by Evie Byrne
Later, when the fire-bed had burned down, Wat began to shovel an even layer of earth over the hot coals. Eva curled on her side, her back to the fireplace, her feet throbbing, thinking about what he’d told her. If she hadn’t lived it, it would sound like a fairy tale. But her memories had returned with his words, and she knew he wasn’t making it up. What was most amazing was how he’d explained what had occurred, in matter-of-fact terms, as if this sort of thing happened to him all the time. The fox, he’d said, had given itself to her because Fox was her totem.
I have a totem, she though sleepily. Who knew? The fox’s blood had warmed her, healed her, saved her. Wat had gone terse and pale as he’d described her collapse, how he hadn’t been able to wake her. He’d also told her how she’d reacted to the stag’s blood, how she’d thought she was a deer for a time. She was too tired to make sense of it all. Wat had to be ten times as tired. Through half-closed eyes, she watched him as he worked, noting how his motions had become jerky and slow. He was stomping the dirt over the coals, packing it down, his jaw set, his eyes bloodshot.
“Come here,” he said when he was done.
She crawled over and put her hands on the packed dirt. It was warm, almost too hot, like an electric blanket on high. “Oh, this is good.” She stretched out on it with a thankful groan.
Wat laughed. "I knew you'd like it."
The heat seeped into her bones, so much gentler and even than the heat from the fireplace, which was continually broken by fierce blasts of cold air that blew down the flue. This coal bed was perfect. She was going to marry it and take it back to L.A.
Wat sat down next to her and spread the two dusty wool blankets that had been left in the cabin over both of them, trapping all that radiant heat, making the space between blanket and floor into a pleasant oven. Wat fell onto his back with a grunt that somehow expressed both pain and deep satisfaction.
Eva rolled to face him and said, “This is amazing. Thank you.”
He grunted again in reply, the lines in face softening as she watched. In moments, his breath turned deep and slow. He was fast asleep.
She took off his parka and draped it over his chest, tucking it around his neck. Then she huddled up next to him, studying his sleeping profile. Biting her lip, she risked stroking his neat, red beard and brushed a ragged, golden curl behind his ear. As thick and wild as his hair was, it was wonderfully soft. His beard wasn’t as soft, but it was smooth and glossy, like an animal pelt. “You treat me better than I deserve,” she whispered.
It was dawn. Dominick would be expecting her call. When he didn’t hear from her, he might attribute her silence to the storm. Or he might start marshaling troops. Probably both. But they couldn’t move in the storm, either, and when the storm broke, the bad roads would delay them even more. She had time. Time for what, she didn’t know, but time was good. On that thought, she fell asleep.
Chapter Fourteen
Wat woke during the day, spooned against Eva. He breathed in the scent of her hair. Her body fit just right against his. She’d pulled the coat and both the blankets over their heads. Peeking out, he saw a wedge of wan light gleaming through the smokehole. It filtered down to illuminate a slice of the cabin wall. He didn’t know if the light would bother her, but he left her covered, just in case.
Her kind slept like the dead. They could scarcely be woken during daylight hours, and he’d heard that if you managed it, they were sluggish and dimwitted. He slipped out from under the warm covers and immediately regretted it, but the fire needed to be fed. Shivering, he built it up, drank some of the meltwater, and then went to the far corner, where he’d dug a hole, and pissed in it. He threw in some dirt to cover the smell, and then hurried back to the warm blankets. And Eva. Feeling like a lecher, he ran his hand down the line of her hip. She made a small noise in response and nestled closer, settling her bottom against his crotch.
Yep, it’s pretty damn warm under here. The temptation to rub against her was strong. Even stronger was the temptation to turn her over and kiss her. But with her out like this, it would be like molesting a drunk. He sighed and resolved to behave himself.
Eva woke at twilight and pulled the blankets off her face. Wat was curled around her, his body a solid wall, his arm heavy over her hip, his breath a deep, steady, almost-snore. Under her, the soil was still warm. Not as warm as before, but warm enough. Outside, the wind still howled and the trees groaned. Ordinarily she woke with schemes already playing in her head, to-do lists, appointments, plans. Now, she should be worried, but somehow couldn’t bother. I’m snowed in, trapped a primitive cabin in the middle of nowhere—and I feel safer than I have ever in my whole life.
