Hope lit his eyes, though Tabitha wasn’t sure she’d meant it like that. You couldn’t undo a mating, or get rid of the Goddess’ blessing, but trusting him… she might not be able to do that again.
“You’re right,” he said. “I’ve got a lot to learn. But I’m hoping you’ll both come home with me so we can figure it out together.”
Another tug on her heartstrings. The man was dangerously close to making her cave.
“You’ve hurt me, Jarrad. More than these stitches, the broken bones.” She hesitated but forged on. “I trust that you’ll keep me safe, physically. But my heart… I don’t know if I can give that to you.”
“At least say you’ll stay with me for a while. Give me a chance to prove myself. Tabitha,” he swallowed. “I’ll do anything. Give you anything you need.”
“Just say yes, Mummy,” Luna murmured. So much for being asleep. “I want to live with the chickens and play with Cole.”
Warmth filled her, along with irritation at her interfering progeny. She sighed.
“I’ll need time.” She shot Jarrad a warning glace. Luna might be convinced, but Tabitha had a long way to go before she trusted him with her heart. “And space to decide. Can you give me that?”
Jarrad’s smile was a sun breaking through a storm.
“Anything. Whatever you want, just ask.”
A traitorous little kernel of her heart seemed to be already planning her defeat.
She yawned.
“Rest,” he said, brushing her hair behind her ears. “We’ll be here in the morning. And when you can, we’ll all go home together.”
Sounds nice, Tabitha thought as her eyes drifted closed once more. The warm weight of her girl beside her and the strength of the hand in hers lulled her to sleep, safe in the knowledge no one would harm her.
Epilogue
Tabitha sat on the back veranda, watching as Luna squawked at the chickens in the pen, trying to communicate her good intentions to them. The chooks could probably scent the lie, knowing the girl was there to steal their eggs. Still, her daughter thought it didn’t hurt to try.
Anything to make an omelette easier and keep her pets happy.
Strong arms snaked around her from behind, and though there was a second’s hesitation, it didn’t take long for her to relax into them. It was amazing how much one year of adoration had done to erase the horror she’d faced. And rebuild her trust. Thankfully, there had been no further incursions by the dogmatic warriors.
Tabitha knew it was naive, but she was determined to think it finished. At least for now. Hopefully, they’d be so occupied with Ryan and his team chasing them around the country that they would forget she even existed.
“What puts that frown on your face?” Jarrad asked. His hands stroked her stomach, traced the underside of her breast. Fire woke in her belly.
“Just thinking,” she said, turning to face him, “that it’s been entirely too long since you made love to me.”
“This morning wasn’t enough?” Cocky wolf.
“Nope.” She shot him a saucy smile. “You rushed.”
“I’ll give you rushed,” he growled, slipping a hand down her pants. Just as Luna disappeared into the kitchen with the eggs.
Jarrad’s fingers stroked through her slick folds, finding her nub and lavishing it with attention. It didn’t take him long to bring her to her peak and over it, planting kisses on her neck as she panted out her orgasm.
“Still too rushed,” she breathed, turning in his arms to steal a kiss. “But I’m redoing the wards around the house tonight. You can join me after.” She wasn’t taking any chances. Even with the Goddess and Moon blessed ward that surrounded pack lands.
“Sky-clad?”
“Sky-clad,” she said, running teasing fingers down his arms.
Jarrad let out a howl, and joy filled her. “I suppose I’ll have to get used to lots of that,” she mused.
“Lots of what? Orgasms?”
“No, fur-face. Howling.” She laughed. “When I have your pups, they’ll probably keep everyone up all night howling.”
“Werewolf pups don’t howl until—” He stopped mid-sentence as what she said registered. “Tabitha?”
“Feel like running after two tiny terrors, Alpha? They won’t be as easy as the big one,” she said with a sly nod towards the house.
“Hell yes!” he whooped, picking her up and twirling her around. “I love you,” he murmured against her lips as he put her feet back on the floor.
“I love you, too,” she replied as she took his mouth with hers.
It was Jarrad who broke away first.
“Now let’s go tell our girl,” he said with a grin.
Tabitha’s heart melted. The sun set over the mountains, bathing them in blue, orange and gold. It glowed, almost as bright as Tabitha’s heart. Look what she’d have missed if she hadn’t learned to trust the wolf.
Also by SE Welsh
Seer: The Titanomachy Book 1
The Gamble
About the Author
S.E. Welsh is an Australian author who, when she’s not juggling her two full time jobs of teacher and mother, writes about heroes, history and heart. She loves to turn up the heat in her stories even though, writing in the tropical north of Australia, she should be avoiding anything that creates more sweat. But that’s what she loves—and hopes you do too!
Looking for more heroes, history and heart? Subscribe to S.E. Welsh’s newsletter to receive a free sexy contemporary romance e-book. The next instalment of the Shadowed series is on its way, but in the meantime, why not check out Seer, The Titanomachy Book 1?
And, just in case you want to chat and find out more about new releases, follow @sewelshauthor on twitter, Instagram and Facebook.
