Hunter's Season: Elder Races, Book 4 (11 page)

He walked into the shadowed bedroom, drew off his robe and laid it at the foot of the bed, and slid naked between the sheets. As the cool linen slid across his skin, an image came to him of Xanthe, spread underneath his body, her face tilted up in agonized pleasure, and as tired as he was, his penis stiffened again and throbbed with urgency.

He ignored it. Now was not the time to act. As disconcerted as Xanthe had shown herself to be over the attraction that grew between them, he suspected it was too soon for her. He did not want to initiate anything prematurely. They each deserved better.

A chair scraped across the floor. He called out, “Why don’t you leave it? There is more than enough room for you to sit on the bed.”

A pause, then she said, “Very well.”

He lit the lantern on the bedside table while she shut and bolted the cottage door. By the time she stepped into the room, he lay back on the pillows with the covers pulled up to his chest. He watched her from underneath lowered eyelids as she moved to the pile of books. Her long body moved with a grace that caught at his throat. He longed to touch her with reverence and tell her how much she was coming to mean to him.

“Which book would you like for me to read?” she asked.

“I don’t care,” he told her. “Why don’t you pick one that you’re interested in?”

“All right.” She hesitated then chose a Dark Fae story and settled on one corner of the bed, leaning back against the headboard with one leg bent and tucked underneath her.

He closed his eyes as she began to read. The liquid notes of her voice filled the room, shaping words that created a story, but he did not care about that. He merely listened to the sound of her voice, the intonation and inflection, and the cadence she gave to each sentence, as if he was listening to a solo musician. It was incredibly soothing.

She halted, faltering into silence, as he turned onto his side and nuzzled her thigh, resting one relaxed hand on her knee. He refused to pull away or regret the move, and after a pause she resumed the story, her voice much softer.

After a few moments more, a light, gentle weight came down on the back of his head. She rested her hand on him as she read.

Naida had not been affectionate. They had maintained separate bedrooms, coming together for sex but never sleeping in the same bed. He had accepted that about her. Some people simply weren’t.

He was affectionate.

He smiled and slipped into a doze.

Sometime later, he roused as the bed shifted and Xanthe began to ease away. Without really thinking about it, he tightened his hand on her knee, murmuring, “Stay.”

She drew in a quick breath, the slight sound seemed loud in the silence of the bedroom. She said softly, “I thought you had fallen asleep.”

“I did. You moved.” His voice was gravelly.

“I’m sorry I woke you.”

He yawned and rolled onto his back, then opened his eyes to look at her. She wore an uncertain, vulnerable expression that squeezed at his chest. She would never be one for the cynical dalliances that the nobility indulged in. He lifted his hand to her, she took it and he pressed her fingers.

He told her quietly, “The bed is large, and there is more than enough room for two. You could even sleep with the covers between us if you like. No matter what you may have been used to in the past, I would feel better knowing that you weren’t on the cold hard floor, but it is entirely up to you. I don’t want you to be uncomfortable in any way.”

She was silent for so long. As he waited, he urged her,
do it. Choose to do what you really want.

At last she whispered, “I’ll stay.”

Tension had gathered in his limbs as he waited for her to decide. At her words it released, leaving a lingering lightness that felt like joy. He slid over as she shrugged out of her trousers, revealing long, gorgeous pale legs. Without looking at him, she lifted the top quilt and slipped into bed, leaving the sheet and a cotton blanket as a privacy barrier between them. The last thing she did was blow out the lamp before she settled with a sigh.

He kept his breathing soft and even, even as desire flooded his body.

Then she said in entirely prosaic exasperation, “Rats. We should have eaten up the rest of the clotted cream at supper, and I forgot all about it.”

He lay frozen for a moment, all thought suspended. When he burst out laughing, she chuckled too.

He rolled over, and despite the barrier between them, he pulled her into his arms and hugged her. She came willingly, fitting herself to him, one arm tucked around him as he guided her head onto his shoulder. He pressed his lips to her forehead, lingering over the caress and stroked her still damp hair. She nuzzled at his bare shoulder, breathing deeply as she settled and, muscle by muscle, relaxed.

Holding her gave him a feeling of incredible rightness, comfort and relief. When he slept, for the first time in a very long time, there was no pain.

When he opened his eyes again, it was full morning and he was alone. Disappointed, he laid a hand on the pillow she had used. It was still warm. She had only just left the bed.

His body had the memory of holding Xanthe through the night. At one point, she curled onto her side and he moved too, curling behind her to spoon with her, one arm wrapped around her waist. She had laced her fingers through his as he buried his nose in her soft, silken hair.

Now she moved around in the other room. The quiet sounds were already comforting and familiar. Cautiously he tried a full body stretch. The muscles in his back still gave a twinge, but the warning no longer seemed filled with dire consequences. He should start some exercises today.

He rose out of bed, reveling in the sense of his returning strength, and slipped on a clean pair of trousers. Then he left the bedroom to commence stalking the woman he meant to make his lover.

She knelt at the hearth, laying wood for a morning fire. Her hair was loose and tousled, and her cheek was creased from the pillow linens—and there, it happened again. She had grown even more beautiful to him.

I’m falling in love with you
, he thought.
And damn, it’s a deep, deep fall
.

Falling in love with her wasn’t a decision; it was a full mind-body, transformative experience. Backing away, choosing not to explore the opportunity—that would the decision. And he wasn’t about to throw any of this away. It was too rare, too enriching. She was too fine of a treasure to be so disregarded.

