Heart of the Dove

by Tina St. John

  "If I am to take something as precious as the life of another living thing," she said, "particularly if I do so in order to sustain myself, then I must do so with my eyes, and my heart, fully open to the act. It seems only humane. To my mind, it is only just that I bear some of the cost."

  She waited for his reaction, some twitch of mockery or scorn. His face told her nothing, his jaw held tight, his eyes holding hers in a gaze that was as dark and unreadable as a coming storm.

  "Your warring ways must scoff at that. Do you think me flawed in some way, that I would feel as I do?"

  "No," he answered.

  "Weak-hearted, then?"

  "No, Serena. I see no weakness when I look at you. Not now." He was regarding her with a strange light in his gaze. He shook his head, exhaled a small oath. "I had thought it was your mother protecting you out here in these woods. Now I am beginning to see that is not the way of it at all."

  His dark brows pinched, ever so slightly, over watchful, enigmatic eyes. He brought his hand up and gently traced the slope of her cheek, curving his fingers around the sensitive skin below her ear.

  "You are the one with the strength, Serena. She thinks she must look after you, but it is you who truly protects her."

  She dared not think he praised her, but there was a wonder in his voice--a respect--that warmed her as much as it confused her. "What are you doing, Rand?"

  "Apologizing. But I'm not doing it very well."

  "Do not trouble yourself. I was at fault. You needn't say a thing." She pushed herself to her feet.

  "Serena." He was next to her in no time at all, blocking her easy path away from him. His hazel eyes were dark with concern, his forehead creased with a frown. "Please, hear me out. I have been unfair to you. My behavior could have only confused you--"

  "I've never been more confused in my life," Serena admitted. "You've unsettled everything since you arrived on that beach. In coming here, you have changed it all."

  "I am sorry," he said, contrite.

  Serena gave a toss of her head. "I don't want your apology. I want to know what you think, what you feel."

  "Nay, lady," he said, a sure denial, even though his voice held no rancor. "Your gift of Knowing has told you all of that. You know what I think and what I feel, whether I will it or not. You know more about me than you want to, so you said just the other day."

  "I mean about me, Rand. I don't know how you feel about me. I don't know if you pity me, or despise me, or if you feel anything at all. More than once when we have been together, you have looked at me as if--"

  "Have I wanted to kiss you--is that what you wish to know?" he interrupted, harshly now, sparing her from blurting out any more of her addled thinking. His voice was low, pitched deeper than the shadows of the surrounding thicket, darker than a storm. "Do you tempt me, mayhap? Do I think on you more than I should--in ways I have no right considering?"

  Although she had hoped that he would open up to her, Serena felt her face warm under his sudden directness, the slightly predatory growl of his words.

  "You want to know if it is desire I feel when I am near you--as I was that morning at the waterfall pool...or any other time I am with you?" His gaze was penetrating, relentless as it held hers. He stepped closer to her now, his stance and mien all but daring her not to run. "Are these the questions you would have me answer for you, or have you other, more specific curiosities that need be sated?"

  Something threatening had sparked to life in his eyes, a glint of warning she knew she should heed. Instead, she held her ground, not so much as flinching as Rand drew nearer now, so close she could feel the warmth of his body reaching out to her.

  "Now you're mocking me," she told him, stung in a peculiar way.

  A knot of tangled emotion rose from deep within her breast, up to her throat, choking her voice. She began to turn away from him, but the heat of his fingers at her wrist halted her. Unexpected, almost tender, his hand brushed hers.

  Regret, whispered the Knowing.

  Don't wish to cause hurt. Should not have permitted things to go so far.

  Serena paused, her hand caught in his now. With the smallest coaxing, Rand drew her back to him, his careful grasp sending a wave of sensation through her fingertips, her palm, up the length of her arm...all the way to her heart.

  "Serena."

  She lifted her eyes to meet his gaze, uncertain, her humiliation fading under the power of his touch. Rand's fingers laced between hers, held her fast. Palm to palm, his dark emotions filled her senses, his passion wrapping around her like silken ropes. She felt herself drifting toward him, into the large shadow he cast in the sun-drenched green of the forest.

  "Whatever I may feel for you--it doesn't matter," he told her, harsh words belied only by the tenderness of his deep velvet voice. "Know that it will not matter. It cannot. All that matters to me is vengeance. There is nothing else."

  Their hands were still joined. All the while he spoke his hard, cutting words, the Knowing thrummed stronger. It rose with the force of his barely contained anger, howling for the pain he suffered, and his frustration at not yet having claimed his revenge.

  But behind his simmering gaze was a deep blackness that pulled at her. A yawning oblivion, what she saw there seemed so fathomless. So tired and lonely. Staring into his eyes, listening to the ruthless hiss of the Knowing, Serena weathered a buffeting rush of anguish. His emptiness enveloped her in shades of coal gray and umber, desolate color, chilly isolation. He was drowning in it, nearly lost and too damaged to reach out.

  So Serena reached out to him instead.

