Moonshadow

by Thea Harrison

  “My training didn’t involve running household errands,” he said dryly. As she watched, he paused to shrug. Once he had removed the sword harness from between his shoulders, the cloaking spell eased and it came into view. He set it in one corner.

  “No, I suppose it didn’t,” she muttered, staring at the sword in its sheath. “I’ll go into town tomorrow to buy some. I promised to stop by the pub to see Maggie and Arran anyway.” She glanced at him. “What was it like in town?”

  “Subdued. People have started putting black ribbons in their windows. The butcher said it was to remember those who were killed.”

  Her appetite disappeared, and she offered the second Scotch egg to the monkey, who snatched at it. Nikolas watched her movements, but he didn’t say anything. Instead, he took a bottle of cabernet sauvignon and opened it. Pouring wine into a tumbler, he handed it to her.

  Instantly she forgave him the lack of coffee as she took a large swallow of the rich, ruby red liquid and sighed.

  He poured more wine into another tumbler, set it on the counter, and lit the bulky, alien-looking stove. “I bought a steak and kidney pie for supper. It’s already cooked, but it will taste better warmed up. Do you want a salad to go with it?”

  She drank more wine as she watched him. He did everything with the same lethal, seamless grace as he fought, and it was mesmerizing. If she wasn’t careful, she could fall into a trance and merely watch him, like looking at the graceful flow of a river, for hours on end.

  They were drinking wine—well, at the moment, at least she was anyway. Sharing the simple chore of putting groceries away. Talking together about making supper as if they were friends. What on earth was going on here?

  Realizing she had paused for too long, she said, “Sure, I’ll make it.”

  Setting aside her glass, she gathered up lettuce and fresh vegetables to wash at the kitchen sink. Glancing out the window at the deepening evening, she looked at the darkened manor house.

  Her house. The thrill at saying those words wasn’t going to get old.

  That reminded her. Abandoning her task, she strode quickly into the sitting room where she had left her phone and opened her email account. Scrolling through the messages, she saw an email from Rodrigo but left it unopened to read later.

  She found a new message from Kathryn, with a PDF attachment, and clicked on it. It was the letter Kathryn had promised to send to Paul. Warmth spread through her, along with giddy delight.

  “What is it?” Nikolas said from the doorway.

  She turned, smiling. “Kathryn emailed the letter to the solicitor in Shrewsbury. It’s official. This land, and everything on it, is mine.”

  Strolling over to her side, he angled his head to study the small screen. “Congratulations. When you go into town tomorrow, you can open a checking account, and I’ll transfer your first month’s rent into it.” Then as she opened her mouth to argue, he told her, “Hush. The building itself might be uncomfortable and lacking in amenities, but it more than makes up for it in other ways. It’s a fair exchange.”

  She scowled. “Here’s another thing you don’t seem to grasp. Seeing as I’m not five years old any longer, I’m not about to hush just because you tell me to.”

  His expression heated, and one corner of his mouth lifted in a smile. Sliding an arm around her, he pulled her against his torso. “Do I need to resort to the one technique I have for shutting you up?”

  The intensity of his expression warmed her to her toes. Tilting her head, she focused her eyes on one of his shirt buttons. His black shirt was open at the throat, exposing the long graceful line of his tanned neck.

  She fiddled with the button. “I didn’t want to embarrass you, but to be honest, your technique could use some practice.”

  Standing flush against him, she could feel his torso shake in a silent laugh. “You’re a truly dreadful woman.”

  She widened her eyes. “Naturally, you would think so.” Waving the fingers of one hand at her own head, she told him, “It’s because I have all these modern, newfangled ideas, you know. Things like, I know how to speak my own mind. I’m a perfectly capable, autonomous person in my own right. I deserve to get all the pleasure I can from someone else’s technique, and I have the right to crit—Mmph.”

  He lowered his head, and her last words got mashed against his lips as he took her mouth. His hot, hardened lips moved across hers, while he slid a hand around the nape of her neck, tilting her head back.