Curse: Rose Red Retold
Romance a Medieval Fairytale Series by Demelza Carlton
About Curse: Rose Red Retold
A cursed prince. An aspiring assassin. No good deed goes unpunished…
Crown Prince Boris's life was perfect – a wife, a child and his father's favour for a job well done. Until his brother's traitorous plot steals everything from him, forcing him to run for his life for fear of losing what little he has left.
Rossa wants nothing but to follow in her father's assassin footsteps. Whether it takes magic or a blade, she can handle anything. Until she discovers she can't bear to take a life.
Together, can a failed assassin and a cursed prince save the kingdom?
DEMELZA CARLTON
A tale from the
Romance a Medieval Fairytale series
This one is for Lana, who reminded me that expanding universes are a good thing.
Copyright © 2020 Demelza Carlton
Lost Plot Press
All rights reserved.
Chapter 1
When Boris laid down his sword at the end of the day, it felt so much heavier than when he'd buckled it on this morning. Was it the weight of the lives he'd taken, or the blood the blade had drunk during battle?
"I brought water for you to wash, Your Highness," Igor said, sloshing the contents of his bucket into the bowl before the squire dropped the bucket on the floor. "Do you want me to help you out of your armour, too?"
Boris was perfectly capable of taking his own clothes off, and any other day he'd have said so, but they'd been fighting since dawn, and there wasn't a bit of his body that wasn't complaining of weariness. "Please," he said instead, lifting his aching arms to give the boy better access to the buckles on his breastplate.
His previous squire wouldn't have asked – he'd have simply made himself useful, but Kyrilu had earned his knighthood a year ago, and he now served Boris's brother, Yarik, in the north. Igor still had some growing to do, as well as a lot of learning, before he'd be as good as Kyrilu.
"It'll need a good clean and polish before the morrow, for we march for home in the morning," Boris added.
Igor's thin shoulders lifted in a massive sigh. "Yes, Your Highness." He'd learned
not to complain, but his sulky expression said he wanted to.
Boris hid his smile. He hadn't liked cleaning armour at Igor's age, either, but he'd known blood could eat at steel like rust, weakening what needed to be strong. Armour had saved his life more than once, and Boris appreciated the value of well-maintained gear.
"Tell the cook I'm ready for supper, too," Boris said. "After that, I won't need you until breakfast."
Igor nodded and dashed away.
Boris barely had time to finish washing and don fresh clothes before his knights began to arrive to deliver their reports of the day's battle.
"I lost six of my men today in an ambush, but we found the Bisseni camp."
Which wouldn't have had much of value in it. The food they'd stolen from the villages south of here was likely long gone,
"All our dead are buried, Your Highness. Far fewer than the enemy dead. My men are still working on the pit to bury all of them."
Boris wasn't sure the Bisseni would appreciate the good Christian burial his men gave them, but as they were dead, they weren't likely to complain about it.
"We're down two horses, but only minor wounds among the men."
Two warhorses would be costly to replace, but the knights who'd lost them could surely afford it. As they'd all head home on the morrow, it wasn't likely they'd need new warhorses until next year's campaign.
"My scouts report no more Bisseni within a day's ride."
No Bisseni they could see, anyway. The mountain dwellers could be hiding under a rock just outside camp, and they'd never know until someone decided to use the rock as a latrine.
"Your supper, Your Highness."
Igor was getting better at not spilling the stew. The pot was still more than half full.
"Two of the Bisseni got away, vanished into the mountains."
If only they'd stay in the mountains, instead of coming to raid their villages. Then Boris and his men could stay at home, polishing benches with their ever-broadening butt-cheeks as they feasted on this victory until the next enemy dared to invade their borders.
Boris suppressed a smile. He and his men were not made for polishing benches, or growing fat from feasting. Much like his father, who would have ridden out with them, had his health not prevented it.
"Where to next, Your Highness?"
Boris raised his head to find all his men watching him with an air of expectation. Good men, loyal men, who had earned a victory feast a dozen times over during this gruelling campaign.
"On the morrow, we pack up and head for the capital. God willing, we'll be feasting in Prislav before we know it!"
A ragged cheer rose up, followed by a chorus of thanks. To him, to God, to the saints and whoever else they prayed to in the heat of battle.
"Your father would be proud, Your Highness," said Sir Cyril, the oldest of his knights.
Boris acknowledged the older man's praise with a grave nod. "Indeed. As am I, to have fought with so many good men, in my father's stead."
The men trooped out, leaving Boris with his now empty supper bowl. He couldn't remember eating a bite, he'd been so busy. Probably for the best – those newly dead warhorses had likely gone into the stewpot.
The court in Prislav might not be his favourite place to be, but at least his father's kitchens served more than old horse.
Even better would be a meal at home, with his wife and daughter. Would baby Lida be walking and talking yet? She'd barely learned to smile before he left. How would she have changed in the months he'd been away? He couldn't wait to find out.
Boris blew out the candle and lay down to dream of family dinners instead of fierce fighters who wanted him dead. He was going home.
Chapter 2
"And this is my heart," Mother said, placing Rossa's hand on her breast. Through the layers of linen and wool, Rossa could barely feel the thump of her mother's heart. Not like when her hand was against her own skin.