  With her free hand, she brought her fingers up to his face, settling just the tips against his cheek. He went very still, watching her in a threatening silence. Serena was undaunted. She stroked the line of his bearded jaw, and his strong brow, wishing she could absorb some of his hurt with her touch.

  A mistake.

  The thought was not hers, but Rand's, seething through her fingertips and into the whispered voice of the Knowing.

  She continued her brazen exploration, letting her fingers trail down the solid column of his neck, to the powerful line of his shoulders. He said nothing, despite the jump of his muscles as she caressed him, her hands questing to learn the breadth of his shoulder, the astounding strength harnessed in the granite bulk of his upper arm.

  There will be no turning back.

  Serena gazed up at him, and the words she would have spoken--a soft denial, a breathless plea--were captured in the sudden press of his mouth on hers.

  She knew not what to make of it at first. His lips brushed her own, a nudging trace of movement, gentle tease of contact. His lips were softer than she would have guessed, like a warm, woodland breeze. His dark beard was a curious roughness against her chin and cheek, a delightful abrasion that tickled like a cat's tongue. She could taste the mineral crispness of fresh water in his kiss. Not long ago, he had been in the pool below the falls; his hair was still damp, his scent a mingled pleasure of clean skin and cool pine air. He drew a breath and took some of Serena's from her, then fed it back to her on a low hum of sound as the pressure of his mouth on hers grew more intense.

  Strong fingers splayed the base of her skull, drawing her closer. She knew not what to do, and so she gave herself over to him completely, allowing him to guide her. She had never been kissed. She had never imagined anything so wondrous strange and heady as the sensation of Rand's lips on hers. There was something elemental and dangerous in its allure, something that curled around her senses, beckoning her deeper.

  Although she longed to absorb every detail of the moment, Serena could only release all thought and feel. She closed her eyes and surrendered herself to the bliss of Rand's exquisite mouth. Never had she imagined such powerful yearning, such incredible heat. She clung to him without any measure of fear, not for Rand, and not for the Knowing, which whipped around her senses like streamers of boundless color and light.

  Her gift had never felt so alive. Never
so immense. It sighed and danced and sparkled.

  In that moment, that sweet, stunning moment, Serena felt every particle of her being awaken as though roused from an eternity of listless slumber. How delicious it was to kiss him, to taste him. How wonderfully maddening to feel his hands in her hair, caressing the back of her head with long, strong fingers, teasing the tender skin of her nape. She reveled in the press of his body on hers, the firm strength of his arms holding her, the hard muscularity of his thigh subtly wedging into place between her legs.

  Serena could not have dreamed such intimacy. To be so near Rand, holding him, kissing him, left every previous moment she had lived smashed to obliteration. It left her wanting more of something she could not define, or put into words. She merely wanted...more.

  As though he knew her hunger, Rand suddenly went rigid. He drew away from her mouth with a snarled curse.

  "Damn you," he whispered thickly. His hands were still caught in her hair, still stroking her, holding her as his heart pounded against her like a drum. "Damn you, Serena of the grove."

  His eyes never left hers, not even for an instant. She was held transfixed by the seriousness of his gaze, the utter truth that he made no effort to conceal. It was the same heated look she had seen the other morning at the cascade pool, the same dark sensuality, save that now he did not look at her and speak another woman's name, but her own.

  "You want to know how I feel about you? I wager you have your answer now."

  Aye, she guessed she did. He desired her. Perhaps she should be shamed by this knowledge. He seemed to think so. But she could summon no inkling of regret or chagrin for what his kiss told her.

  "I should not have done this," Rand muttered, a roughness to his words.

  "It's all right. I liked it. You don't have to stop--"

  "Aye, Serena. I do." He moved away from her. His voice was curt, rasping as though provoked near to anger, but still he kept his hands on her, his fingers tenderly caressing her face. "I do have to stop. It will only lead to disaster. I cannot let that happen, do you understand?"

  She didn't understand. She did not know what was happening between them, nor did she understand why they should stop something that felt so good, so right.

  "You don't like kissing me?" she asked, forcing the words past her tingling lips.

  "Sweetest heart," he whispered, "would that were the case."

  "Then, what? If I am doing something wrong, you can tell me."

  He smiled ruefully, meeting her gaze with a look of discomfort. "You are doing nothing wrong. The problem is mine. If I am near you, I want to kiss you. If I kiss you, Serena, I will want to touch you. And if I touch you..."

  His hands drifted away from her, leaving a cool void where the warmth of his caress had been.

  Rand shook his head, scowling. "It is impossible."

  "Because your heart belongs to someone else?"

  His brow furrowed with a deeper look of torment. "Because I have nothing to offer you, my lady. And I cannot stay. As soon as I am able--"

  "I know," she said, nodding as she stared down at her clasped hands. "I know. Your quest to avenge your family will not wait. I know this. I understand. But does that mean we cannot be friends so long as you are here?"

  "Friends," he replied, whispering the word as he might express a jest. "Is that how you see us?"

  "How do you see us, Rand?"