  The first time he had kissed her had been an odd, shocking pleasure. The next few times, she had grown a little more accustomed to the idea. This time her body knew what was coming and welcomed it eagerly.

  The shocking pleasure hadn’t lessened. If anything, it had increased as she left the doubts and disbelief behind and concentrated solely on the sensual experience of his mouth moving over hers with such wicked expertise it sent pulses of pleasure spreading throughout her body.

  He knew what he was doing when he kissed someone. He knew it and clearly relished the act, as he put the full force of his considerable concentration into it. Skillfully he teased her lips apart so that he could penetrate deeper. By then, her muscles were melting and her mind had switched off.

  She wound one arm around his neck and kissed him back. There was something she was supposed to remember. One thing. One job. But oh wait, that job didn’t matter anymore if she was going to proposition him for (tremendous, mind-blowing, screaming, utterly fantastic, wildly pleasurable) sex.

  Just the thought of it had her melting down further. Oh my God, if they did end up deciding to have sex, he would take his clothes off.

  She had already gotten a hint of what that would be like when she had seen him without his shirt. The thought of him totally nude broke the logical part of her brain. Hunger gained control of the wheel and began to drive her actions.

  Sliding her fingers through his hair, she lost herself in the sensual pleasure of his mouth. He gripped her hips, pulled her tight against him and held her stationary, pelvis to pelvis. She felt his cock harden, and a sheen of sweat broke over her skin. His entire body was hard as a rock, the muscles rigid underneath her stroking fingers, while his breathing roughened.

  He broke off the kiss, ran his open mouth down the side of her neck, and muttered against her skin, “What the fuck are we doing?”

  Afterward, he ran his teeth along the sensitive cord at the side of her neck and bit her lightly. Her knees threatened to buckle. She gasped. “Still can’t speak for you, but I’m not over jet lag yet. Plus I’m drunk.”

  That brought his head up. He stared down at her, eyes narrowed. He looked like he had been thoroughly kissed. His elegant lips were darkened with color, his hair falling onto his brow.

  She had made him look like that. The knowledge sent another thrill through her body. She was hungry for him, literally, physically hungry.

  “You took one swallow of your wine,” he accused.

  She hadn’t realized he’d been watching her so closely. That was sexy too. She lied, “I’m sensitive to alcohol.”

  “You’re so full of shit.” He slid one large hand underneath her shirt, and the sensation of his callused fingers stroking over her sensitive skin sent a flash fire of sensation rippling over her. He cupped her breast.

  She let him. Slipping her own hand inside his shirt, she ran her palm over the bulge and hollow of his muscular chest. “And your reasons are still inexplicable.”

  “I’ve got nothing else to do,” he growled.

  She burst out laughing. “You’re bored? That’s your excuse right now?”

  “Why?” Lowering his head, he nipped at her lower lip. Huskily he whispered, “Do you have anything better to do?”

  Her critical thinking skills had already been in trouble. Now her mind flatlined as he molded and stroked her breast with such clever, clever fingers, teasing the tip of her nipple through the thin material of her bra.

  She wanted to push herself into his hand, rub herself all
over him like a cat. She felt addicted, drugged. It was like he exuded some kind of pheromone that promised pure pleasure.

  She murmured raggedly, “I can’t think of anything.”

  He froze. For a moment he didn’t even breathe. Standing so flush against him, she could tell, while his heart beat a rapid tattoo against her fingers.

  When he withdrew his hand from underneath her shirt, she almost groaned in disappointment. He cupped her face with both hands. Stroking her lips with his thumbs, he looked into her eyes for a long moment, and she knew in that moment they had gone past all joking.

  “Tell me to stop,” he whispered. “Tell me, and I’ll walk away and say nothing more about it.”

  There it was: decision time. If he said he would walk away, she believed him, because for all their differences, he kept his word too.

