Prince by Blood and Bone: A Fantasy Romance of the Black Court (Tales of the Black Court) (22 page)

She nodded, her white fingers clamped around the branch.

He found a better spot to brace his feet and pulled. Sweat formed on his brow despite the frigid breeze. His muscles strained, and with a slow sucking sound, she came loose. He dragged her up the bank of snow and collapsed next to her.

They lay panting, side by side, in the cold under the moonlit shadow of a tree. One of the wolves crept close.

He sat up and tossed the branch at it. “We need to get moving.”

“I can’t. I’m exhausted.” There were dark shadows under her eyes, and she shivered.

“When did you last sleep?”

I don’t remember.” She shook her head. “I spent last night making sleep-dust and the nets. Maybe the night before?”

“Come on,” he said. “I’ll carry you.”

“No, Kian.”

He ignored her protests, and picked her up, walking in the direction he prayed the hunting lodge still lay. She nestled in his arms, her cold, damp face burrowed against his chest, the scent of roses rising from her skin. For a fleeting moment he had the irreverent thought that he wished he was someone different. Someone who could keep a human witch as his own, instead of a prince who had the weight of his people’s needs on his back.

Bryanna clung to Kian, knowing she should get away from him, but not sure her exhausted body could make the effort. Her fur-lined cloak and brocade dress were saturated with melted snow, and every bone in her body felt heavy and wet. She wasn’t sure she’d be able to stand on her own, let alone walk anywhere by herself.

“Put me down,” she said. “If we build a fire, I can dry out.”

“Not just yet.” He continued walking, breaking through the trees and into a large, moonlit clearing.

He was the queen’s son, and he’d lied to her, but here he was acting the hero and carrying her through the enchanted forest. But she wasn’t a princess in disguise and he was her family’s enemy.

She couldn’t let him carry her any further. “I’m too heavy, these clothes are soaking wet and weigh a ton.”

He stopped and placed her on her feet, “I think this is it.”

Wobbling under the weight of her clothes, she grasped his arm so she wouldn’t collapse. “This is what?” She took a shaky step into the empty clearing, dragging every ounce of heavy, wet wool and fur.

Kian pulled her closer to the trees. “Keep back.” Out of his bag he pulled a large, curved horn, its aged yellow bone carved with strange runes. He placed the horn to his lips, his cheeks puffed wide, and a mournful baying erupted. He blew two more times and lowered the horn to his side.

There was a moment of complete stillness. No sound. No wind. No movement. Bryanna thought her hearing might be gone.

A blast of icy air pushed her back, and she stumbled. Kian’s arm wrapped around her, and there he was again, holding her up when she couldn’t stand on her own two feet. The gusts picked up tiny pieces of snow that cut into her skin and obscured the clearing and she ducked, hiding her face in Kian’s strong sheltering embrace.

The wind and snow died down. The clearing was empty no longer. A large cabin with white stuccoed walls intersected by nearly black logs stood in the space, looking like it had been there for hundreds of years.

Bryanna stumbled back. “Whoa! I thought you didn’t have any magic?” She kept her Gift shut down, sure the entire thing would squirm with blinding power.

“My personal power is still caught in the spell, but I have my belongings. Some things follow me, no matter what my mother does. The sword and the horn are two of my inheritances.” His hand caressed the pommel of a long sword she had never seen before, strapped to his hip. “She can take much away from me, but they belong to me as much as my manhood, and until she cuts off my balls, I’ll have that, too.” Bitterness etched hard lines around his lips. He swept her up in his arms again. “Come, my witch. We’ll get you warm and dry.”

Too tired to argue, she let him carry her up the stairs and put her down on the broad boards of the landing.

“Who lives here? Will they let us stay?”

“I should bloody well hope they’ll let us stay, since it’s my hunting lodge,” Kian snorted and stepped up to the oversize door. The old, dark wood was heavily carved with loops of strange beasts. Wolves with wild eyes and long tongues, snakes etched with runes instead of scales, and in the center, a dragon eating its own tail circled around the only bare spot on the door. Kian pressed his palm to the wood and spread his fingers out wide. The wooden dragon quivered.

