Royal House of Shadows Box Set: Lord of the Vampires\Lord of Rage\Lord of the Wolfyn\Lord of the Abyss (25 page)

With a hideous shriek, the creature struck Osborn across the side of his face. Blood seeped from a gash across his cheek, and began to bubble from the poison.

How could he fight? How could he win against something so vile? Burns marked where the creature had grazed his skin. Osborn sank to his knees. Struggled to stand.

Dark images flashed across her memory. A creature with razors for fingers. The sounds of the dying in her ears. The smell of death. Her head filled with pain.
No.

All her muscles tensed and she began to shake. An angry energy began to build inside her.
No.
The word seemed to fill her ears, Blocking out any other noises.

Breena lifted her arms and pointed at the snakelike beast attacking Osborn. “No!” she shouted at the evil thing, and a hot bolt tore from her fingertips. The creature shrieked as if burned. Osborn fell to the ground as the beast turned and aimed straight for her. Fear knifed through her. She almost turned and ran.

But she was done with running away.

Breena locked her knees, faced the evil coming toward her and lifted her hands again.

That thing has no power over you.

If she could prevent the monster from hurting Osborn, she could do more. The thing sped toward her. Another bolt flew into the creature’s side and it twisted with a shrill howl. She sent another and another, until sweat filmed her forehead and it grew hard to breathe. Then she sent one more.

With a final shriek, the creature broke apart in a burst of blood. Red gore fell to the churning water, as if the purity of the lake wanted to repel the carnage rather than absorb it. She expected the other creature in the sky to attack next. It circled twice above their heads, then slithered away into the horizon. Finally the water in the lake settled. The wind died down and the sky lightened.

Breena sunk to the ground. Her muscles shook as she struggled to breathe. Whatever energy she’d used to kill the creature sapped her of any strength. She looked around for Osborn. She spotted him still lying where the creature had dropped him. Beaten. Poisoned. Burned. And still he fought to help her get away.

Now he didn’t move.

She choked back a sob. Her stomach tightened, and a fluttery panic filled her chest. “Osborn!” she shouted as she crashed through the shallow
pools of water and sand, where he lay facedown. “Please be alive. Please.” Breena didn’t think she could take another death. Certainly not that of her warrior.

With a strength she managed to scrounge up from somewhere, she rolled him over. She gasped when she saw his face crossed by scratches and deep wounds. She smoothed the blood away with her wet hands, fear making her fingers shake.

“Osborn.”

Nothing.

Breena leaned closer, getting her nose almost to his. “Osborn!” she yelled.

His eyelids snapped open. “If that’s your idea of healing skills, you’ve got a lot to learn.” He groaned.

Her shoulders sagged in relief, her damp hair falling and shrouding them from the sun.

“Thank you,” she said.

“For what?” he asked, his breath fanning her cheek.

“I slowed you down.”
And nearly got you killed.

“I wouldn’t have made it, anyway.”

A realist. She liked that. Sort of. It would certainly take some getting used to. Breena was used to life in the castle where she rarely saw the struggles of others. Was protected from it. Osborn would never lie to her.
That’s
what she needed.

“Those things were too fast.” His words were
grim. His eyes narrowed and his expression turned stony again. Whatever fog he’d been in since she’d rolled him over was dissipating. Her angry warrior was back.

He pushed himself up.

“You shouldn’t be trying to sit yet. I think you need to rest.”

He only glared at her, and flexed his arms, then his legs, checking for injuries. He hissed in a breath. He’d obviously found one.

She reached for him. Breena had only meant to pat his shoulder, offering a touch of compassion. But her intended comforting brush of her palm turned into a near caress. She’d never been so close to a man before, especially not one who was naked and so, so fascinating. At least, not while she was awake. She still had the taste of him in her mouth.

Every tendon and sinew of his body was tight and defined. Powerful muscles roped his chest, and bunched at his arms. Scars—some old, some new—ran along his body. And he’d have new ones today. “I’m sorry,” she told him again, already leaning forward, her lips just inches away from his skin.

His fingers circled around her hand, drawing her touch away from his warm skin. “What have you done?”

The anger lacing his every word broke her from her daze.

“Done?” Breena began to shake her head. “I haven’t done anything.”

Yes, her angry warrior was definitely back, this time tinged with a streak of suspicion.

In one quick movement, his hands were at her hips. He rolled her over, her back pressing into the damp sandy bank. He straddled her, blocking any opportunity for her to get away.