  “I don’t want you to stop,” she whispered back. “We both know what this is. We have a night ahead us, the opportunity to spend some time together and give each other some pleasure—there’s nothing more to it than that.”

  She wanted to add we don’t even like each other, but the words stuck in her throat, and she knew, at least on her end, that it wasn’t true any longer.

  “There can’t be anything more,” he said. The line of his jaw had turned tight, and his fingers moved over her skin restlessly, as if he wanted to let go of her but couldn’t. “Do you understand? I don’t have anything to give a lover. No safety, no home, not even the promise of my time and attention. Everything I have, everything I am, is wrapped up in trying to save my men and my people.”

  There it was, the fineness she had sensed in him the day before, the trueness of self and purpose. If he ever chose to look at someone with that same sense of commitment, Sophie knew that woman would never doubt anything about him and would never want for anything.

  For now, there was even integrity in his insistence on having this conversation at this particular point in time. He risked destroying the heat of the moment in order to make sure there was no misunderstanding between them.

  “I know who you are and what is at stake for you,” she told him. Gently she disengaged, and his hands dropped as he let her go. Turning away, she said over her shoulder, “I’m getting my glass of wine and going to bed, and I would like for you to join me, but I understand if you feel you can’t.”

  Behind her, all she heard was silence.

  She didn’t linger. Nikolas had made it clear he had his own battles to fight, and this decision was one of them.

  By the time she reached the kitchen, she knew he wasn’t going to join her. The burden of his own mission held him back. Disappointment weighted her limbs, and only then did she realize how much she had hoped he would take her up on her invitation.

  It only went to show—her asshole curse stayed as true as her technology curse. As soon as she found out the asshole wasn’t quite as much of an asshole as she had at first thought, the magic died and any opportunity they had to be together passed on by. She reached for her wineglass to drain it dry.

  A rush of air brushed against the back of her neck. Instinctively she turned as Nikolas came up behind her. His face was set, dark eyes blazing. Before she could react, he picked her up bodily and set her on the counter behind her.

  Coming between her legs, he held her, one arm braced low around her hips while he gripped her by the back of the neck. The whole maneuver was so swift, so decisive she had barely enough time to gasp.

  He said into her face, “I want you.”

  The words rippled through her body, banishing the leaden disappointment and replacing it with incredulity. Desire for him roared back to life so powerfully she began to shake.

  Touching his taut face, she whispered back, “I want you.”

  A muscle leaped beside that beautiful mouth. “We take tonight.”

  She nodded. “Yes.”

  It was as if she had set him on fire. He kissed her so fiercely it vaporized the memory of every other kiss she had ever shared. There was only this one, this moment with this man. She made a noise at the back of her throat. It sounded needy and vulnerable and quite unlike any other noise she had ever made.

  Still kissing her, he picked her up. She wrapped her arms and legs around him, utterly shaken by how much emotion came roaring up in response.

  The effortless strength with which he held her, the broad curve of his shoulders, the ferocity of his kiss as his hardened lips slanted over and over hers—it all spoke to her in a language she hadn’t realized she knew, and she had never known she’d needed to hear.

  She drank it all down, while dimly she realized he was striding through the cottage, carrying her to the bedroom. They couldn’t get there fast enough for her. He held her weight effortlessly enough; she trusted in his grip and loosened her hold around his neck long enough to drag her shirt over her head.

  She let it fall to the floor as he climbed onto the bed and laid her on her back, and together they removed his shirt too. The sight of him, his scent, his expression, each piece of sensory input was like a spike driving into her, splintering preconceived notions, barriers, expectations, stripping her bare emotionally as physically he removed all her clothing.

  She was not just nude; she felt exposed in a way that baffled her. She was no stranger to good sex, but this felt…

  This felt raw, powerful, and unique.

  There was no time to analyze why. As soon as he had helped her remove her clothes, he pulled back up to strip off his pants. He took all his clothes off and stood naked at the side of the bed.

