Heart of Darkness (6 page)

“He wanted the ring and was willing to
separate my finger from me to gain it!” she replied bitterly.

“Why does Jaegar want the ring?” he demanded
and in that instant, Isabeau realized how attractive he was. In the
full light of day, he was even more magnificent than she had ever
suspected.

Isabeau closed her eyes at the
inappropriateness of her feelings at this current moment, but was
unable to help her reaction to this strident display of supreme
masculinity.

His blacker than black hair literally glinted
in the daylight and beneath the sable locks, were a myriad of other
colors. A deep red, that in certain lights, gave his hair a look of
the richest mahogany. There was a blue that reminded her, although
it was an unpleasant comparison, to that of a bluebottle's
sheen.

When she had earlier thought that his
friend's hair and her own were of the light and he of the dark, she
realized that whilst it was true, there was a life of its own to
Wolfe's head of hair.

His jaw was stubbled and he looked tired and
weary. She realized that either her theory of his disliking the day
was true and that was the reason for his fatigue, or it was false
and he was simply tired after riding the whole night and falling
asleep in the late morning. That made perfect sense and when she
had watched him defend her and attack the intruder, he had looked
in the rudest of health.

When he looked at her, she saw the steeliness
of his character in that firm jaw and his eyes were the darkest
brown she had ever seen. They were so dark that one could not even
see the central circle in the orb. But, they were almost like
velvet. Silken like the most beautiful of fabrics.

Perhaps that was rather an overstatement, but
it was her opinion. He had beautiful, if unusual, eyes.

He had the appearance of a dark God and
although it didn't surprise her, because last night she had
realized how attractive she found him, a part of her had hoped that
he would look like the monster she believed him to be.

She licked her lips as the man on the floor
seemed to shrink in on himself as he replied simply, “It is
powerful.”

Isabeau watched as Wolfe's shoulders suddenly
tensed and he murmured, “Is that all he seeks? The ring?”

The man was quiet until Wolfe kicked him hard
and sent him sprawling backwards with a squawk of pain that had
even Isabeau flinching. “No. No, he wants the girl as well. If she
is unspoiled.”

“I see Jaegar has developed a superiority
complex. Well, Isabeau, are you unspoiled?” he asked silkily. Then
when she remained quiet, not dignifying his question with a
response, he said, “Come, come, Isabeau, let's allow the man to
leave with one part of his mission fulfilled. Jaegar can be a mean
bastard, when crossed. We don't want this poor man to die, do
we?”

She watched as the man flinched again and
knew that Wolfe spoke the truth. That this Jaegar, whoever he was,
would kill the man for his failure to obtain neither the ring or
herself.

It wasn't enough to make her reply, she only
did so when Wolfe spun around and glared at her. Stuttering
slightly, her words were nonetheless indignant, when she said, “Of
course! I am a maiden! How dare you even question it?”

“It was not that unsuitable a question,
Isabeau. How many women in similar straits as your own, have been
reduced to selling themselves simply to survive?”

She grimaced. Isabeau had met several
prostitutes along her journey and had felt nothing but pity for
their plight. Fortunately for her, the ring kept her sustained. If
she felt hunger, then a sudden weight would appear in her hand and
she would find a glint of a golden guinea there. She had thanked
the Goddess for that gift many a time.

“Yes, well, I am not of them!” she retorted
exasperatedly.

“I, for one, am glad to hear it. And I'm sure
that Jaegar will be as well.”

Wolfe prodded the man with his foot and
sneered when he whimpered.

“Tell Jaegar that if he endangers
Isabeau's life once more, the hundreds of grudges that I can lay
upon his hide, will suddenly have a need to be avenged. Tell him
that I am no longer the skinny youth he knew, but a grown man. One
capable of crushing another's fist within my own hand,” Wolfe spoke
grimly before he bent down and retrieved the dagger and then turned
his back on the intruder. “Davide, come and
collect
this man and take him from my
sight!”

Another man scurried into the room and
part-dragged and part-helped the intruder leave the room.

Silence reigned for a few moments, until
Wolfe stomped towards her and settled himself on her bed. He glared
down at the bleeding finger and the already bruising flesh at her
jaw and throat. “I assume that you can heal this?”

She nodded and was about to glare at him when
he prodded her tender jaw, then realized that he had just saved her
from a great deal of pain. “Thank you for helping me,” she murmured
stiffly.

“You're very welcome.” His own fingers came
out to stroke along her bleeding one and he replied quietly, “You
must value your sorcery greatly, if you are willing to risk your
life for it.”

“It wasn't a matter of risking my life
for it. It is a part of me. I cannot explain it and I don't see
that I should have to quite frankly. But it is rather unfair of you
to simply assume that it is a superficial thing. I cannot simply
take it off and hand it to anyone. It has been in my family for
many years. It knows
me.
As
crazy as it sounds, it's...it is in tune with my body and my mind
and has been ever since I started to wear it.”

“Heal yourself,” was all he said, well,
ordered.

Pursing her lips at him, she scowled but
complied. Allowing her dazed state of mind to relax and to flood
her being with healing energy, she felt the heat start to bubble
through her and soothe all the troublesome aches that the intruder
had just inflicted upon her.

The bruises at her jaw suddenly disappeared,
almost as though they had been wiped away. The blood at her finger
shriveled away and returned to the cut before that too was sealed.
The mélange of injuries the man had bestowed on her were soon
cured, as were the remnants of the drug with which Wolfe had
poisoned her.

