by P. C. Cast
The evening meal passed by in a blur, and afterward her father headed back to his study to continue with his research. She’d already secluded herself in her room for the evening, sitting on her window seat as she stared out at the harvest moon, lost in her thoughts, when her father’s voice intruded into her mind.
Alia, you must listen! And whatever you do, do not try to come to my study!
With a gasp, her spine went straight as she stared sightlessly through the window, the urgency of her father’s mental communication alerting her to the gravity of the situation. Though this was hardly the first time he’d communicated with her in such a manner, it was obvious from his tone that something was horribly wrong.
We’ve been betrayed by one of the Consortium guards. The rest of Rhys’s men are dead, their bodies already destroyed. I haven’t much time, and there’s nothing to be done for me now. They have a seer with them—an old crone who’s embraced the dark arts. I’ll try to keep her from learning my secrets, but I don’t know how long I’ll be able to hold together. You must hurry! Go to the secret place, Alia. Take the cross that’s hidden there.
He then sent her a torrent of images, the strange blend of mental pictures somehow explaining more than he had time to relay with words. They flashed through her mind with dizzying speed, one after another, and then faded away as her father softly said, You must go, this instant. Then find Rhys as soon as you have the cross, Alia. I’m handing you over into his protection now. You can trust him, daughter. He’ll watch over you. Always, I promise. And never forget that I love you….
With a sob on her lips, she briefly considered disobeying his command and rushing to her father’s rescue, but she could already feel his connection fading. He was leaving her, passing into the afterlife, and there was nothing she could do to stop it. Choking back her selfish heartache, she grabbed up the flickering candle that sat on her desk and made her way into the secret passage built into the paneled surface of her bedroom wall, quickly closing it behind her. The passageway was cool as she raced through the thick, candlelit darkness, the only sound that of her soft crying. It wasn’t easy, but she forced herself to choke back the tears, painfully aware that they were not what her father would have wanted. She knew the tears were for her own sense of loss and the fact that she was going to miss him so desperately.
Though it would have been difficult for a human to understand, death was viewed differently by a Reavess and her mate—and even worked differently, without the pain and suffering that most species endured at the time of passing into their “next life” as the Reavess called it. Knowing he was going to die, not only would her father have been able to separate his spirit from the suffering of his mortal body, but her mother’s spirit would have been waiting for him, the two soul mates finally reunited after years apart. So while it was a tragic event for Alia, she knew that it had been a joyous one for her father, who was now with the woman he loved—his other half. Her father had lost his wife much too young, and there was no doubt that the wait had been painful for him. As the soul mate of a Reavess, he’d had the power to cast off his mortal body at any time and join his beloved, as most Reavess did, the pain of being without their other half simply too difficult to bear. But he’d remained in this world for Alia’s sake, not wanting her to be alone.
Now, as she felt his connection fade to black, she knew that he was where he was meant to be. Where he would finally be happy.
At the end of the passage, she came to a ladder that led to a small door in the floor of the greencottage. Moving as quickly as she could with only one free hand, Alia made her way up the ladder and through the opening, closed the trapdoor behind her, then blew out the candle and set it down, the moonlight just thick enough for her to make her way between the rows of flowers. She had just opened the door, stepping out into the cool air of the night, when a hand suddenly closed over her mouth and a hard, powerful body pressed close against her back. She panicked, sucking in a deep breath, and instantly recognized her captor’s warm, rich scent as he pulled her into the shadowed edge of the forest.
“Don’t be scared,” he whispered, taking his hand away. “I’m not going to hurt you.”
“Rhys?” she breathed out, turning to stare up at him as he took hold of her shoulders. The silvery moonlight cast the rugged angles of his face into sharp relief, highlighting the thick scar that slashed across his left temple. The grip of his large hands was strong enough to bruise, the tremor in his hard muscles hinting at just how difficult it was for him to control himself. To keep from hurting her? Out of anger? Or because he wanted to chase down the traitors and make them pay for what he’d done?
Before she could decide on an answer, she found herself hauled up against his hard body. “What—” she started to gasp, before he made a deep, predatory animal sound, cutting off her whispered exclamation with the hard, devastating heat of his mouth. Her heart nearly burst from her chest as he ravaged her with the bold, aggressive sweep of his tongue, tasting her deeply…thoroughly. Then he wrenched himself away, his breathing so harsh and violent that she could feel the warm heat of his breath against her face. He took a step back from her, and then another, as if he needed to put distance between them.
“What was that for?” she whispered, touching her fingertips to her tingling lips, wishing he would do it again…and again.
“Damn it, I didn’t mean to do that.” He made a thick sound in his throat that seemed equal parts hunger and rage, his body held hard and tight, as if he was fighting to hold himself in place. “I just… I thought you might already be dead when I got here and found there was no one guarding the cottage, and I had to know,” he all but snarled, the guttural words making her shiver with awareness.
“Know what?”
His fingers flexed at his sides, and then he quickly fisted them into hard, tight knots. “What you taste like,” he muttered, his glittering stare boring into her, as though he was trying to read her mind…to see her soul.