  He was naked.

  For the first time, she saw the seamless beauty of his body without obstruction, the feline grace of his bone structure flowing from long, muscular legs up slim hips to the widening flare of his chest and shoulders. He was a dusky gold all over, with a sprinkle of dark hair across his chest that arrowed down the long muscles of his abdomen to a large, erect cock jutting over the tight, round sac underneath.

  Staring at him, she forgot how exposed she felt, how odd and raw and powerful this moment felt, and lost herself in wonder. Looking up at his hard, beautiful face, the face that couldn’t help but be ferocious because ferocity was an inherent part of his nature, with those dark, glittering eyes focused solely on her, she knew somehow that she stood poised on the threshold of a new reality.

  He began to crawl onto the bed, and he had no clothes on to mask the flawless, inhuman fluidity with which he moved. She could stare at him for years and never get tired of it.

  Pausing, he met her gaze. “Everything okay?”

  Hell no, nothing was okay. He was taking her apart and remaking her, and he hadn’t even touched her again yet.

  But he waited for her reply, and she wasn’t about to deny herself a moment of this singular experience, no matter what it did to her or who she became when she reached the other side of it.

  Opening her arms to him, she said, “Everything is perfect.”

  * * *

  Nikolas was hard put to describe to himself or understand exactly why Sophie affected him so powerfully.

  All he truly knew was that she did. Her insane courage, the way she thought, the way she laughed, the way her incredible eyes sparkled with so much lively humor or outrage, and how either emotion could change in an instant.

  Her clever use of her magic and her fierce defense of her own boundaries—stitched together, all those characteristics created a person of such wholeness and appeal that in the course of a single day, she had moved effortlessly to take center stage in his thoughts.

  He loved her curves. Loved them. They were so alien to his own body, so compelling. He touched her lips, the tips of her breasts, and ran his fingers lightly over the swell of her hips and felt her shiver underneath his touch.

  Aside from the three ragged scars at shoulder, abdomen, and thigh, her creamy skin was flawless. She might disagree, but he thought those scars were beautiful. Each one was a badge honoring her courage and strength.

  She had
said she had lost muscle tone, but he didn’t see it. Her body was sleek and toned. Only the concave hollows at her stomach, under her collarbones and cheekbones gave any hint at the weight she had lost. Her breasts were generously rounded, the plump dusky nipples erect and inviting.

  Her eyes gathered all the light in the room. For a moment he had the oddest feeling that they gathered all the light inside him too, however much had managed to survive these past several years, and they magnified all of it to shine as brilliant as stars in the bedroom’s muted lighting. He had always loved starlight’s cool, distant magic.

  He needed to touch and taste her everywhere, badly enough that his hands shook with a fine tremor as he pulled her into his arms. The sensation of her body against his, bare skin to bare skin, reverberated through both of them, creating a vibration that was neither one nor the other but a combination of both.

  There was nothing else in the entire universe, nothing but the two of them together. Her curves, his angles. Her light, his darkness. Her softness, his exquisitely aching hardness.

  Male. Female.

  Her head fell back against his arm as she stared at him, and her plump, delectable lips parted.

  It was all the invitation he needed. He gave into the internal fire that burned so hot for her, and it consumed him.

  Chapter Twelve

  Yanking her body against him, he ravaged her mouth, succumbing to blind instinct as he plunged his tongue into her as deeply as he could. Her groan trembled against his lips. Unsure if she welcomed his onslaught, he paused, and in response, she gripped his shoulders and kissed him back with wild abandon.

  Her transparent eagerness burned away the last of his restraint. Easing her back onto the bed, bringing the weight of his body over hers to pin her down, he ran a hand down her torso while he feasted on her mouth.

  The soft, pliant responsiveness of her lips, the plump generosity of her breasts, the way her legs moved restlessly against his, every detail of the sensory input fed his hunger until he felt like his skin was nothing more than the thinnest of covers for the light and heat that roared inside him.