Wat stirred, pulled her close in his sleep. She smiled when she felt a certain firmness against her bottom. Some parts of Gentleman Wat weren’t so gentlemanly.
He stretched out a leg so it crossed over hers and nuzzled the back of her head. “You awake?” he said, his voice sleepy and low.
“Mmm,” she answered, her heart tripping at this easy familiarity. His touch.
“Good.”
A goofy smile spread across her face. She was glad he couldn’t see it. “Why?”
“Because I’ve been wanting to do this all day.” He pulled aside her hair and pressed his lips to her neck, just beneath her ear, his beard strange against her skin, but not unpleasant. “Do you mind?”
All the breath left her lungs. She managed to whisper, “No.”
“Good,” he repeated, and this time the word was low and rough. “What if I wanted to do this?” He nuzzled her ear, brushed his lips over the lobe, caught it between his teeth and tugged. Her entire body quivered in response. Against her cheek, his mouth curved into a smile. “I think I’ve found a sweet spot.”
Her ears were sensitive. Most lovers didn’t pay enough attention to them. Wat’s tongue flicked out to caress the hollow behind the lobe, to trace the shape of the rim. As he did, his hand slid under her sweater, over her hip and belly, to close over her right breast. She gasped as he brushed her nipple, making it hard. He strummed it while his tongue flicked at the back of her earlobe, his hot breath washing over her nape.
“What are we doing?”
He pulled back. She rolled over so she faced him.
Without hesitation, he said, “We’re making love.” His green eyes glowed in the dim light, intense, but calm. So calm. So certain. Somewhere deep in her core, she began to tremble. Not from cold, not with nerves or excitement—not exactly. It was more like she was humming in resonance to something bigger than herself.
The truth.
I’m hearing the truth. Feeling it. For the first time.
She let out a long, shaky breath. “I’ve never done that before. Will you show me how?”
He cupped his hand behind her neck, leaned forward, and kissed her.
Aah. His mouth, so warm, so firm, playing across her lips. Knowing her. So familiar. His hands cradling her face, thumbs on her cheeks. The kiss, deepening. She opened to him, breathed him in. His weight on her body, comfortable, welcome. Red passion sparking, igniting so that the kiss blazed red-hot, and then subsided into a slow, molten crawl that left her boneless and needing.
He broke from her lips, tasted her cheeks, her brow. Her chest rose and fell against his, her hands found his heart, felt its steady rhythm. Did she have a heart? A soul? He kissed her as if she did. As if she were worthy of cherishing. Guilt and regret stabbed though her, sharp and cold as a knife.
He caught her tears with the tip of his tongue. “What is this?” he whispered.
She looked away. “You know who I am. What I have to do when we get back.”
“You are more than a Hand.”
Her lips twitched into a bitter smile. “Not much more.”
“Eva.” He kissed her brow. “Sosa.” He kissed her nose. “Padilla.” He kissed her lips.
“Wat…” she protested, enchanted, appalled, frightened enough to puke.
“I thought you were dead.” F
eather-light, his lips brushed hers again. “The raven’s shadow was on you. But you are reborn.”
Reborn. What would it be like to have a wide-open future?
“This is all we have, isn’t it?” She searched his face, her fingers on his lips, half to stop his kisses, half because she loved their shape. “This moment.”
He smiled, bright and miraculous. She could not stop it, or hide it with her fingers. Could forgiveness come in a smile? It could. She could not help but smile back at him.
“Exactly,” he whispered. “This is all we have.” His mouth crossed over hers and she welcomed it.
Outside, the wind howled. The cabin’s timbers creaked like a ship. Buried beneath the blankets, they kissed until their temperatures soared, and then they shed their clothes, piece by piece, and explored newfound skin with fingers and mouths. She loved the solidity of him, the hard breadth of his back, the coiled strength of his arms, the slow, gentle rasp of his damned beard on her naked skin.
