by P. C. Cast
She gave him a look that made him inwardly cringe, as if she’d seen beneath his roughly spoken words, to the stark, embarrassing truth. The one he refused to admit even to himself. Finally, she looked away, staring once again into the flickering, golden flames of the fire. She was silent for the moment, thinking about God only knew what. The look in her big, endlessly blue eyes was distant, making it impossible for him to guess her thoughts. Just as he was getting ready to demand to know what she was thinking, she said, “I’ve always sensed an internal conflict within you, Rhys, and now I understand what it is. You fight what you are, because of your father. You need to stop resisting and learn to embrace your true nature, if you’re ever going to find the peace and happiness that you deserve.”
“And how would you know what I need?” he drawled, a cynical bite to his words that he hoped would keep her quiet, before he ended up making a complete fool of himself. “You’re little more than a child.”
Her chin lifted in a mulish expression that would have made him smile, if not for the fact that he was using every ounce of strength and will he had not to touch her. Not to take her beneath his hands, beneath his body, and thrust himself so deep within her, she’d be marked forever by the memory of his possession.
Only, it would be too short a memory, considering he would end up taking her life.
He ground his jaw so hard he was surprised his teeth didn’t crack, and watched the color bloom in her cheeks as she said, “I’m nearly twenty, Rhys. Hardly a child.”
He gave a tired sigh. “You’re still too young, Alia. And far too innocent to be here like this with me. I don’t know what the hell your father was thinking.”
“Humph,” she mumbled under her breath, obviously annoyed with him. He started to rise, thinking she’d remain blessedly silent now, but then she said, “One last question, and then I’ll leave you in peace.”
He stood before the fire, staring down at her, wondering what it was going to take to make her leave him alone, before he did something they would both regret.
“What’s your last name?” she asked, her head tilted back so that she could see his eyes.
“I don’t have one,” he said, relieved that this, at least, had been a simple one.
That small crease nestled between her brows again. “How can you not have a last name?”
“Easily,” he replied dryly. “My father’s family name was MacInnes, but he refused to share it with me until it’d been determined if I could fully shift—which I never did. So I’ve gone by Rhys my entire life.”
“You know, I hate to speak ill of people I’ve never met,” she muttered, her mouth pressed into a thin line, “but I’m afraid I don’t care for your parents, Rhys. They sound like complete bastards.”
A low, rough-edged rumble of laughter vibrated up from his chest, and he looked away, staring back out into the foggy night through the mouth of the cave. Without looking her way, he finally said, “You should get some sleep, Alia. Tomorrow is going to be a long day if we’re to make Wookey Hole by nightfall.”
“Are you going to rest as well?” she asked, and he looked down in time to see the slight shiver that trembled across her slender shoulders beneath the dark blue of her dress. And suddenly, from one heartbeat to the next, he had a dangerous vision of his big hands undoing the tiny buttons that closed the dress’s fitted bodice…of him peeling back that blue fabric to reveal the pale, intimate beauty beneath. He could see himself pressing his open mouth against the urgent beating of her heart. Could see himself turning his head and hungrily taking her perfect, delicate breast into his mouth…touching it with his tongue, while his hand pushed its way demandingly between her slender thighs.
His body instantly went rock hard at the sweet, erotic image, his cock thickening beneath the buttons of his trousers. Cursing roughly under his breath, he tore his gaze from her body, working to keep his breathing quiet and even, thankful that his shirt hung down to cover his erection. After a moment, he was able to say, “I’ll sleep eventually.” Being careful not to look in her direction, he bent down again to quickly throw another piece of wood on the fire, worried that she would grow cold. “But I want to keep an eye on things for a while longer.”
4
As the small branch smoldered within the flames, Rhys started to move back to his feet, and Alia realized that she was letting him get away without even trying to keep him near. Without even making an effort to keep him close. Choking down the cold fear of rejection that had lodged in her throat, she suddenly moved to her knees, took hold of his strong neck and pulled him down to her. She wanted to taste his delicious mouth once again, losing herself in its warmth, its heat.
