their kiss and shouted Tristan’s name as another orgasm
overtook her. Tristan groaned and bit her shoulder as he came, stroking deep until
he was fully spent.

Tristan rolled onto his side, propping himself up on one elbow so he could look down
at Sarah. He cupped her jaw, stroking her cheek with the pad of his thumb.

“Good morning.” Sarah smiled, reaching up to touch his face. “It is morning, isn’t
it? Or am I just having a really great dream?”

Tristan kissed her forehead. “It’s morning. Unless we’re dreaming the same dream.”

“That would be quite the trick.” Sarah stretched beneath Tristan and he felt a wave
of happiness as he witnessed her contentment.

“What would you like to do today?” he asked her.

“You mean you don’t have a challenge ready for me?” Her tone was light, but the question
made Tristan uneasy.

“I think perhaps we’ve moved past challenges,” he said.

Sarah looked at him, silently running her hand over his neck and shoulder, down his
arm.

“Yes,” she said quietly. “But I’m not sure what that means.”

Tristan nodded, his gut clenching as their easy mood ebbed away. “Would you like to
take a walk outside the castle grounds? It looks like the weather will hold today.”

“A walk would be nice,” Sarah said, though her body had tensed much like Tristan’s
had. “Maybe a bath first.”

Unwilling to lose all of the happiness they’d been enjoying until now, Tristan said,
“Would you mind company?”

“In the bath?” Sarah’s mouth twitched into a smile. “That has potential.”

“I thought so too.”

Her smile became a frown. “But . . . won’t we be seen?”

“Sarah, if you were hoping to keep our tryst a secret, you picked the wrong place
and the wrong lover,” Tristan said. “My movements are always tracked.”

“I know,” Sarah said, shifting beneath him uneasily. “But don’t you find that a bit
uncomfortable?”

“Of course,” he replied. “But I don’t have a choice in the matter.”

“And why is that?” Sarah asked.

Tristan hesitated, taken aback by how much he wanted to tell her. Everything. But
how much of a risk would that pose? Despite his feelings for this woman, Sarah was
still a Searcher, and still a threat. Wasn’t she?

Opting to dodge the question, Tristan said, “That’s a conversation better suited for
our walk.”

“All right.” Sarah gave him a skeptical look that quickly became mischievous. “But
first the bath?”

“First the bath.” Tristan bent to kiss her.

Smiling, Sarah rolled from the bed and Tristan enjoyed his view of her walking naked
across the room to the alcove. When she reemerged, Sarah had donned a silk robe.

Tristan left the bed and pulled on his trousers. “If you don’t mind stopping by my
room, I’d much rather wear a robe to the baths than the bottom half of my suit.”

“Is your robe rose silk, too?” Sarah grinned at him. “I’m sure you’re stunning in
it.”

Laughing, Tristan took her hand and they left Sarah’s room behind, crossing the hall
to Tristan’s door.

Tristan pulled Sarah into his room, and close to him. He kissed her neck and earlobe.

“You know, we could stay here for a bit before we go to the baths.”

But Sarah had gone stiff in his arms. She was staring at his bed. Tristan turned and
his blood went cold. His bed wasn’t empty.

“There you are.” Lana sat up, not bothering to cover her bare breasts when the sheet
dropped away.

Tristan froze. “What are you doing here?”

Her laugh crackled with delight. “Waiting for you, of course.” Her eyes grazed over
Sarah. “I didn’t know you’d be bringing company. Though your little pet is welcome
to join us. I know we talked about a threesome—this is a fabulous opportunity, don’t
you think?”

Tristan took a step toward the bed but stopped because of the sound that slipped from
Sarah’s throat. It was a sort of cry, terribly soft and cracking.

“Sarah.” Tristan turned, reaching for her.

Sarah jumped back to avoid his touch. Her eyes were fixed on his face, and the look
Tristan found there robbed his blood of its heat. All the color had drained from Sarah’s
face. Her green eyes were wide with disbelief and a desperate hope. She stared at
him, waiting for the denial he couldn’t offer.

When Tristan didn’t speak, Sarah’s gaze left him and settled on Lana once more. After
a moment, Sarah closed her eyes. Tristan watched her shoulders begin to tremble. He
took a step forward, but she backed away without looking up.

“No.” He barely heard her whisper.

Without warning Sarah bolted from the room, and Tristan heard the slamming of her
bedroom door from across the hall.

A throaty laugh glided across the room. Lana slouched onto the pillows, running her
hands over her bare skin.

“Mmmmmmm. That was perfect. Just perfect.”

Tristan went to the door and closed it. He wanted to go after Sarah, but this disaster
had to be dealt with first.

Lana rolled onto her side as Tristan crossed the room. She stretched her hand toward
him. “Come here, lover. That little scene has left me in the perfect mood to please
you. I’ll do whatever you like.”

“I don’t want you here, Lana,” Tristan said. “Get dressed and get out. You aren’t
welcome in this room or my bed without an invitation.”

“So formal.” Lana twirled her fingers through her ebony curls. “Don’t you like surprises
anymore?”

“I said, get out.”

Lana sat up, her playfulness vanishing. “I came to take what was owed me. You said
the Searcher would suffer for my pleasure. Instead you act as if . . .” Her eyes narrowed
and she drew a hissing breath. “You’re in love with her.”