If she could just reach through the wool and linen…
Rossa bit down so hard on her lip that it hurt. She opened her mouth to cry out, but then she felt it. The deep drum of her mother's heart, as it squeezed and expanded inside her.
Fascinated, she focussed on the heart, and the blood pumping through it. Streaming out in a thousand directions, keeping her mother alive. She could look, but not touch, the memories from her ancestors told her. To touch was to kill, and an enchantress never used her magic for evil.
"They come! They come!"
The shout from above, followed by thunderous footsteps racing to the bottom of the tower sent Mother's heart fluttering like a bird's wings.
"What is it, Raphael?" Mother asked.
The healer man who lived in the topmost tower room stuck his head through the tapestry into Mother's chamber. His eyes were fever-bright. "I don't know, but there's a large party coming up the road. Maybe they've come to tell us it's safe to go home!"
His head disappeared and Rossa heard his feet on the stairs once more.
Mother said a bad word. "Stay here in the tower, Rossa. I will come fetch you when it's safe."
Rossa nodded.
Mother left.
Rossa grew tired of sitting alone in Mother's chamber, so she pushed the tapestry aside and climbed to the top of the tower, where Raphael kept watch. She wasn't sure what he watched for, but she knew it made him frown and sigh a lot.
But when she reached the top, she couldn't find Raphael, and she was too short to see out the windows.
She repeated Mother's bad word. Several times. But it didn't lift her any higher. She said the bad word again, then headed down the stairs. She'd be able to see the road from the bailey.
It was a long climb for her short legs, but Rossa kept going. She wanted to see the party.
There was no one in the great hall, but someone had left the doors open, as if they knew she was coming. Giggling, she broke into a run. After only a few steps, she tripped on the uneven flagstones and went sprawling.
Pain flared in her shin, and Rossa let out a yowl.
"Rossa?"
That was Mother. Mother would take her to the stillroom and cover her in smelly herbs and bandages and she'd miss the party. Rossa jumped to her feet and raced for the doors.
"Rossa! Get back here! Rossa!"
Mother could not run as fast as her. This was a race, and Rossa knew she would win.
Daddy was in the bailey, and he always caught her. Rossa ran straight for him. Sure enough, he scooped her up in his arms, sending her soaring like the eagles higher up in the mountains.
But there was a horse coming, heading straight for Daddy. Focussing on the still-stinging graze on her shin, Rossa held up her hand to stop the horse.
The horse rose up on his back legs, almost like he was dancing. The fat man on his back rolled off and landed in the dirt.
Rossa giggled. She'd never seen a man roll like a ball before. Oh, but the horse did not like dancing. Rossa reached out, touching the horse's back, so he set his hooves on the ground again. Only she hadn't reached with her hand, but with an invisible hand made of magic.
The fat man got up and said things to Daddy and Mother. Daddy stiffened, his arm tightening around Rossa while his other hand went for his sword.
Daddy only used his sword on evil men, he'd told her. To cut out their evil hearts. That meant the fat man was evil. Would his heart look different to Mother's?
Rossa reached out, just to look, not to touch. The evil man's heart was different to Mother's. It looked like it was straining, not strong enough to pump the blood, which didn't stream like Mother's. There was a dark lump trapped inside.
Was that what evil looked like?
Mother shouted for a healer, drawing Rossa out of her reverie.
The evil man had collapsed on the ground. As Rossa watched, his evil heart beat slower and slower until it ceased beating altogether.
Rossa didn't need to ask if the man was dead. Daddy wore one of his hidden smiles, the sort he wore when Rossa did somet
hing funny that Mother didn't like, and he had to hide his smile from Mother.
Rossa gave a little nod. She wasn't sure how, but her father had killed the evil man. Stopped his heart dead.
One day, she vowed, she would be just like him. Evil men would fear her, and good people would come to her for help. Just like Daddy.
Chapter 3
Boris woke with the dawn, as was his habit. The war might be over for the moment, but old habits died harder than a Bisseni berserker. His wife Vica lay asleep beside him, and little Lida was curled up in her cradle in the corner. A reminder of who he fought for and why he spent so long away – protecting his wife and child, as well as all the wives and children in his father's kingdom. They deserved to sleep safely in their beds, too.
His men, camped in the fields outside Rostov, would be awake. He'd made it a habit to break his fast while walking through the camp, exchanging words with not just his knights but their men, too. He could do that this morning, and still have time to return to the house and have breakfast with Vica when she woke.
Boris dressed, not bothering to put on his armour today. What danger had he to fear here at home?
The camp bustled with activity, quite the opposite of his quiet home. A rider galloped past him, headed for the command tent in the centre. Instinct made Boris change course to follow the lathered horse. Whatever tidings the man carried, they must be urgent.
When he reached the command tent, both horse and rider had gone, but a pensive Sir Cyril stood in conference with several other knights, frowning at the missive in Cyril's hand.
"Well met, Your Highness," Sir Cyril called, spotting him first.
The other knights merely bowed and made way for him.
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