He made a thick sound of surprise, his hands curling around her arms, his corded throat hot beneath her chilled palms. Don’t push me away, she thought desperately, pressing her mouth harder to his, hoping to hold him with her kiss. His body had gone rigid with shock, his pulse throbbing violently beneath her hands, but he didn’t pull back…didn’t shove her away. Praying that she could seduce him, Alia touched her tongue to his warm lips, her heart beating like a frightened, excited bird within her chest. He gave a low growl that was savagely hot against her mouth, and then he exploded into movement, taking control of the kiss…of her. Suddenly she was lying against the thin blanket, Rhys’s hard, muscular body covering her, holding her down, while he claimed her mouth with a dark, devastating skill that made her want to scream with need. Made her want to seek relief for the hot, heavy ache that had settled within her, pulsing through her body. She needed his weight against her. Needed his touch…his possession.
“Oh, God, Rhys,” she gasped as he broke the kiss, his bent legs straddling her hips while his hands moved to the bodice of her gown. She gripped handfuls of his thick, silken hair as he pressed a string of damp kisses down the curve of her throat, his fingers working to undo the tiny row of buttons. Just when she was sure he was at the end of his patience and would rip the garment open, he pushed both the loosened bodice and crinkled chemise beneath her breasts, baring them to his blistering gaze.
“Christ, Alia.” His voice was ragged, harsh, the look in his eyes scorching as he stared down at her chest. He slowly dragged his gaze higher, over the delicate line of her collarbone, up to her heavy-lidded eyes, then back down again, until he was staring hungrily at her right breast, his callused thumb rubbing over the pale outer curve again and again. His breathing became harder… louder, as if he were struggling to take in each deep, soughing pull of air. “You’re so soft,” he rasped, his voice so low she could barely hear the words.
An expression of awe—of pure, primal hunger and need—darkened his beautiful face, and then he lowered his head until she could feel the smoldering warmth of his breath against her cool skin. He nuzzled the delicate curves with his nose…and then he licked her, while a deep, rumbling growl vibrated against her sensitive flesh. The smooth, velvety stroke of his tongue moved along the inner swell of her breast, and then he did it again, slowly working his way around the swollen, hardened tip, her nipple aching with the need to feel that warm, delicious heat surrounding it…pulling on it. She arched beneath him, feeling burned.
“Rhys,” she cried breathlessly, laying her hands on the back of his neck, loving the strength she could feel beneath his hot, silky skin. “You’re so beautiful…so warm.”
He stiffened, as if her words had in some way alarmed him, and immediately started to pull away. “Don’t,” she groaned, refusing to release her hold on him, her fingers digging into his broad, muscular shoulders. “Please, Rhys. Don’t pull away from me.”
He closed his eyes, his face pulled into a tight, brutal expression of strain. “This is wrong, Alia.”
“It can’t be,” she argued, her voice so husky she didn’t even recognize it as her own. She knew there were things she had to tell him, confessions that would have to be made, but she had to find a way to get through to him first. Had to break her way through the emotional layers of armor
that encased him if there was any chance of him opening his heart to her. It was insanity to hope that he actually cared, but she couldn’t help it. It no longer mattered if she made a fool of herself. All that mattered was this dark, lonely, remarkable man who had shown her what it was to truly desire someone with every fiber of her being…to need him like she needed water and air—and had so easily stolen her heart. “I need you too badly for it to be wrong.”
“No!” Wiping his mouth with the back of his wrist, he wrenched himself out of her hold, straightening on the knees that still straddled her hips, the muscles in his arms and thighs bulging against his dark clothing. His chest expanded with each of his rough, heavy breaths, while the horrified look on his face tore at her heart. He’d opened his eyes to reveal chips of cold, flinty gray, staring down at her as if he’d just discovered he’d been lying with a poisonous viper. Something deadly and cold that could destroy him if he got too close.