His strong, work-rough hands coursed over her back, her bottom, the soft skin of her inner thighs. His tongue lapped the curves of her breasts, teased her nipples, until she moaned continuously. Needing him inside, she opened her legs, bringing him to rest between her thighs. His cock lay heavy on her belly, hot and hard, as ready as she. But slow, steady Wat—he had his own ideas. He pushed aside her impatient hands and slipped down beneath the blankets, his hands molding her thighs, his mouth on her inner knee, tasting, exploring. Ticklish. Tongue and nibbling teeth circling…closer…closer… until his hands slipped under her bottom, and his tongue…
“Wat!”
Oh damn. Where did a backwoods boy get such mad skills? His tongue parting her, probing, greedy, and so damned good. And the facial hair…she definitely could acquire a liking for it. She grabbed fistfuls of his hair. He filled her with his fingers, stroking inside while his tongue stroked outside. Sweet Jesus this is good. With a cry, she arched off the ground and came in a quick flash, a lightning streak that curled her toes. He kept lapping, sucking, drawing the climax out, the echoes twitching through her until she lay weak and panting on the warm, hard dirt. Their bed of earth and fire.
He surfaced, balanced above her on his hands, dipped down to kiss her. Her lips molded to his, soft and languorous. She tasted herself, and she tasted the tension in him, the need that made his mouth hungry and insistent. He hooked a hand behind her left leg and lifted it high, pausing to nip her inner knee. She lay back, fascinated, stilled by his touch, amazed by the hard beauty of his body. His eyes on her face the whole while, he slid inside her, slick and easy, filling her deep, deep within. Tiny ghosts of orgasms shot up her spine. He moved slow and steady, taking his own pleasure now. Her sated body welcomed him, but she could do little but lay beneath him, her arms soft, her center open, hips rocking to his rhythm. All the while, he watched her, and she watched him, reading every twitch of his face, knowing he was reading her just as closely.
He straightened his arms, rising high, and for just a moment his eyes closed as he hitched his hips with a wicked little twist. Oh, yes, More of that. Oh yes, please. Suddenly, she wasn’t finished. Not by a long shot. She spread her hands over his ass, feeling the flex of his muscles, guiding him as her hips rose to meet his.
His eyes opened, and he looked down at her. His pupils had gone huge, the green ring around them, storm dark. The desire in them burned her to the core, but didn’t burn through her. He focused on her. On this mutual possession. As no one had ever looked at her before. He smiled.
She’d never seen anything so beautiful. Once again, she began to cry. She couldn’t help it. One way or another, she would wind up destroying this man. Even if she quit her job, he would be destroyed by someone else.
“Shh,” he said. “Shh.” Lowering himself to his elbows, he kissed her. Kissed her and caressed her and teased her until her sorrow transformed back into passion. Tasting salt, she nipped at his lips, sucked his tongue. “You’re safe now,” he murmured, his voice rough and low. “Safe.”
She almost laughed at the irony of it. Him assuring her that she was safe. “But—” she began to protest.
“No more thinking.” He gathered her against his chest and surged into her, powerful, all encompassing, a pounding tide.
The truth was, she hadn’t felt safe in a long, long time. She clung to his strong, solid body with all her will, as if that alone could save them from what was to come. They surged together, faster and faster, sweet friction building and building, until she came again, so easily, so completely—a quiet, breathless surrender while enclosed in his arms.
Wat would not finish so easily, though. He resisted the end, his body rigid, his muscles quivering. She knew that he didn’t want to return to the real world.
“Eva!” he groaned, burying his face in the crook of her neck. She swept her hands up his slick back, bringing them up to cup his face. “It’s okay,” she said. “It’s okay to let go.”
Wat held her in his arms, watching her as she slept. Bless the Mother, but Eva’s body was a thing of wonder. He didn’t know if he could ever tire of looking at it. It wasn’t that her proportions were spectacular in any way. It was how it all fit together and, most of all, how she moved—light and quick, with a hypnotic bit of slink to her hips. And he did like her breasts. The tip of one of her nipples pressed against his arm. He resisted the temptation to take it in his mouth, to wake her and start the loving all over again.