“What have you brought here? To my home?” he bellowed at her, his finger digging painfully into her shoulders.

“I don’t know.”

He leaned in, their noses almost touching. “Those creatures…those
things,
that was magic. Blood magic.”

Her heart began to pound, and her throat grew dry.
Blood magic.

The idea of it repelled her. Every part of her—every emotion, every thought, every memory—rejected it and was sickened by the words.

Blood magic could only work by taking of the blood of the unwilling. Forced. Drained until dead.

“You know of these?” she asked. Dreading his answer, hoping it was something he battled on a regular basis here in Ursa and not something she’d brought down on their heads. But a memory, a flash of recognition of the magic, nagged at her. Then the pain returned.

“In places, but not here.
Never
here.”

His confirmation made her shake. She’d brought the magic of death to this peaceful place. For a moment her thoughts lingered on the poor soul whose blood had created such a thing. How they’d experience excruciating pain, and then praying, even begging, for death. A death denied.

“Those things travel in pairs, so one can always lead more here. To my home.”

With his weight pinning her to the ground, Osborn moved his hands from her shoulders. She began to shake as his fingers traveled over her naked skin, traced the line of her collarbone until meeting at her neck.

“When I came here I made a vow to kill anything that threatened Ursa ever again. Endangered what was left of my family.”

His thumbs caressed the soft skin of her throat. One press, that would be all that it would take, just a little force from his thumbs, and he’d deny her breath. His gaze slammed into hers. “Tell me, Breena. Tell me why I shouldn’t kill you.”

H
e’d never killed a woman.

It was his rule when he hired out his sword to anyone who had the coin. His only rule. An Ursan warrior never fought until forced and only to protect his family and his homeland. What he’d done to survive, to ensure his brothers’ survival, would have brought shame to his people. In those early days after leaving Ursa, he’d sunk to the lowest depths. He lived with other mercenaries, men who’d kill him in his sleep to get his job, or just for the pleasure of watching him bleed.

He’d worked for the grasping, greedy overlords who cared more about securing their own power than taking care of their people. They starved
while his people, whose rulers were just and fair, died. But those thoughts always led to madness. Hell, he had been a little crazy after he fled his homeland with his brothers. The harsh, pained sounds of the dying people echoed in his ears. The echoes only silenced when replaced by the cries of his young brothers begging for a mother who wouldn’t come to comfort them. Would never come.

Only cheap ale and a few moments’ pleasure in a paid woman’s bed drowned out the noise. A part of it.

Then he’d broken his own rule. He was paid to kill a young girl, no more than ten. All for the sake of more power. More coin. The girl’s only crime was her marriage alliance. She was promised to a boy who’d one day be king of his lands. A rival family had a daughter of their own they wanted to see sitting upon the throne.

He located his intended victim sleeping in her bed. Her tiny hand curled around a doll. He’d found his own sister this way many times.

What had he become? The blood of honorable warriors flowed through his veins. He was one with the bear…and he was about to cowardly cut the neck of a small girl. He’d stuck his dagger into the wooden chest next to her bed as a warning to her family, grabbed his brothers and fled into the night.

He prayed to the spirits of the bears that they might let his family enter their sacred grounds, and he vowed to protect those lands with his life, even to kill any trespasser who dared to enter the domain of the bear.

And here she was. The person who dared to defy the warnings staked on the outskirts of this isolated land and intrude where she had no right to be.

Osborn looked down at the woman stretched naked beneath him. Her very presence mocked his vow and his rule—to never kill a woman—and yet he must kill. She brought menace, blood magic, the worst kind, here.

Her breasts rose and fell as she took one ragged breath after another. The tight dusky tips invited his touch and his tongue and he was distracted for a moment. Her hair splayed all around the ground, like it did when he dreamed of her. She wore only an odd timepiece around her neck. Her soft lips were parted and a pulse hammered at the base of her throat.

He was distracted longer than a moment because she slammed her knee into his side. His breath came out in a grunt, but he didn’t budge. It would take more than a small woman’s shove to overpower him. He gripped her wrists and tugged them high above her head to prove his point.

“Are you daring me to kill you, Breena?”

“Let me go!” She bucked her hips, trying to shake him off, but only managed to shift her legs so that she cradled him. He felt the slick heat of her woman’s body, and his cock stiffened. How long had it been since he’d touched a woman? Since bringing his brothers here, he’d driven every emotion, pounded every desire and drove every wish he’d once had for himself into creating something on this land. Raising his brothers, keeping them alive, making sure they had a life so that when he left to seek revenge on those who’d brought down the destruction of his family, his brothers could and would carry on without him.