She blinked, undone as much by his words as she was by that devastating kiss. “And?”
“And what?” he grunted, that fierce, hungry gaze dropping to her mouth, following the curve of her lower lip as she wet it with a quick swipe of her tongue.
“Wh-what do I taste like?” She swallowed, half terrified to know the answer as he seemed to force himself to look away from her, staring into the shadowed forest that surrounded them.
Alia didn’t think he would answer, and then he finally spoke, his deep voice as dark and delicious as the rest of him. “Like a woman,” he rasped, the deep-creased scowl he cut her from the corner of his eye no doubt meant to keep her quiet.
“Hmm.” The hope in her stomach turned sour. “I suppose you’ve tasted so many of us, we all just…what? Taste the same now? One’s as good as another?”
“What the hell are you talking about?” he snapped, looking as if he thought she’d lost her mind. In a way, it felt as if she had. As if the Alia she knew had been left behind on the window seat in her room, and now a stranger was standing in her place. One whose beloved father was gone. Whose life was now in mortal danger. And who’d just experienced her first kiss in the moon-drenched darkness, Rhys’s mouthwatering taste still warm in her mouth, seductive and rich, moving through her veins like a hot, potent wine.
“Nothing,” she mumbled, realizing that now was hardly the time to get into an argument. But it was impossible not to feel the sharp burn of jealousy when she imagined just how many women had been gifted with his dark, breathtaking kisses.
“How did you get here?” he suddenly demanded, pinning her with his steely stare. “How did you get out of the cottage? I was just getting ready to search for you, when I saw you walking through the greencottage.” His rough tone made it clear that he’d been terrified for her safety.
“I escaped through a secret passage that leads from my room to the greenhouse.” At the slight widening of his eyes, she said, “Although my father might not be a warrior, he’s always c
unning. But what are you doing here? I thought you were in the village.”
“I came back,” he rasped, his rough-velvet voice stroking over her sensitive flesh like a caress as he held her stare, the smoldering look in his eyes making her wonder if he was lying about her taste. Maybe there had been something special about it—something that set her apart from all the other women he’d known. She wanted so badly to believe that, but took a shaky breath, fully aware that she was projecting her own desperate longing onto him, and at a most inopportune time.
He tore his gaze from hers again to glance at the cottage that stood silent and still in the distance, then gave her a stern look of warning. “I need you to stay here while I go and check on your father.”
She shook her head as she quietly said, “There’s no need. He told me we were betrayed by one of your men, and that this man killed the other guards.”
“Who was it?” he growled, looking as if he would explode with rage.
“I don’t know,” she replied, hating that she had to be the one to tell him of the betrayal and deaths. The other soldiers were his friends—men he’d trusted with his life. “His identity was concealed and my father couldn’t tell which one it was. The traitor had others with him, but they’ve already left. My father made them think that I’d made a run for the village. That’s where they’ve headed to search for me.”
“What were they after?” he demanded with a fierce scowl, an unmistakable rage still burning in his eyes at the knowledge that one of his men had turned traitor. Alia knew he would want to go and find him, but they didn’t have time.
“The same thing we’re after.” When he narrowed his eyes, she rushed to explain. “Just before I left the cottage, my father charged me with a mission. We have to get an ancient cross from its hiding place in the grotto, and then retrieve the others of its kind from a cave in Somerset as quickly as possible. His attackers tried to use a seer to learn where they’re hidden, but he thinks he was able to keep the location of the cave concealed. No matter what, he said the traitor must not be allowed to get his hands on the crosses.”
She could see the surprise in his eyes, the pale gray burning silver in the moonlight. “You talked with him?”
“Well, no, not exactly,” she explained. “I was in my room, and the traitors already had him trapped in his study.”
“Alia, you’re not making any sense.” His words were cut with a sharp edge of impatience. “If you weren’t in the room with him, then how in God’s name did he tell you anything?”
As she witnessed his confusion, the corner of her mouth twitched with a movement that couldn’t quite make its way into a smile. “Because he spoke into my mind.”
There was a strange silence for a moment, like something thick and heavy settling between them, and then he quietly said, “Are you telling me that your father can read your thoughts?”
“If he chose to. But he wouldn’t invade my privacy that way.”
Rhys looked a little green, and she frowned. “What is it?”
“Can he do it to anyone?” he rasped.
She stared at him for a moment in confusion, and then began to comprehend. “You’re worried he would be angry about the things you’ve had in your mind, aren’t you?”
“Angry? Nay, Alia. He would put his sword through me,” he muttered in a low, resigned voice.
She raised her brows, a tiny shoot of hope blooming to life within her chest. “Do tell.”
He glared, his mouth grim as he said, “Not for all the gold in the world. I have no desire to be castrated by a man reputed to be a scholar on all things medieval.”
She would have laughed at the shudder that moved across his broad shoulders—would have gone light-headed at the mere suggestion that Rhys’s thoughts might have been about her—but the heartbreaking thought of what she’d lost that night sobered her. “Well, you won’t have to worry about that now.” The words were quiet, thickened by the tears that burned in her throat. “He was already gone before I made it into the greenhouse.”