Northern women were made of iron and could eat wolves for breakfast. Eva was a whole different species of female. With her small bones and delicate skin, she was something altogether foreign, Southern decadence condensed into one small, tempting package. True, she was an unbeliever, raised up and fed on sacrilege. Her beautiful body, from toe to tip, was built on human blood. That should put him off, but it didn’t. Knowing she was a follower of Alya Adad’s, trained to be cunning and ruthless, should also put him off, but it didn’t either. Back in the bar, she’d used sex as a weapon, tricked and betrayed him. And still he wanted her. Wanted her more, he suspected, because she was such a trickster. Because he never knew what she was going to do next.
He also liked that she was shameless. At first, he’d suspected her stories of sexual prowess and her uninhibited manner were an act, that she asserted her sexuality like a young man asserts his courage. Now he knew better. No doubt some of it was contrived, not out of insecurity, but rather to put her opponents off balance. But most of it was real. He’d never met anyone so sensual.
He’d loved all the women he’d been with—a small enough number by Eva’s standards—but in bed, he’d repressed his more aggressive impulses. It was almost an unconscious adjustment—reading the signs and acting accordingly. And that was okay. He’d never had any reason to complain. But with this decadent, sacrilegious Angeleno, he could be different. With every sultry move, every knowing glance, she said, Dare me. He intended to, as long as he could.
Beyond sex, he liked her. She had nerve and wits and didn’t whine. After the crash, with a concussion, she’d walked through the storm until she’d dropped and never complained. Back at home, she’d given him time to make his case, when she easily could have brought down the iron fist of Adad the moment she’d arrived. More than that, she had actually listened to him. For a Hand, she was surprisingly compassionate and good with people. The Women’s Council had taken her to their fire—maybe the gods were talking to Maren, too. Eva was the key to their survival. Blessed by the gods.
His stomach, occupied with more mundane concerns, growled like a bear.
Rousing, Eva spread her hand over his belly. He laid his hand over hers to keep it there. “You must be so hungry,” she said, her voice sleepy.
“You’re not?”
“I hear I ate a fox. And a deer slushie.”
“It takes a lot of calories to keep warm. I hope this breaks soon, so I can hunt.” He gave her an inquiring look. “So we can hunt?”
She sighed. “I have to admit, I would e
at a critter right now.”
He grinned, absurdly proud of her for making that concession. Happy.
“Which way will we go when we leave—to town or back home?”
Drawing her close, he wondered if she was aware she’d called Brunnrheim ‘home’. “On foot, it’s going to be hard either way. More than one night’s walk back home. Moose Junction is as far, but we might be able to catch a ride once we make the main road.”
“That long?” She seemed amazed
“City girl, keep in mind that one or two hours by car, even on a slow road, is a hell of a long way on foot. And traveling crosscountry in snow without skis or shoes is slow going. It took hours just to get here.” He scrubbed his face and frowned. “Maybe I can make snowshoes for us. What do you think your people doing now?”
“I didn’t check in last night. That will set off a series of protocols. Dominick will try to call me, and when he gets no response, he’ll alert my team. They’ll mobilize to rescue me, but until the storm breaks they’ll be stuck, just like we are.
“But when the storm lets up, they’ll get to Brunnrheim before we do.” His voice was matter-of-fact.
Eva nodded, grim. “They can hire a snow plow. Or hell, they might even rent a helicopter. People call Alya a lot of things, but cheap is not one of them. Dominick will allocate any resources necessary.”
“You told them that if anything happened to you, they had permission to burn the village to the ground.” As he said this, he brushed pieces of hair out of her face, to soften his words.
“Yes, and it sounded bad-ass, didn’t it?” She let out a long, shaky breath. “Well, they won’t level the place until they either get me out or confirm my death.” She was silent for a moment. “Who will speak for your people when mine come knocking?”
“Gunnar, by rights. And Maren.”
“Why Maren?”
“Because Maren is our head woman, the leader of the Women’s Council. Didn’t you know?”