Her eyes popped open and as she opened her
mouth to demand to know what the hell he had been about, attempting
to spike her chocolate with a sleeping draught, she suddenly jolted
to a halt as his hand reached out and cupped her own. She watched
with owl-like attention as he lifted them both until their fists
hovered at his mouth.

When he separated the fingers on her hand and
slid the digit upon which the ring sat into his open lips, she
gasped as a flood of fiery sensations rippled through her.
Alternatively sending shudders of heat and ice cold sensations
along her nerve endings. The contrast was discomforting, but not in
any way she had experienced before.

A slight quiver wracked her small frame as
his tongue slipped along the length of her flesh, around the golden
metal, between the flesh that joined finger to finger... Heat
pooled in her belly and she began to feel breathless once more.

What surprised her was the recollection that
the ring wasn't reacting to being touched. Where it had once shot
bolts of pain swimming along her nerve endings to force her to
awaken and protect it and herself, when the intruder had attempted
to steal it from her, now it did...nothing. Simply behaved as
though it were a regular, normal, piece of gold jewelry.

When he pulled her finger out of his mouth,
and with a slight pop, she felt almost flushed as he stared at her
with heavy eyes. Eyes that promised things that with her
inexperience, she simply could not understand, but how she wished
she could!

She swept her tongue along her lips and froze
when he pursed his own together and blew air along the now moist
skin of her finger. Before it completely dried however, his hand
came up and he began to play with the ring. Slipping it from side
to side, edging it up and down.

Throughout his play, she said nothing. Just
watched in bemusement as he handled the ring and again, it failed
to respond to his touch.

Lulled into a sense of security, she watched
as he eventually managed to slip it from her finger.

He turned the ring around and around as he
studied it minutely. He peered at the stone, inspected the facets
that allowed it to reflect light, looked at the setting in which it
had been attached to the circlet of gold. Wolfe contemplated the
inside--the metal which touched her flesh; analyzed the mark of
quality, which declared it an item of pure gold.

When he eventually stopped studying it and
then popped it into an interior pocket of a rumpled-looking jacket.
She said nothing, until she awoke from her stupor and realized that
he did not intend to return it.

* * * *

“Wolfe! Give me it back!” she demanded
insistently and held out her hand to prompt him into action.

When he simply stared at her and did not make
a move towards returning the ring to her possession, she glared at
him. Feeling truculent, almost like a child whose parents had taken
away her most favored toy, she slammed her hand down against the
mattress.

“It is my ring, Wolfe. I demand that you
return it to me,” Isabeau stated coolly, her voice was smooth and
free from strain, but she felt it.

Inside, her mind ran from one to two to three
to forty!

What happened if he did not return it?

What happened if he never returned it?

What
and
why was he behaving like this?

She swallowed at the somber look he bestowed
on her and softly, politely, she murmured, “Please, give me the
ring back, Wolfe.”

“I see you have not entirely lost your
manners then, Isabeau,” he retorted firmly and although his lips
twitched as though he were amused, she felt floods of mortification
as she realized he'd been baiting her.

It was a welcome reminder that this man was
no friend.

While he had saved her from that brush with
the intruder, it would do her well to remember that he was her
captor, not her companion. She was not in this sleeping chamber out
of choice, but because he had brought her to this manor, had led
her to this room and then had locked the door so as to keep her
imprisoned.

These were not the actions of a friend. Nor
was his earlier...indiscretion in regards to the supping at her
finger with his tongue!

“Wolfe, please, just return it to me. It's my
ring, one of the only remaining possessions I have that once
belonged to my mother,” she said and huffed in a deep breath, then
continued, “Please. I have to wear it.”

“Why do you have to wear it?”

She shrugged, but the gesture wasn't smooth,
it was jerky and tense.

“My mother told me that I was the last one in
our line to yield the kind of power that could control the magic in
the stone. My mama and papa had no brothers or sisters still living
and I was an only child.”

“So you're a witch?”

Isabeau glared hotly at him. “Are you doing
your level best to insult me today?”

He chuckled and she damned his very
existence. She was not a joke, for Goddess' sake! Nor did she have
to be ridiculed in such a manner by the man. He may have abducted
her, but that did not give him the right to mock her as well.

Honestly, it was a further injustice!

When no response came to her question,
she brushed it off. It had been rhetorical anyway, and instead
retorted, “No, I'm not a witch. My mother...well, she never told me
what we are. Just that I was one of the very few remaining
of...
whatever we are.
I
believe that she thought to tell me what I was would place me in
danger.”

“She was correct, although it is a shame that
you aren't entirely aware of your heritage.”

“I take it that means you know what I
am?”

“Of course,” he said with a mocking nod.

Inwardly, she fumed. Had she ever met such an
exasperating character?

Rather than ask, as he so obviously wanted
her to, she murmured, “How did this Jaegar's man enter my bed
chamber?”

Her words were mock-sweet but at their heart,
they were blocks of ice. His face hardened and a nasty glimmer
appeared in those almost-black eyes. Had his ire been focused upon
her, then she would have quaked in her stockings! Damn, the man had
a fierce face.

She was not sure why it appealed to her so,
when it seemed always to be set in harsh and unforgiving lines.
Even moments before, when he had thought to prod fun at her, there
had been laughter in his voice and a slight merry tinkle in his
eye, but the rest of his face had remained the same. Almost as
though it were carved out of stone.

If he were forged from stone, then his
sculptor deserved a medal--for what a statue!