Kisses to Steal

by Tilly Wallace

  "Would you wager another seven kisses?" he asked.

  Seven kisses would never satisfy the deep hunger building inside her. "No, I was thinking in far greater numbers—say one million? And I warn you now, I intend to lose our round of cards."

  He arched one eyebrow as he pondered her proposition. "A million kisses? Given I intend to keep you all to myself for at least the next fifty years, how many would that be a day?"

  She groaned. "Don't make me do mathematics in my current state. Just start claiming them and we'll ask Aster to do the calculations later."

  He rolled her under him and took her lips in a slow, leisurely exploration. He was achingly gentle, careful of her bruises and the cut to her lip and face. She arched up, wanting more, but loving the slow pace. Their tongues met and parried as heat built under her skin. She scraped her nails down his muscled back and he flexed into her with a soft groan.

  The first streak of colour raced across the horizon and Quinn pulled back with a frustrated cry. "Blast it! I have a duel to fight."

  She rested her palms on his chest. "Would you do something for me, before you go?"

  "Anything," he said as he placed another soft kiss on her forehead.

  "I thought last night that a wolf was the saviour who rescued me from the nightmare. Did you really change?" Had he really transformed into a wolf to save her, or had the visions merged with the laudanum and created a waking nightmare that showed her Quinn's spirit, not his real form?

  He grinned, kissed her again, and rolled from the bed. "My fear for you finally showed me how to let go and allowed the wolf to come through."

  Then he fell forward, his hands outstretched, but they never touched the floor. He grunted as though someone punched in the stomach. As he fell, his form shimmered and reformed. Fur grew and obscured skin. Short nails gave a soft click as paws took the weight on all fours. The wolf paced toward the bed and rested his head on the quilt.

  He was enormous. Far bigger than the wolves Ianthe had seen in a zoological exhibit, pacing their sad little cages. This one stood waist height at the shoulder and was similar to a Great Dane or Shetland pony. Quinn's soul looked out from the brown eyes, even if the face was no longer familiar. She reached out and stroked an ear. The fur was surprisingly soft, and reminded her of silk. In colour it retained the same chestnut and chocolate tones as Quinn's own locks.

  It also behaved the same way. Ianthe tried to smooth down a tuft that stuck out on the animal's shoulder but it sprang back out. Then she noticed all the other little tufts jutting out. She stroked along his spine, trying to lay down wayward fur but it kept springing back up. A giggle welled up in her throat. She tried to swallow it but ended up snorting.

  The wolf's furry brows drew together, it turned its head to one side, and then it was a wolf no longer. It was as though Quinn reached out and turned the creature inside out to reveal himself. It pulled in on itself, fur sucked toward its middle as skin and arms emerged.

  "Did you just laugh at my wolf? For over two years, since I took the bite I've been tormented by not being able to change. I finally do and my mate laughs at me." He threw up his hands and tried to look indignant but failed, on account of being naked and marvellous.

  "I'm sorry." She bit the back of her hand to regain control. "But it's just that the wolf's fur suffers the same affliction as your hair. You looked as though you had given rides to children with sticky fingers and your fur was all matted together."

  Quinn walked to the door and returned with a small valise and a pair of boots. He dropped them onto a chair and began dressing.

  "The wolf is just another representation of who we are. We don't just share the same characteristics, we are the same soul split between two forms. Perhaps Perkins could deal with the fur problem?" He shoved feet into his trousers and hauled them up before tucking in the shirt.

  Ianthe tried to laugh again but her head hurt too much. "Perkins has only just come to terms with your hair. Seeing the wolf's frightful mess might be too much for him. I'm not even sure he possesses that much hair wax."

  Quinn draped a cravat around his neck but didn't tie it. Boots were pulled on next, and a waistcoat went over the shirt.

  "You mean to go through with it?" Ianthe sat up slowly, lest her world spin again.

  He held her gaze. "Yes, I will. I have no intention of losing, and today will see justice served."

  She wanted to pout and demand he return to bed, but she also wanted to see Hoth pay for the crimes that marred his dark soul. Instead, she imagined Quinn removing his clothes again after his duel.

