by Ann Aguirre
“It’s not that I think you’re going to assault me,” he muttered. “I can protect myself. I’m simply not used to being touched.”
“Well, that’s step one. You have to change your mindset and embrace the idea that it’s okay for me to put my hands on you. Do I have permission now?”
“Is all of this really necessary?” he demanded.
Gavriel put his hand over hers, possibly to pull it away, but he hesitated, and she held still, letting him feel the contrast between them. His hand was cool and lean; she could feel the scars and calluses from his years of training. Her own hand was hard and hot. She hoped it felt like the promise of spring after a long winter.
“It is for me,” she said simply.
“Then…I’ll try. No promises.” His voice dropped, so low that even with enhanced senses in close quarters, she could barely make out his next words. “I might be too broken even for this.”
“I don’t think that’s true. Nobody is shattered beyond mending. All it requires is enough time and patience. As it happens, I have both.”
“Why would you bother?” This vulnerability wasn’t like Gavriel, a sign that she was succeeding at storming the walls she’d mentioned.
“It will be worth it. In the end, we’ll both get exactly what we desire.”
He stroked his fingers down the back of hers, still resting on his chest. “I’ll put myself in your hands then.”
That first softening, first submission, sent a quiet thrill through her, a pleasurable spike that curled her toes. The next step was a test to see if he meant it or if he was simply saying what she wanted to hear. She slid her hand up his chest, over his shoulder, and brushed the hair away from his face. He still didn’t move, though his lashes fluttered.
“This is a good start. You’re not yelling at me when I do this anymore.”
“Before, you were baiting me,” he snapped.
“Sometimes. More often, I was treating you like I treat my pride mates. Which pissed you off something special.” Mags stroked his hair, mostly testing whether he’d let her—slow, sweeping motions that startled a strangled sound from him. “Are you uncomfortable? Be honest. I’ll stop anytime you say the word.”
A little shudder ran through him, and she couldn’t read the complex play of emotions that twisted his mouth and led him to squeeze his eyes shut for a few seconds. Then he shook his head. “No. It actually feels…good.”
“But it seems wrong to let yourself enjoy it,” she guessed.
“A little.”
“We’ll work on that. Come here.” His quick compliance brightened her smile. Maybe this wouldn’t take as long as she feared; then they could have some real fun. She pulled him to her, so their bodies were touching, but she didn’t hold him. “Is there anything you’ve ever wanted someone to do for you?”
“You mean…like a fantasy?”
“Not a sex thing. I like having my feet rubbed for example. Sometimes when I’ve had a long, shitty day, I wish there was someone to do that for me.”
“Ah, I see. You want me to…share.”
“More or less. It’s like a rehearsal for more intimate requests. If you can’t tell me something easy like this, how are you going to ask me to bind you with rope and use my teeth until you come?”
Gavriel sucked in a sharp breath, reaction vibrating through him palpably so she could feel his response. He was already half-hard and trembling, just at the mention of the possibility. Playing with him later would be pure delight.
His voice was hoarse when he finally answered. “When I think about my responsibilities, I get headaches and the tendons in my neck are so often tight that they hurt, not in a good way.”
“So you’d like a head and neck rub, easy enough. Do I have your permission, Gavriel?” That was a much deeper question than it might initially seem.
Because if he said yes, it was the first step down this road together, and even if it was slow-going, she wouldn’t turn back.
“Yes. Please.”
The ‘please’ evoked a sudden rush of surprising tenderness because he sounded so bewildered, eyes shut again, as if he couldn’t watch what was about to happen, some sin of self-indulgence too great to bear. Smiling, she curved her right hand around the back of his head. He hadn’t been kidding about the tension; the knots had knots, and she worked with brutal determination. Gavriel wouldn’t mind a little pain. It might even make this better.
A groan escaped him, and he pushed his head against her fingers. She dug in with firm fingertips, until she heard the soft hiss of tension releasing. There would be soreness afterward, but not the kind of pain that led to debilitating headaches. Gradually she eased up, stroking the sides of his neck to smooth out the last of the stiffness. To finish, she sifted through his hair and scratched lightly all over his head, alternating pattern and pressure according to what pleased him best. Mags gauged that by the unconscious sounds he made and the way he leaned into her touch.
Eventually, she was only playing with his hair and he’d shifted close enough that his head was almost resting on her shoulder to give her easier access. He wasn’t aroused anymore—his scent had cooled—but he was more relaxed, pliant against her as she could never have imagined before this strange night. In fact, it seemed like he was about to drift off to sleep.
“How did that feel?” she whispered.
“Incredible,” he said sleepily.
His head drooped; he rested it on her shoulder, and she slid an arm over him, another little test to see if he would withdraw. But there was warmth and ease between them, a good foundation, and he only shifted to get more comfortable. Nobody would believe it, if they saw us now. The other Eldritch would be shocked; so would her pride mates, but Mags had never been one to publicize her personal business. She would protect Gavriel’s privacy as fiercely as she did her own.
“It’s easy to get what you want. You only have to ask.” She was stroking his hair again, so silky that it almost made her want to grow hers out, only she didn’t have the patience to care for it.