Even without her Gift open Bryanna felt the flare of old magic as the dragon’s tiny carved eyes gleamed, and it moved, sliding in a slow circle widdershins around Kian’s hand. She blinked and her vision blurred. All the knotted animals on the door shifted and moved in a sinuous, intricate dance.

There was a loud click and the door swung open.

“Come on.” Kian pulled her after him, and they crossed into the dark interior of the lodge. “Wait here.”

He left her just inside the doorway and she swayed, catching herself on the doorframe. The slick slide of snake skin slithered under her palms. She shrieked and let go, stumbling for the exit and the bright moonlight outside.

Light flooded the room. “Found it.” Kian gave her a quick smile from where he stood by the fireplace with his hand on an old porcelain knob and plate.

“You have electricity.” Was all she could say as she stared up at the twenty-foot high ceiling and the chandelier created from a dozen or more racks of antlers and strung with antique light bulbs.

“Of course.” He crossed back to Bryanna, tugged her inside, and shut the door behind her. “I had it wired years ago.”

How many years ago, she wondered. When electricity was new?

She stepped in slowly and took it all in. A couch of polished branches and covered with leather seat cushions worn with wear, fronted an empty fireplace. To the right, a wide, wooden stairway ran to a second-story balcony that crossed the entire back of the room. A wide scarred table that looked as if it could easily seat twenty took up half the room, and the rest of the room was wide open, scattered with comfy chairs and small tables. Huge, double doors led off to the left with a matching pair to the right, under the stairs. All of the wood was so dark as to be almost black, richly carved with strange creatures, and even more exotic runes.

Bryanna shivered.

Kian frowned. “You’re cold.” He reached out to touch her, and she stepped away.

He’d helped her out of the quick-snow, but this lodge showed he had tricks up his sleeve. He was still the son of her enemy, and he’d proved she couldn’t trust him.

His frown deepened, but he let her go. “Maeve! Donagh!” Without waiting for an answer, he swept his arm toward the stairs. “After you.”

“Is someone here?” She held her head high and walked to the stairs. Her dress weighed a ton, as did the soaking wet cloak. It was all she could do at this point to put one frozen foot on the first well-worn step and then pull her battered body up to the next one but she’d be damned if she’d ask him to carry her again.

“The lodge has resident brownies. You won’t see them, but I’m betting by the time I have you to the guest bedroom, you’ll see evidence of their work.”

Kian hovered behind her, watching her slow progress up the stairs, his impatience something she could feel.

“This is ridiculous.” He picked her up and took the stairs two at a time. .

“Hey!” she said. But it was a half-hearted protest. It was a relief to know he was taking care of her. Again. Even though she knew she should be indignant.

“I know you don’t want me to touch you—you’ve made that clear——but I’m offering you my hospitality. And in my world, that’s a serious thing.”

“Hospitality has nothing to do with being forced to be carried. Put me down.”

“When you are dry and comfortable, you can be as stubborn as a court lady, but right now, I don’t want to have to catch you if you fall.”

They reached the balcony, and he freed a hand to open the second door from the landing, bumping it open with his shoulder. Inside, he turned the knob. Bryanna barely had time to take in the red curtains and the fresh white duvet before he’d crossed to an open door and flipped on the light in the bathroom. Steamy hot water poured into the tub from the old brass spigot and the citrusy scent of orange and vanilla rose from the frothy bubbles.

Kian put her down. He touched her chin, turning her face up to his. A tremor ran through her.

“Relax.” He shook his head at her, his voice dropping low with disgust. “I’m not a monster. You’re my guest, now, not my prisoner. Leave at any time. I won’t hold you against your will.”