“Rhys?” she whispered, covering her bared chest with her trembling arms.
“I…can’t,” he forced out from behind his clenched teeth. “I can’t get this close to you.”
“What?” She shook her head, trying to understand.
He looked away, raking both hands back through his hair. “Damn it,” he growled. His chilling gaze cut back to her face, and he narrowed his eyes, his voice thick with accusation as he said, “What the hell are you after?”
She blinked, feeling sick inside. The lines of suspicion on his dark face deepened, a strange, silvery glow in his eyes, as if a torrent of emotion was rioting through him. Unwilling to give up, she reached out to him with one hand, but he jerked away, moving swiftly to his feet. “Rhys, please,” she called after him, lifting into a sitting position. “Please don’t run from me. Just talk to me. Tell me what’s wrong!”
Doing everything he could to fight her pull, Rhys stepped away from her, breathing harshly from the effort of denying himself the one thing he hungered for with every cell of his body—and the one thing he could so easily destroy. “Christ, Alia. You have no idea what you’re doing.”
She hugged her arms around her body, her eyes glassy and bright, as if she was fighting back tears. “I just wanted to be close to you. To give you pleasure. But I got lost in the moment and was taking it all for myself, wasn’t I?”
“For the love of…” His voice trailed away, and he swallowed, unable to believe he’d heard her correctly.
She took a deep breath, her expression determined as she said, “But if you’ll just come back to me, I’ll do my best to make you feel good, too.”
A violent tremor shuddered its way through his body, and he took another step back, needing the distance, needing to be anywhere in the world but there, with her staring up at him like an exquisite virgin sacrifice, ready to offer herself up to his lust. Her draw was irresistible—warm and seductive and pure—calling to him like a siren, drugging his body and his mind. Compelling his very soul. And yet he had to find some way to fight it…to turn away from her.
She licked her lower lip, her eyes heavy with passion, cheeks flushed, mouth swollen and red. He knew it would have been impossible to find a more desirable woman, no matter how intently he searched—just as he knew that she had no idea how badly he wanted her. How much he craved her, needed her.
“I know I have no experience, but I can be taught, Rhys. Surely you could tell me what I need to know to make you feel good.”
He fisted his hands at his sides and his body shuddered, his muscles coiled, the hunger in his veins unlike anything he’d ever known. “For the love of all things holy, Alia. Please, just be quiet.”
Her chin trembled, but she lifted it at a defiant angle. “Is it because you went to the village? Have you already had a woman tonight, then?”
“No,” he growled for the second time. “I…I went to the tavern, but I wasn’t…with anyone.” He should have lied, but for some reason the truth was torn from his lips, and he could see the relief that brightened her eyes.
“I’m glad,” she whispered. “I hated the thought of you going to another woman. I wanted…I wanted you to come to me.”
Rhys covered his eyes with one hand, feeling as if he was on the verge of some great, horrifying emotion. Some dangerous, irrevocable sin, and he was terrified that he wouldn’t have the strength to do the right thing.
“Please, don’t say anything more,” he rasped. “I can’t take it.”
“But—”
“No,” he snarled, cutting her off. “No more!”
Without looking at her again, he turned away, and before she could say another word, Rhys stalked from the cave, taking refuge in the cold, quiet stillness of the night.
5
With a soft gasp on her lips, Alia opened her eyes to the breathtaking sight of Rhys crouched down beside her, his steely gaze focused intently on her face, as if he’d been staring at her while she slept. The heat was back in his eyes, scorching and bright, the silver more blinding than the early morning sun, making her blush.
“I wouldn’t wake you so early,” he said gruffly, taking his large, warm hand from her shoulder, “but we don’t have any time to waste if we want to make Somerset by nightfall.”
She cast a quick glance around the cave, pushing her tangled hair back from her brow as she looked for his bedding. “Didn’t you sleep?” she asked, hoping her face didn’t look as hot as it felt. Heat bloomed in her cheeks as she thought of what she’d done last night, throwing herself at him so shamelessly.