  As he finished dressing, he crossed to the window and stared down at the street. "Excellent."

  "What is excellent?" Her head seemed too heavy for her neck and she desperately wanted something cool to drink. She fought her body for control over her stomach and balance, but she would not let Quinn meet Hoth alone. She would be there to support him, even if all she could do was retch on Hoth's shoes.

  "Hamish and the others are downstairs with my horse. Aster will not be far behind in the carriage. By the time you dress, she should be waiting for you. I do not do this alone, but with my family. If you will meet me at Hyde Park?" He had read her mind and wanted her at his side. He did not intend to leave her behind.

  After another swift kiss, he disappeared out the door, leaving Ianthe wondering what exactly was going on. They had discussed how the plan would unfold at Aunt Maggie's but the details couldn't make it through the fog. Her mind was sluggish and her thoughts drifted in and out of a thick miasma. Only one thing was crystal clear—her concern for Quinn.

  Sarah bustled in and threw the curtains wide open. "Let's get you moving, or you'll miss all the fun. Which is saying something, since we had quite a bit last night."

  Ianthe swung her legs over the side of the bed and frowned as she experimented with standing up, waiting for the world to drop out from under her feet. "The fool is going to be shot at. How is that fun?"

  Sarah's lips twitched into a wicked grin. "I was thinking of afterwards, when you help him celebrate his triumph."

  Ianthe smiled. Oh, she was most definitely looking forward to that part. She hoped their celebration went long into the next day, or possibly the next week. I intend to keep you all to myself for at least the next fifty years, he had said. The thought spread liquid heat through her limbs. She had years in front of her to learn every secret their bodies could share, as long as Hoth didn't destroy their plans by putting a shot between Quinn's eyes.

  After she dressed, Sarah peered hard at her sore cheek. "The cut will heal, but we could put some powder on your face, to reduce the redness."

  "No. I will not minimise what he did to me." Ianthe raised a hand to feather over the cut as she dared a glance in the mirror. Her cheek bloomed red as though she had applied too much rouge, and dark bruises encircled her neck.

  Sarah bundled her up warmly. The seasons were moving toward summer, but the early morning air held a chill. Stepping onto the quiet street and into the waiting carriage, she found Aster had a worried gaze. The women embraced and Aster's violet eyes studied her face.

  "Oh, Ianthe. Did Quinn not arrive in time?" She raised a hand to the raw cut on Ianthe’s face, but stopped without making contact. Her worried gaze darted to the blue-black collar that ringed Ianthe’s neck.

  Ianthe took her hand and squeezed. "Quinn was tardy, but his wolf charged through the door just in the nick of time to stop Hoth."

  "He changed?" Aster's gaze widened.

  "Yes. Just like my vision, the wolf and shadow demon fought and the wolf was victorious." She made it sound light, but worry sat heavy inside her. Events were not yet concluded and Hoth could still turn the tables—or worse, escape unpunished. "But do not concern yourself. My bruises will heal, and Hoth did not cause any deeper damage, nor did he touch my soul."

  "I am glad you emerged relatively unscathed," Aster said as the carriage rumbled along the road toward the park. The two women laced fingers, both of t
hem concerned for the young man they loved.

  The streets bustled with early morning activity. Solid horses pulled carts of various sorts, from night soil to coal, or deliveries from the butcher. The men worked by the dawn light to be off the streets before the nobles roused and peered out their windows.

  "He will be fine. Events are playing out as we planned," Aster said at length.

  "I pray you are right." Ianthe wondered which of them Aster was trying to convince that Quinn would triumph over evil. Perhaps it was simply the leftover lethargy from the laudanum, but her mind seemed numb, and she could find no trace of hope within her. Only a terrible foreboding of what was to come, and a certainty that Hoth would stack events in his favour. Septimus did not like to lose.

  When she tried to call upon her mage-blood to send her a vision, it only repeated the same image of Galahad galloping over the paddock and the man standing at the wall, laughing at the stallion's antics. She clung to the fragment, hoping it was true and not simply a dream she made up to comfort herself.