“Wherever they’ve taken him,” he vowed in a low voice, “we’ll get him back.”
She could see his determination to do just that carved into the fierce lines of his expression, and her mouth trembled with grief. “He isn’t their prisoner, Rhys. The methods they used to try and invade his mind were too much, and he was forced to move on before they broke him.”
A sharp, biting curse immediately fell from his lips. The foul word would have shocked her if she hadn’t already heard it repeated time and again when she’d been spying on the guards during their training. Rhys studied her expression through shadowed eyes, no doubt looking for the soul-stricken grief expected from a daughter who’d been so obviously devoted to her father. In a low voice, he said, “I expected you to be…”
His words trailed off, and she shook her head again, looking away. “Devastated?” she asked. “Torn by in-consolable grief?”
“Yes,” he said simply.
She firmed her jaw, forcing herself to meet his stare. “There’s a part of me inside that’s selfish enough to be heartbroken that he’s gone, but I refuse to give into it. Not when I know how happy he is to finally be reunited with my mother. He only stayed behind because of me. Now that he’s handed me into your care, he felt free to go on, where he’s wanted to be since the moment we lost her.”
A new tension swept over his large body, and though he wasn’t touching her, she could feel it blasting against her, nearly knocking her backward with its force. “What do you mean he handed you into my care?” His voice was soft, but harsh. “I don’t understand.”
She managed a tear-filled grin as she caught the flare of panic in his eyes. “The last words he said to me were that you would be my protector now.”
“Till we get these bloody crosses,” he countered in a rough voice, and she couldn’t miss the thick edge of dread in his graveled words.
The grin somehow found the strength to bloom into a wry, shaky smile, and Alia quietly said, “Nay, Rhys. Believe it or not, he honestly meant forever.”
3
If he made it through the night without expiring from lust, Rhys knew it would be a miracle. A pathetic truth, but one that was painfully correct. He was filled with rage for the loss of his friends. With hatred for the one who had betrayed them. And then there was the guilt for his failure to protect Matthew Buchanan, a man he’d not only respected, but had genuinely liked. A man who had always treated Rhys as an intellectual equal, instead of the mindless soldier that so many assumed him to be. Rage, hatred, guilt… Each of the violent, twisting emotions seethed through his insides, painful and strong—and yet they could not eclipse his searing, growing need for one delicate little female.
Whatever you do, you must be strong. You can’t give in. Can’t allow even a moment of weakness.
Standing at the mouth of the cave he’d found buried in the side of a rocky cliff, Rhys silently muttered the words of warning to himself again and again as he stared out over the stygian forest that spread for miles below them. There was complete stillness in the night, not even a rustling wind in the trees to break the silence, as if the fog-drenched darkness had swallowed all sound. The misty vapor twined around the nearby trees like slithering serpents, giving the sense that the night itself was something to be feared. As if it held untold dangers and deadly secrets.
And yet it wasn’t the unknown danger in the night that frightened him. No, his greatest threat was already there. So close, his heightened senses could hear the soft rasp of her breath…the sensual pounding of her heart.
Behind him, Alia sat beside the small fire he’d started, no doubt trying to warm her frigid body. She deserved a soft bed for the night, but they were traveling the most direct route to the mysterious Wookey Hole Caves in Somerset where the crosses were hidden, and there’d been nowhere else for them to stop.
It’d taken only moments to find the beautiful cross her father had hidden in the grotto not far from her cottage,
and after Rhys had retrieved his horse from the stable, they’d immediately been on their way. Unfortunately, the night turned brutally cold for their journey, chilling Alia to the bone. Though she hadn’t once complained, he’d heard her teeth chattering during the last few hours of their ride, her slender form shivering violently against the front of his body, where he’d perched her atop his stallion.
Rhys had longed to wrap his arms around her, drawing her closer against him, but hadn’t dared. His restraint had already been worn thin just from being close to her, her tender scent filling his head…drawing the predator in him closer and closer to the surface. He’d wanted to get her as far from the Buchanan cottage as possible before they stopped, but was afraid of pushing her too hard, and so they’d finally taken shelter in the cave. And while it was quiet and peaceful, Rhys knew that he would find no rest within the damp hollow.
He honestly meant forever….
Her strange words kept working their way through his mind, too shocking to fully comprehend. Her father must have gone mad. That was the only explanation Rhys could think of for Matthew Buchanan’s outlandish declaration.
As if sensing his internal thoughts, Alia’s soft voice suddenly drifted to his ears. “I’m sorry that you found my father’s words so upsetting. I, um, I certainly don’t plan to hold you to them.”
He turned, bracing his shoulder against the rocky wall as he met her gaze. “I just can’t figure out what the hell he was thinking. You must have misunderstood him.”
She wrapped her arms around her knees, looking away to stare into the dancing flames of the fire. “Honestly, Rhys, I was only teasing when I told you. There’s no reason to keep brooding.”