“A little,” he murmured, not quite meeting her eyes, and she knew he was lying.
Taking a deep breath, Alia prepared to give voice to the words that needed to be said—words she’d put together as she’d lain on the thin blanket in the night, watching the dancing flames of the fire, waiting for him to return—before they set out on their journey. But as she stared at his ruggedly beautiful face, the sweet, piercing rush of desire scrambled her wits, her thoughts dissolving like sugar on her tongue. Shaking her head as she shifted into a sitting position, she cleared her throat and reached for the cross that lay on the blanket beside her. “Before we go,” she murmured, the heat in her face growing warmer, “I need to talk to you.”
“What is it?” he asked stiffly, clearly dreading whatever she had to say.
“This doesn’t have to be your fight, Rhys. You can save yourself. Take this Marker,” she said, offering it to him, “and trade it for your life if they come after you. I’ll manage to get the others on my own.”
“Is that right?” he asked quietly. She tried to read the look in his expressive eyes, but they were too narrow now, shadowed by the thick, heavy fringe of his lashes.
Alia nodded in response to his question, her breath held tight in her chest.
“Is that what you really think of me?” he said after a painful span of seconds, and there was something awful about his soft, quiet tone that made her flinch. “That I’d trade your life for my own? Leave you unprotected, while I run away with the cross?”
Her brow creased, the corners of her mouth tightening with a frown. “I’m not trying to insult you. I just don’t see why you should endanger your life for someone who—” she lifted her shoulders in a tense shrug “—well, for someone who is merely a job to you. And I can manage well enough without you if I have to, Rhys. You needn’t sacrifice yourself on my account.”
He still crouched on the floor beside her, one arm resting on his bent knee, his other knee braced against the stone floor of the cave. His right hand rested on his hard thigh, and she watched as it tightened into a powerful fist, thick veins bulging beneath his dark skin. The fist shook with a slight tremor, as if he was fighting for control. “I apologize if I gave you the wrong impression last night, but I’m not going to leave you.” His voice lowered, rough with emotion. “I would rather die, Alia, than leave you on your own.”
“Don’t say that!” she gasped, hating how comfortable he seemed with the idea, as if his death would be nothing of conse
quence.
“I’m not afraid of dying.” He took a deep breath, then slowly let it out. “The only thing that truly frightens me,” he said, his eyes tight…dark, “is knowing that you’re in danger. I have no intention of leaving your side until we’ve accomplished what we’ve set out to do and your life is no longer in jeopardy.”
It sounded as if he was trying to choose his words with care, only to have them torn out against his will, revealing truths he would have rather kept locked away. Hidden from sight. Buried beneath his defenses.
“Then kiss me again,” she suddenly heard herself say, the breathless words tumbling from her lips, unstoppable and soft. They were proof that she had no more control than he did, but then that was hardly surprising. The Reavess were known to be passionate creatures, often following their hearts against the dictates of their minds.
His eyes, which had been narrowed in insult, went wide with surprise. He didn’t say anything right away, staring back at her with a thousand different emotions burning through those beautiful eyes, the mesmerizing color like a raging, thrashing sea of silver-tipped waves. She had no doubt that she’d shocked him with her direct manner, but she couldn’t let that stop her. If she didn’t push him, fighting against his resistance, then she was never going to reach him—never going to break her way through to the man hidden within.
“Please, Rhys.” She reached out to touch his fisted hand, and saw the way he stiffened, as if he wasn’t used to being touched. Not with kindness. And never with love. It broke her heart to think of his cold childhood. To think of all that he’d suffered. Curling her fingers around his hand, she said, “Just a kiss. Just one. And then I promise I’ll leave you alone.”
She was so sure he would refuse her that her heart almost burst with joy when he leaned close, her face suddenly held in the warm, strong hold of his hands, his mouth brushing against hers like a breathtaking, pleasure-drenched promise.