She didn’t respond. His touch reminded her of the night they’d spent together, his hands skimming along her skin, arousing her. But she couldn’t give in to her desire to sink into his strength, ask him to strip her of her wet clothes and use his skillful tongue and fingers until she forgot how horrible the last day had been. No she couldn’t give in to her body’s weakness, no matter how much she was tempted. He’d treated her as a prisoner before.

She moved another few steps away.

He sighed. “After you clean up and get dressed, come downstairs. There will be food.” He turned to go, then paused at the door and he spoke with his head bowed. “And, Bryanna, if you still want me to, when you come down I’ll tell you the truth of what it means to be the son of the Black Queen.”

Kian watched the flames lick higher on the enormous, pine log, and brooded. He wanted—no he needed—the witch to look at him as if he had her respect. Maybe even her affection?

He didn’t understand it, why had her feelings become important to him? It was confusing and frustrating and inarguably the worst waste of his time. But he still desired her…what? Approval?

Not that that would happen. He was his mother’s son, and despite what Agrona had implied about his father, he’d come of age in the sewer of the Black Court. He was selfish and arrogant and used to having everyone cater to him. Maybe that was why he desired the girl’s good opinion. The trust and light he’d caught a glimpse of in her eyes, had been a breath of fresh spring air in the hot, sultry sewer of his life.

“I’m here.”

He turned. A rush of hot desire to lift her long skirt and reveal her smooth silky legs, inch by inch, roared through him, leaving him speechless and staring.

Her blond hair was honey-dark, damp with water from the bath. Even from across the room she smelled delicious, like the fresh, hot, sweet rolls with just a tang of rose marmalade he’d devoured as a child. She wore a large robe of blue Uplander wool, its fluffy weave nestled against the white of a long, ridiculously high-necked nightgown. Matching blue slippers peeped out beneath the curve of her skirt, that tempting barrier that would be so easy to remove.

Her wary eyes pinned his. “You said we’d talk.” She circled around him and approached the fire, standing as far away from him as she could and still reach her fingers out to the heat.

“Yes, I did. Dinner is in here.” He led the way to the double doors under the stairs where Maeve had set a feast out on the narrow sideboard and where they could sit at an intimate table for two instead of the large feasting table in the main hall. The lighting was dim and romantic, but he knew the odds of his winning her favor tonight were slim.

But Goddess, he wanted to.

He wanted her to see him, Kian, the man. Not the manipulative son-of-a-queen she obviously thought he was. And once they’d had this conversation, she’d likely think worse.

She served herself at the sideboard, and he poured the glasses full of rich, crimson wine.

“Oh no,” she said. She set her plate on the small round table. “I don’t want any wine, thank you.”

“You’d let me drink alone?”

She flushed.

All right, so he was manipulative, but he was a desperate man playing for high stakes. “Share one glass with me.” He held her glass out and she eyed it warily. “It will make this conversation easier.”

She didn’t reach for it. He placed it on the table and picked up his own glass, taking a large gulp before putting it down and heading to the sideboard. He loaded his plate without paying attention, anxious to sit down with her and have the conversation he loathed to have and didn’t know how to start.

He pulled out his chair and sat. Bryanna carried her food over and sat down looking demure, and innocent, and far too young. He picked up his glass and drank another viciously large gulp.

She sliced a piece of meat, lifting it delicately on her fork and sliding it between her lips. Her lashes fluttered closed as it hit her tongue. “Mmm,” she moaned.

He forced himself to lean back into his chair and smile, when all he wanted to do was close the small space between them, pull her into his arms, and take her down to the soft, fur rug on the floor.

“Oh, this is good. Who did you say cooked it?” Totally oblivious to his avid hunger she sliced and bit into another piece, closing her eyes again, and chewing with a slow sensual enjoyment.

He coughed, and covered his near loss of control with another sip of wine. “Maeve is a jewel. I’m lucky to have brownies here. They didn’t come with the place. When I inherited it, it was dusty and empty.” He’d never had this problem before, wanting someone so badly but knowing he had to leave her alone.