In an attempt to dislodge him, Breena jerked against his cock, and his breath came out in a hiss. Years. It had been years since he’d sunk himself into a woman’s inviting warmth. But the female beneath him wasn’t just any female; she was the woman of his dreams.

No. She was the woman who’d invaded his dreams and made him dream of her.

“You cannot best me.”

“I can try,” she told him, meeting his gaze. Defiance and something like desperation mingled in the green depths.

He knew those sentiments.

Felt them.

Lived
them.

She shouldn’t have to feel that.

Why he should even care, he couldn’t fathom. But for some reason, Osborn cared. It had been a long time since he’d really given a damn about anything.

Her bottom lip trembled for a moment, and he couldn’t look away from the tempting softness of her mouth. Then he felt her spine stiffen. “If you’re going to kill me, do it now, otherwise—”

Her “otherwise” was punctuated with the top of her head meeting his chin. His teeth snapped together, and his head reared back, but the shock of her action didn’t loosen his grip. Instead, he shifted both her wrists to just one of his hands and gripped her chin to make her meet his eyes. Just to prove that he could.

“A moment ago I was thinking I wouldn’t kill you. I’m back to thinking I will.”

“I…” But her sentence trailed. Had he expected her to apologize for wanting to live?

Her one word drew his glance back to her lips. The tempting seductress of his dreams, or the sleepy enchantress come to life. Now Breena was a woman. Naked. And under him.

Osborn lowered his head, and took from her what he’d wanted. And she gave it to him. Her lips met his, her mouth opening to welcome in his tongue.

She tasted like promise and better than his dream.

He wanted to taste all of her

“Please,” she said, her voice broken and needy.

Please what? Please don’t kill her? Please make her feel something other than fear for a moment? Fear he’d caused?

He slumped against her, burying his face in her drying hair. The drive to explore her body died, and was replaced with something less primal. Guilt? Regret?

He didn’t need more of that in his life. He had enough for a dozen lifetimes.

“I won’t kill you.”

He felt her sag beneath him, the fight draining from her limbs. He released her hands, and balanced above her, Breena’s sweet, soft curves still cradling him. “But I need answers.” He eyed the sky, noting the position of the sun. “It will be dark soon. You can stay tonight, but you leave tomorrow after I’m satisfied I know all I need to about this threat. And, Breena…”

“Yes?”

“Don’t come back.”

She nodded, and a smile almost tugged at his lips at the quickness of her agreement. “Don’t worry.”

With one more hard glare, he gently pushed himself off and away from her.

Don’t look.

With a new determination, he began to examine
the wounds on his arm. Already a dark bruise had formed, mimicking the shape of the creature’s snakelike body. The bleeding had stopped, though. The poison’s ache had been reduced to a throb, and the burns would fade. He’d had worse. Osborn heard her rolling to her knees.

Don’t look.

He felt the gash on his forehead, and wasn’t surprised when he pulled back his hand to find it red with blood. That bang to the head might require his brother to take a needle to it.

Leaves crunched beneath Breena’s feet as she raced quickly toward her clothes.

Don’t look.

He looked. And groaned. Breena’s slight frame was perfection. Made for a man’s touch.
His
touch. Her backside was made to cup a man as he entered her from behind. His favorite position. His cock stiffened again.

“One more thing.”

She turned, shielding her body from his eyes with her clothes. But she’d never be able to block the image of her soft curves from his memory.

“Until you go in the morning…don’t let yourself be alone with me.”

Breena dressed as quickly as she could with shaking fingers. Shaking everything. Even her knees felt weak. Her nipples ached when she pulled the shirt Osborn’s brothers had loaned her
over her head. The fabric felt rough and abrasive against her sensitized skin. Sensitized from his hands.

Don’t let yourself be alone with me.

She closed her eyes and steeled herself against the hot wave of desire that coursed through her. The pleasure and the thirst for his touch narrowed her focus to only him. Her warrior. Osborn.

She licked her lips, finding them swollen. Breena lifted her fingers to touch where he’d touched. To trace along her bottom lip the spot he’d nipped.

Don’t let yourself be alone with me.

A powerful warning. An order. And Breena had been raised to be an obedient girl. She’d never broken a rule or voiced a disagreement. Looking over her shoulder, she stole a glance at that man who’d issued what basically amounted to a threat—to her body. She began to shiver.