  The carriage rattled to a stop and Ianthe stepped down without waiting for the driver. The brisk morning air wakened her mind, and her steps became stronger as her body shook off the effects of the previous night. Aster stayed at her side as they walked across the grass to the nominated spot. Mist clung to the earth, and it stirred between their legs as they crossed the damp ground. Soon the sun would rise and vanquish the night-time vapour, but for now it lent a dreamlike quality to events.

  The men were grouped on a stretch of lawn between two stands of trees. To one side, another tract of trees and shrubs stood guard between them and the winding river beyond. A large black carriage stood under a distant tree. Viscount Hoth and two men waited, all three clad in black. The mist reached for them, but pulled back, to cut around and disperse through the trees.

  "You should stay in the carriage, where it is safe." Hamish scowled at his wife as they approached. Ianthe was surprised to notice he had a rifle slung over his shoulder. She’d thought this would be a pistol duel but wondered what other scenarios they were prepared for.

  Aster scoffed as she leaned up for a chaste kiss. "Our view would be hampered from way over there."

  The captain sighed, as though well used to his bride holding a different opinion. "Then at least humour me and stay over by that large tree, out of the way of stray shots."

  Aster raised an eyebrow. "I did not think the Highland Wolves would have any stray shots, given your superior eyesight."

  "None of us trust Hoth," Quinn murmured under his breath, his gaze on Ianthe. "Aster, please take Ianthe and stay with Alick and Hamish."

  Ewan would act as Quinn's second. Hamish walked the women to a spreading tree with an enormous trunk, set at a safe distance. Alick lounged against the rough bark and looked bored, but his pale gaze kept scanning their surroundings from under his brows. Hamish unslung the rifle and held the weapon easily in his hands, his gaze on the thick stand of trees to their side.

  Ianthe couldn't decide if the fact that they had planned for trouble alleviated her concern or simply magnified it. She grasped at Aster's arm, her heart beating so loudly she suspected it would jump up her throat. How could the other woman be so unaffected?

  As with everything in society, the proceedings followed a certain set ceremony. Even a duel between a wolf and a shadow demon still had to adhere to the Royal Code of Honour.

  Four men met at a central point. Ewan looked from Hoth to Quinn. "Gentlemen, I am required to ask if there is any other way to satisfy your disagreement, or if you are set on this course of action."

  Hoth arched an eyebrow and waited, as though he expected Quinn to relent or perhaps beg his forgiveness.

  Instead, the younger man snorted. "The only satisfaction found today will be with a pistol in my hand."

  Hoth nodded. "It seems we shall play out this farce."

  "Very well. Is there a physician on hand?" Ewan asked next.

  "I have one in attendance, should the whelp require one," Hoth replied.

  Next, the other second opened the box containing the duelling pistols. Ewan looked them over, inspected both weapons, and then returned them to the bed of red velvet. A coin was tossed and called. Ewan won and selected the weapon he loaded. The duellists stripped off their jackets and handed them to their seconds in exchange for a pistol.

  As each step in the dance was enacted, Ianthe found her grip tightening on Aster's arm. The drama was more intense than the Italian opera she’d seen with Quinn the night he claimed his second kiss. She only prayed this play did not end in tragedy.

  Then the two men stood back to back. They could have been a caricature of age battling youth. Both of similar height, and yet nothing else about them was the same. Old versus young, evil against good, the man she loathed fighting the man who held her heart.

  Ewan started counting in a loud, clear voice as they strode away from one another.

  Ten…

  One step at a time, called out in the rising light.

  Nine…

  With each step, the mist hugging the ground rose and evaporated, bringing everything into sharper focus.

  Eight…

  Ianthe could not bear to look, but at the same time, could not bear to look away.

  Seven…

  What if Quinn's life ended this morning, before they had a chance to build a life together? Could the fates be that cruel? But it would not be the first time the sight had betrayed her.