Besides, he hungered for her, for everything she was. For her dedication and loyalty, for the sensuality of her long, lithe body, for the fullness of emotion he caught shimmering in her eyes when she looked at him.

She straightened and pushed the hair out of her face in a self-conscious gesture as he walked over to her. He pulled her into his arms, tilted up her face and kissed her. Not a quick kiss this time, but a slow, searching explorative caress.

His lips remembered the shape of hers and were eager to mold to them again, while his heart thundered and his entire body hardened, and he felt immersed in a coursing river of emotion, in her. Breathing deeply, he fisted one hand in her hair, wanting to deepen the kiss but waiting for some kind of sign.

Kiss me. Kiss me back.

Her arms came around him, hands flattening greedily against his back even as she pulled her head away. She muttered, “We shouldn’t be doing this—”

He flashed back fiercely, “Fuck that.”

He never cursed. The shock of it bolted across her face. Then he realized how tightly his hand had clenched in her hair. He willed himself to pry his fingers open, to loosen his hold and stroke her hair gently. His hand was unsteady.

She stared at him, her gaze clear open down to the bottom of her soul.

“Xanthe,” he said between his teeth as a horrible thought occurred to him. “Have you made promises to someone else?”

Her expression turned even more shocked. “No!”

“Then if you say a word about me being the Chancellor or you being a guard, I might just throttle you. There is no place for that here, between us. I am just a man who wants to kiss you. Do you want to kiss me back? That is the only consideration of any relevance in this moment. If you do not, just say so and I’m sorry I assumed too much—”

She lunged up on tiptoe, her arms snaking around his neck, and kissed him hard.

There it was, what he had been looking for, her full-bodied, full-hearted cooperation. He closed his eyes and sank into her mouth, spearing into her as deeply as he could go.

What they created together was a wild storm of emotion. This time when she pulled back, she was shaking all over.

He loved that.

“Okay,” she whispered. “Okay.”

He was not prepared to let her off the hook. He cupped the nape of her neck, holding her in place as he leaned his forehead on hers. He said in a low voice, “You will stay in the bed again with me tonight.”

She licked her lips and said, “Yes.”

He pressed her further, one hand gripping her hip. “And there will not be a sheet or a blanket between us.”

Her dark gaze searched his. Her eyes were such a lovely, deep color, filled with clarity, intelligence and depth. “No blankets, Aubrey.” Her fingertips stroked over his lips. “Except for the ones we pull over us both.”

He released a long, pent-up breath and pressed a kiss against her fingers.

She shook her head. “You have knocked everything sensible outside of my head again. I think I was starting to fix breakfast.”

He purred, “We could always go back to bed right now.”

She lost all of her composure again. “I—you—seriously?”

He laughed, a throaty, delighted sound. She sounded almost panicked at the thought. “Forget about breakfast, or even bed right now. Why don’t we step outside for some fresh air. We could even go for a walk. The river is close, isn’t it?”

She took a step back to eye him, her gaze turning assessing. She smiled. “You’re really doing better.”

He nodded. “I’m still stiff, especially in my back. But it’s much better now.”

“An oiled massage would help with a lot of that stiffness.”

That demon of lunacy took over his tongue. He said, deadpan, “I think an oiled massage would take care of all kinds of stiffness.”

Hot color washed over her cheeks. She added, strangled, “Certainly, that is, if you—think you might—I meant especially on that wound on your back to loosen up the muscles.”

He shouted with laughter. “By all the gods, woman, how did you survive in the army for so long?”

Her embarrassment turned into a glare. “I’m not like this with anybody else!”

His laughter faded. Warmed, he cupped her cheek and rubbed his thumb over those soft, unusually full lips. “Really?”

She nodded dumbly.

“I cherish all of it,” he whispered.

Clearly she was not used to compliments, for she showed none of the polished deflection practiced by so many of the ladies of his acquaintance. Every word he said affected her deeply; he could see it in her eyes.

She was an assassin, and she had survived not only in Urien’s palace for decades, but she had also survived Thruvial’s household. Yet with him, she did not barrier any part of herself or use the many tools that must exist in her repertoire. Instead she revealed to him a heart of glass, fragile and beautifully faceted in every way, luminous with light.

He could not remember ever feeling so touched, or so honored.

“Come,” she said. “I’ll show you my favorite spot by the river. We can even fish if you want. I like fish for breakfast.”

“So do I,” he told her.

He got dressed fully, pulling on a shirt and boots. The day was fine enough again that no jacket was necessary. He tied his hair back with the leather strip, and splashed his face with water from the basin.

She had braided back her hair and gathered a basket of fishing supplies from a bottom shelf. As soon as he gave her a nod, she lifted her sword and harness from the hook by the door, although she did not bother to shrug it on.

He took the basket so it would free one of her hands then he captured it with his own, lacing his fingers through hers. Giving him a gleaming, bright smile, she led him on a pleasant walk to the river.

Their route bisected a large path that was more of a small road that followed the river’s length. Now that he knew where the river was, he knew the path would lead to Adriyel, but he no longer cared to follow it. They settled in the shade of a massive oak tree.

Adriyel was the great river in the Dark Fae land. It poured hundreds of leagues through the heart of the land. The bank on the opposite side was certainly visible, but the details were obscured in the distance. It was treacherous to swim the long length from one side to the other, but every year some fools attempted it. Many were swept downstream and drowned.

Here, down a steep bank from the oak, there was an indentation with a relatively shallow pool. Smiling, she pointed down to it. “This was my favorite place in the heat of the summer, although my father never took his eyes off of me for a moment, for fear I would forget and get too close to the river’s current.”