Osborn stood watching her. More like stood guard. His arms were crossed against his chest, the muscles coiled and ready for combat. His wide-legged stance instantly instilled caution to any observer.

I’ll chase.

Run you down.

Render you defenseless.

He didn’t care that he still stood naked. A flutter tickled her stomach. She’d never seen what made
a man a man before, and she couldn’t help but look. That part of him stood out and seemed to rise higher and bigger under her inspection.

Her imagination played with the idea of taking off at a run. He’d chase. He’d catch her. She’d be helpless against his strength. And while he’d threatened her with death a moment ago, she knew that was the last thing he wanted to do to her. He
did
want to do things to her. Forbidden deeds. She shivered again. Her skills were few, but along with hairbrushing there was the reading of people.

And she could read this man.

Probably the only weapon she had against him.

He was angry. He saw himself as betrayed by her and by his very dreams when he was at his most vulnerable. To a man like her warrior, such a thing was probably unforgivable.

She had to make him forgive her. It was the only way to get his help. Breena desperately needed his help, but, even more, she wanted him to
choose
to help her now that she’d kissed him. Been held in his arms. She craved that almost as much as she needed his skills as a fighter.

Breena had longed for this man. Ached for him. And now he stood just feet away from her…despising her. And wanting her with a heat that made her stomach dip in excitement.

Osborn’s expression grew fiercer. His face was
as hard as the stone that made the walls of her bedchamber at home.

Her fingers stilled. A new image…a memory of her home. And it came without pain. A rush of images and feelings nearly overwhelmed her. A peaceful kind of hope settled in her chest, and she smiled, barely realizing she was still staring at Osborn.

His hands fisted, and the muscles of his legs bunched as though he was about to stalk over to her and help her dress. Or remove what she’d already donned. Her mouth went dry, and she turned away, quickly returning to her task.

The thoughts of her home gave her peace, but menace tinged the calmness and the longing. She tried to concentrate, grab the memories, which seemed to be fluttering just out of her reach. This time the pain splintered behind her eyes, and she stopped trying to recall the elusive thoughts of home. But she’d try again. She’d managed to survive another day. She’d found her warrior, and soon she’d understand why she was so far away from her family.

She tugged on the rest of the clothes Bernt and Torben had given her, although
tugged
wasn’t really the right word, since the garments still hung down past her fingertips, and she had to roll the pant legs up several times. Osborn was dressed in half the time it took her, and for that she was
grateful. How was a girl, long shielded from males, supposed to react when encountering a naked man? And one so beautifully made? She still had to suffer staring at the broadness of his back, and how the pants clung to his seat. Was a woman supposed to find a man’s backside attractive? She’d heard the maids in the castle gossip about a man’s flat stomach, speculate on the largeness of his feet, or discuss the strength of his arms, but never specifically his—

“Hurry.”

Startled, Breena met Osborn’s gaze.
Caught.

“We have a good ten-minute walk back to the cottage, and the sun will be setting soon. I want to be prepared if those things come back.”

She nodded, and quickened her pace. Maybe he hadn’t noticed her gawking at his body.

“And, Breena…”

“Yes?”

“You can look at that later. All you want.”

Why did that sound less like a threat and more like something she’d want to do?

The brothers stood outside the cottage examining the waning daylight as they approached. Osborn had led the way, with her following close behind. The boys looked a little shocked to see her beside Osborn. Curiosity radiated from their young faces, and they loped down the stairs to meet them in the clearing.

“Did you see that thing in the sky?”

“It got all dark.”

“What happened to your arm?”

Both boys spoke at once, and she smiled. Her brothers when they were younger also charged all over each other’s words.

Her breath came out in a gasp, but the three males didn’t seem to notice. Another memory without pain. Were her brothers safe? Where were they? Dayn had been outside, and Micah… She tried to picture his sweet face and remember. Something about his nanny. A shaft of pain forced her to stop digging for the memory of that night. It seemed she could recall the events much easier when she wasn’t even trying. Perhaps she shouldn’t try to force anything. Maybe she could ease into her past like she did her dreamhaze. Relax, picture a door in her mind and, instead of a dream, walk into her past.

“
We
were attacked.”

Torben and Bernt didn’t miss the emphasis Osborn placed on the word
we.
Subtlety was apparently not one of his skills. The brothers glanced at each other, and suspected they would have rolled their eyes if Osborn hadn’t been standing right there.