  Six…

  As they took the last few steps and Ewan called out 'one', the combatants were told to turn and fire. Ianthe held her breath. Time stretched and mere seconds took minutes to unfold. Then several events collided and seemed to happen at once. But given how time suspended itself, she could place each occurrence clearly in the correct order.

  Hoth grinned and fired. His aim was wide and he almost missed Quinn, but the bullet struck his younger opponent in the arm. Red bloomed over his white shirt as Ianthe cried out and lunged forward. Aster wrapped her arms around her friend to stop her rushing to Quinn's side, before satisfaction was declared. Two more shots rang out so close they seemed also simultaneous, one sounding from right beside her. Then, after a beat of her heart, a fourth and final shot rang out.

  From the other side of the massive tree trunk, Hamish held the rifle, a small curl of smoke wafting from the end of the barrel and mingling with the morning air. He raised an eyebrow at Alick and nodded toward the trees. The large Scot shrugged out of his clothes and they fell to the ground, empty of the man. Then an even larger auburn wolf totted off through the mist, heading for the bank of trees and shrubbery behind them, the source of one of the two simultaneous shots.

  The last shot was Quinn's. His arm was still outstretched as Hoth looked surprised and then crumpled to his knees. His second and the other man, whom Ianthe presumed to be the doctor since he clutched a bag in his hands, rushed to the viscount's side.

  Quinn's arm dropped, the pistol loose in his grip as he turned, looking for Ianthe.

  She wrenched free of Aster and ran to him. Ianthe flung her arms around his neck and kissed him. "You're alive," she breathed against his lips.

  "I told you I would not lose." He grinned.

  Ianthe resisted the urge to smack him for his youthful arrogance. She was simply too grateful that he had survived. Then she stared at the blood pooling through the linen shirt. "You're hurt."

  He glanced down and shrugged. "A flesh wound only. He's not a very good shot."

  Ianthe stared at Hoth as his men surrounded him and the doctor rummaged in his case. Four shots had rung out, when there should only have been two. "What were the other shots?"

  Hamish approached with the others. "Deuced bad form to have someone hidden in the trees to shoot your opponent in the back."

  Quinn shook his head. "I have changed my mind about confidential work. So far most of the people on our list have tried to kill me."

  Ewan raised an eyebrow. "But no one has succeed
ed, yet."

  Quinn laughed. "Why do you sound so disappointed?"

  Ianthe wasn't too pleased with Quinn's occupation either, if it involved people trying to end his life. She placed her hands on his shirt and began to tug it from the waist of his trousers. "We need to tend to this. I assume someone has bandages for such an eventuality?"

  "Yes. I will fetch them," Aster said and walked back to their carriage.

  The wolf returned and shook itself into a naked Highlander. Alick donned his clothes before joining their group. "The one over there is dead. You got him clean through the chest."

  The captain slung the rifle over his shoulder. "Lucky the morning sun caught the metal of his weapon's barrel. I must have got him just before he pulled the trigger, since his shot went wide."

  "And Hoth?" Ianthe had succeeded in pulling Quinn's shirt free and he obliged by stripping it over his head, so she could inspect the wound.

  She wanted to blurt out her disappointment. Quinn had promised that Hoth would be punished for the lives he had taken and ruined. She wanted to lament, But you missed. Why had Quinn let the horrible man live? One shot between his eyes and so much suffering would have ended. Better quick justice than none at all.

  They all looked to the man lying on the ground, curled in a foetal position on the grass as he moaned in pain.

  "Not like you to strike low, Quinn. I thought you would place the shot in his chest," Ewan said, as the viscount was lifted and carried to the waiting conveyance.

  His warm gaze hardened and he ground his jaw. "I aimed low on purpose. Personal morals stop me from doing the same things to Hoth that he did to others, but my shot complies with the Code of Honour."

  Ianthe frowned. "I don't understand. How is justice served by you not killing him?"

  His hardened gaze turned dangerous. "A clean shot would have killed him instantly. Nasty things, groin injuries; they are more painful than a shot anywhere else. We need Hoth to linger for several days—or weeks if possible."