“That’s never been true before,” he muttered.
Mags smiled. “Then your life’s about to change.”
Gavriel woke tangled up with the tiger woman, who had thrown an arm and leg over him as they slept. The weight didn’t trouble him, but the intimacy did. Her pine and icy wind scent lingered all over him, and the feel of her body, well, she was just as strong as he’d imagined, firm and muscled and so hot that he’d shoved the thermal blanket off in the night. Her right breast nestled against his chest, her thigh spread across his like a sly enticement. He didn’t roll away.
He half-regretted the things he’d agreed to the night before, half-wished he could take back the way he’d allowed her to handle him freely. Yet the fresh pleasure lingered.
Even now, he could feel the tenderness where she’d worked away aches he had nursed for months. She could well be a witch because magic might be the only plausible explanation for what had passed between them. He wasn’t susceptible to soft words or sensual blandishments, but she’d made everything sound so reasonable—
“Doubts already?”
He started, ignoring the question. “You’re awake.”
“Since you are also, we should get moving. I’d kill for a hot bath and a warm meal.” She got up before he could, crawling over to gather her gear. There was no delicacy or elegance about her, presenting her backside like she wanted to be mounted.
And now he was thinking about sex, something he did all too often around Magda Versai. She drew it out of him like poison from a wound and left him shivering in the aftermath.
Why does she want me? Why me? He couldn’t ask. The answer might unravel him. She had the knack for doing so without half trying, and he was barely keeping the pieces together, like an ornament stitched of tattered thread and bits of broken glass.
“You’d do that anyway,” he said.
“Not without provocation. Let’s see if your beast is still around. What’s h
is name?”
“He doesn’t have one.”
This conversation seemed remarkable—that she could act like nothing had changed—when for him, everything had. Gavriel hardly knew how to behave around her, now that he’d given her permission to touch him. He was constantly braced for her to do something outrageous, but she was acting as she always had, like they were comrades.
“Well, he should.” She edged out of the tent, still talking. “He looks like a Gray. How does that work for you? Who’s a good Gray?” From the nonsense she spouted, she must be talking to the vedda beast, not him.
Gavriel took a moment to compose himself and once he was calm, he packed his belongings. Maybe she could truly keep things separate. During the day, they would focus on work and not discuss what happened at night. That suited him perfectly.
“I hope we find something today,” he said. “And not another damned empty camp.”
The tiger woman nodded. “I’m with you. I wish had a clue what these assholes are looking for, roaming around Thalia’s territory.”
“They could be making contact with other insurgents.”
Magda shook her head. “That doesn’t feel right. There would be more signs if larger groups had passed through. I’m only finding traces of the group that had Slay.”
“We’ll know when we catch up to them. How are you moving today?” As a tiger, he suspected, but he didn’t want to assume.
“I have to be a cat to follow the trail. Are you going to miss having me up behind you or something? Now that we’re…involved, I could cuddle up behind you and whisper dirty things in your ear as we go.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” he snapped.
She removed her shirt, indifferent to the cold. But her golden gaze held his as she wriggled out of her pants. “You still hate me, got it. Then will you give my stuff to Gray? He says he doesn’t mind porting it for me.”
Gavriel bit his lip against a reluctant smile as the vedda beast puffed out a sound that could be taken for agreement and stamped its hooves against the frosty ground. Magda scratched the animal between his horns, and he recalled the feel of her fingers on his head and neck, stroking him into a stupor.
“You’ll freeze to death, standing around in your underwear.” Annoyance made his voice sharp. “We have no time to waste.”
“It’s not that cold,” she said, petting his vedda beast until Gavriel started to wish he had horns and a shaggy mane. “You’re right about the last thing, though.”
His faint aggravation faded as the rest of her clothes hit the forest floor. No matter how often she did this, it would never be commonplace for him. Her people might bare their bodies casually but his didn’t. The Eldritch were simply better at hiding their emotions than the Golgoth, who had gawked like peasants at a penny carnival.
He admired her in tiny, stolen glances, unable to let his gaze simply feast. Too hungry for that, he might give himself away if he looked as long as he wanted. Certain parts of her burned into his mind’s eye, the broad curve of her hips, the thickness of her thighs, and the dark hair that curled between her legs. Her skin was beautiful, coppery warm, and perfect like most of the Animari. Most bore no scars, no matter how often they fought, due to their accelerated healing. Heat prickled at the edges of his self-control as he remembered how she felt on top of him.
Now is not the time.
The next time he checked, she was a tiger, pacing in impatient silence. Gavriel fastened her things to Gray, then his own, and mounted up, letting her set the pace. This morning, the vedda beast was jumpy, as if it sensed danger. But surely if there was something to hear or smell, Magda would be aware of it too. Sobering to realize that he trusted her enhanced senses and furthermore, he’d seen enough of her battle prowess to have no hesitation about following her.
Is this what she means about building trust?
Enough of this. We have work to do.