“I see jealousy addles your mind, Lana,” Tristan said, ignoring the thud of his pulse.
“Love? You know that’s a child’s game.”

“But you are a child, Tristan.” The rage in Lana’s face gave way to a cool smile.
“Do you think she belongs to you? That she could love
you
?”

Tristan returned her gaze steadily. “That’s not a concern of mine.”

“I think it is.” The growing pleasure in her voice made Tristan’s fists clench. “And
I wonder how Bosque will take the news. His progeny ensnared by the charms of not
only a simple human, but a Searcher.”

“I’m sorry you’ve grown so bored that you need to spin these mad tales,” Tristan said.
“And I doubt that Bosque will appreciate being so misled.”

“That stoic façade of yours doesn’t fool me, Tristan.” Lana rolled off the bed. She
walked toward him, naked and uncaring.

Tristan went very still as Lana gripped his shoulders and leaned in, whispering, “Do
you think he’ll approve? Do you dream that he’ll elevate her when you ask? You know
that will never happen. Not after Marise.”

Tristan hunted for a cutting retort but could find none. Lana’s verbal blow struck
true and its pain lingered. Marise Bane, like Tristan, had been a direct descendant
of Eira—the first Keeper. Matriarch of all Bosque Mar’s followers. And just as what
would one day be expected of Tristan, Marise’s marriage and her production of further
heirs of the original Keeper line should have been overseen by Bosque himself. But
that was not what had happened.

Cloaked in rumor and speculation, the tale of Marise’s rebellion was considered a
blatant lie by some Keepers and storied truth by others. If the gossip was true, Marise
had won the love of a fellow Keeper—another direct descendant of Eira, in fact—but
Marise’s paramour had been a woman: Lumine Nightshade. Unwilling to tolerate their
relationship, Bosque commanded that the lovers be separated. Though Marise couldn’t
defy Bosque’s direct order, she retaliated by quickly engaging in a sordid affair
with a human. A rakish gambler brought to the American West by the Colorado Gold Rush,
Efron LaSalle bore no resemblance to the type of mate Bosque would have picked for
Marise. By the time Marise’s act of retribution came to light, she was carrying Efron’s
child. Though Bosque held only disdain for Efron, Marise’s pregnancy kept the Harbinger
from ridding his house of the undesirable rogue. Thus, Efron the gambler had been
elevated from shiftless wanderer of the frontier to husband of one of the most powerful
Keepers alive. Marise’s vengeance cut deeper still upon her death in childbirth, leaving
Efron alone to raise the new heir to Bosque’s legacy.

Lana’s questions struck at the heart of Tristan’s predicament. Even if Sarah could
be persuaded to stay at Tristan’s side, Bosque would never brook a Searcher for his
heir’s wife. At best Tristan’s master would tolerate Sarah as a mistress, but even
that small mercy seemed uncharacteristic of the Harbinger.

Tristan had no choice but to glare at Lana and remain silent while she smirked.

After kissing his cheek, Lana walked away from Tristan and opened the door.

“Don’t leave your clothes here,” Tristan called after her. “I don’t want you or anything
of yours in this room.”

“I didn’t wear any when I came,” she answered, and paused to look over her shoulder
at him. “You should remember something, Tristan, or you might get yourself into real
trouble.”

“What’s that?” Tristan asked stiffly.

“Keepers aren’t meant to love, they’re meant to rule.”

Tristan waited until she was gone, then he dropped into a crouch and buried his face
in his hands. He’d broken into a cold sweat and he was dizzy to the point of not being
certain he’d stay on his feet if he stood up.

He had to go to Sarah, but what could he say to her? How could he explain?

Gritting his teeth, Tristan realized he couldn’t justify, apologize, or rationalize
anything. Not until he knew what Sarah was feeling, what she thought of him after . . .

He shuddered and forced himself to stand. Quivering on the floor like a coward accomplished
nothing. He stumbled into the bathroom and splashed icy water on his face until his
mind cleared and the trembling of his limbs ceased.

The trepidation Tristan experienced as he crossed the hall and knocked on Sarah’s
door was damn near paralyzing. When she didn’t answer, Tristan knocked again.

“Sarah?” he called.

No response.

Tentatively, Tristan turned the doorknob. At least she hadn’t locked him out. Tristan
entered the room and closed the door behind him. Sarah wasn’t immediately in sight.

“Sarah?”

“Go away!” Her voice was slightly muffled behind the half-open door to the alcove
bathroom.

“We need to talk.” Tristan paused outside the alcove. “May I come in?”

“No!” A violent retching sound from the other side of the door alarmed Tristan enough
that he pushed into the bathroom.

Sarah was kneeling beside the toilet. Sweat had matted her hair to her forehead and
temples. She averted her eyes from Tristan, but not before he saw how bloodshot they
were. Tears streaked her cheeks.

“I don’t remember inviting you in,” she said, scooting along the floor so she could
lean against the alcove wall.

“You’re sick.” Tristan bent on one knee, peering at her.

“Something like that.” Sarah turned her face away from him. “Stop it.”

“Stop what?” Tristan asked. “Stop looking at you?”

“Stop pretending you care whether I’m sick or not,” Sarah replied. “Stop acting like
you have any regard for how I feel at all.”