The ride freed him from the need to think, though he did stay alert. Normal forest noises accompanied their movement, nothing that should alarm him. The trees were dark and bare, brittle with the ending of winter. He heard only the sounds of their passage, Gray’s hooves moving over a carpet of dead leaves and broken branches. Yet Gavriel couldn’t prevent the chill that rippled down his spine as they moved out of the woods. Perhaps it was only the suggestion of being exposed to the enemy, now that they’d lost the trees for cover.
But he didn’t think so. And he hadn’t survived as a Noxblade by doubting his instincts. He was the last of his sword mates, and he wouldn’t die easily. If the rebel houses thought they could weaken the princess by attacking him, he’d spit on their corpses. And even if they succeeded in eliminating him, she still had the wolves at her back. Odd that he would find some reassurance in that after opposing the alliance so fiercely.
“We’re close,” he said.
She growled in response and lifted her head, a gesture he took for agreement. It would be helpful if they could communicate more than this, but no use wishing for the impossible. Dismounting, he drew his weapons and signaled to Gray that he should wait. The beast was well-trained and didn’t make a sound. If Gavriel didn’t return before dark, the animal would head for Daruvar on his own, taking all their belongings with him.
Better not to risk it.
He pulled each of their packs from the saddlebags and slung them across his back, then he dropped to a crouch, moving so slowly that it would take a bird of prey to spot him. Or possibly an Animari. Daylight wasn’t a friend, and his dark clothes didn’t blend with the brown grass. Nothing to be done about that now. Magda prowled ahead, a lean and feline threat to whatever they had finally tracked down.
He used the scrubby evergreen bushes for cover when possible. The tiger’s ears swiveled; clearly, she was hearing something up ahead.
Ready for anything, Gavriel crested the hill and braced for battle.
9.
Mags ran in ready for a fight, but she skidded to a stop when a little Eldritch girl shrieked at the sight of her and tumbled backward. The kid scrambled up and didn’t stop running until she got to a woman Mags figured must be her mother. The little one grabbed the lady’s filthy skirt and hid her face in it.
Well, damn. Now I have to add frightening small children to the list of shit I did before dinner.
In a glance, she took in the dismal scene: makeshift shelters built of sticks and tattered fabric, a hole they were clearly using as toilet facilities, and no potable water. She didn’t see any food in the empty containers scattered around. Five families at least—Mags did a quick headcount. Over twenty displaced Eldritch. These people were starving and scared to death. It didn’t take a genius to realize that this was a refugee camp. She shifted quickly and got behind Gray so she could dress. There was no way to help as a tiger.
Gavriel dismounted, his customarily impassive features awash in horror. “What’s happened here?” he demanded, his tone so sharp that nobody wanted to respond.
In fact, he radiated such authority that a couple of people were already edging away, ready to run in case they got punished for trespassing. Mags got her shirt and pants on in record time, no time for the underwear—otherwise, this situation might go bad. It wasn’t that she had great people skills, but she’d give herself the edge over Gavriel. She tapped his arm to get his attention and silently shook her head when it seemed like he was about to go after the ones shying away.
“Let me try,” she said.
At his curt nod, she took a few steps toward the cowering little girl and dropped to one knee in front of her mother. “Sorry I startled you. I wasn’t expecting to find anybody this cute roaming around out here.”
A pair of wide, gray eyes peered at her around the edges of ragged, dirty ruffles. Mags held the look, trying to seem harmless, which wasn’t easy as the acknowledged pride badass. She didn’t move or reach out. Gavriel stayed still too, letting her work.
“You were a monster cat and now you’re a lady!” the girl finally said.
“I’m a tiger when I want to be.”
“I want to be a cormorant.”
Mags had a vague idea that was a bird of some kind, so she answered, “Flying would be pretty amazing.”
“And I could peck people who are mean to my mater!”
Ah, that was information she could use. “Is someone giving her trouble?”
“They’re bothering all of us!” She risked a longer look at Mags, then added, “You could eat them when you’re a monster cat. Would you—”
“Leena!” The Eldritch woman slid a hand gently across her daughter’s mouth, eyes anxious. She bit her lip, trembling visibly. “I’m sorry. We won’t cause trouble. We’ll move along soon. Please don’t report us to the Talfayens.”
Damn, so these people feared Thalia? But who—or what—were they running from? Gavriel stepped up beside her, holding Gray’s reins, and she hoped his presence wouldn’t set them off again. At least nobody was running and screaming. Yet.
This isn’t your problem, a little voice said.
While she understood that, she couldn’t shrug and move along. Even if it meant losing Slay’s trail, if she could do something to help here, she had to. Otherwise, all her talk about building bridges and doing better when she was lecturing Gavriel was so much bullshit. And Mags wasn’t a damn hypocrite.
“We don’t work for the princess,” Gavriel said then. “And we won’t be returning to the stronghold anytime soon. Please tell us what’s happening.”
The woman took a steadying breath, then flicked a look at someone else, an Eldritch woman of indeterminate age. From the authority she radiated, Mags guessed she must be the leader or at least someone whose opinion mattered. Despite the rags she was wearing, she had a stately air, and she gave a gentle nod, granting permission.
“The town we called home is no more,” Leena’s mother said. She paused, as if that statement gave her so much pain that she couldn’t breathe for a few seconds. “Or rather, the town still stands, but it is no longer safe.”