  She waited in quiet dread, for his answer took a long moment to come.

  "I don't know," he said at last. "I only know I don't want to hurt you. I would shield you from that."

  "I need no such care," Serena insisted. She felt a sudden flare of resentment--for him and his wish to protect her from himself, and for the sheltered life she lived. It was stifling, all of it, and she was nearly choking on it. "My decisions are my own to make. I am tired of forever being told to be careful, to not venture beyond my bounds for fear of the unknown. I am not afraid to live, or to feel. And I'm not afraid of you, Rand."

  He did not appear pleased to hear it, scowling darkly at her. But his touch was tender when he reached out and stroked the line of her cheek once again. His thumb traced lightly over her lips, making her yearn all the more for another kiss.

  "No, you're not afraid," he said, slowly shaking his head at her. "But if you were to touch me now, your Knowing would tell you that you should be."

  He gestured toward the meandering track that would lead them back to the cottage. "This way, my lady. Before I am tempted to stay any longer and let you shred the last scrap of my dubious honor."

  Chapter 13

  Silas de Mortaine had lived long enough to know that there were but two things that could ensure the loyalty of another man: greed and fear. He preferred to deal in the latter. So when one of his sentries arrived that night with troubling news from the north, Silas was swift to act.

  "You're certain it was one of ours?"

  The outrider nodded his shaggy dark head, the sweat of his urgent race back to camp still sticky on his swarthy skin and reeking. "Aye, my lord. I saw him with mine own eyes. I know my own kind, and this one was dead nigh on a sennight by the look of him. A fisherman had him on display outside a tavern in Egremont. Charging two farthing to come and have a look, he was."

  "This is unfortunate," Silas replied, seething beneath his calm tone. He had lost many such sentries in his quest for the Dragon Chalice. There were few remaining, just these half dozen among him, now that his spy in Liverpool was dead. "I don't like it."

  "Nor did I," answered the shifter guard. His smile was feral and sharp beneath his beard. "But the bastard won't be collecting anything more."

  "Oh?" Silas queried mildly. "How so?"

  The shifter made an animal noise in the back of its throat, smugly satisfied. "I gutted the sot before I left town to bring you the news."

  "You might have brought him with you instead," Silas replied. "This fisherman might have had answers I could use, information that could have proven beneficial to me. Did you consider that?"

  He leveled a scathing look on the huge man, unfazed by the knowledge that this brawny sentry could, in a blink, change himself into a deadly shifter beast. No harm would come to Silas de Mortaine. With the aid of the Dragon Chalice, he had harnessed his own dark magic, and he had long ago given up his mortal fears. All those assembled in the lavish camp tent knew this, and their anxious silence now only fed Silas's confidence in his own power.

  Still, he found it was prudent to offer occasional reminders of his might. It was good to tighten the yoke of his control, lest anyone in his ranks forget who it was they served.

  "I questioned him," the big guard said, breaking in on Silas's quiet judgment. The shifter's eyes darted to some of the others of his kind. No one offered a word of defense. "The man knew nothing. Said he pulled the body up in his nets--a drowned wolf, that was all. He knew not what he had, nor did he know anything about the Chalice."

  Silas steepled his fingers at his chin and gave a low growl of contemplation. Despite his man's assurances, Silas was furious that he'd been denied the chance to question the fisherman himself. There was a price to be paid for failure, and well was that fact known among Silas's retinue.

  He rose from his chair to stand before the sentry who tried very hard not to look as Silas withdrew a jewel-handled sword from a bossed sheath on his hip. "Everyone here knows how I despise disappointments."

  The large tent had gone utterly silent. No one seemed to dare breathe, testimony enough to Silas's statement.

  He pursed his lips as he lifted the magnificent blade, idly caressing the razor edge of polished steel. "I loathe incompetence."

  "I have not failed you," said the shifter, prideful even when he had to know he would not escape the night unscathed. "All of us from Anavrin--every guard assembled before you--is here to see the Dragon Chalice restored. We serve our kingdom, and he who sent us through the veil to this Outside realm of man--"

  "Nay," Silas snapped, shaking his head. "You serve
me. This is my world, and when I bring the Chalice back to Anavrin in my hands, that kingdom will be mine as well. Make no mistake, any of you. Only the loyal will have a place in my court. Only the dutiful will serve me. All others will be put to the sword."

  On that pledge, Silas let the tip of the blade slowly come to rest on the earthen floor of the tent. It bit into the space between the elongated toes of his fashionable silk shoes and the shifter's road-dusted boots.

  "Kneel before me," he commanded the Anavrin guard. When he did not show suitable respect, Silas's mood grew more foul. "Kneel, cur! Beg my pardon for your failing today, and for the offense you give me by your very presence."

  The shifter snarled as his knee slowly bent, and he took an obeisant position as commanded. "Forgive me, my lord. I am your servant, of course."

  Silas could see the resentment glittering in the hard black eyes as the guard's shaggy head dipped into a bow. No doubt, everyone else had seen it as well.

  The thought sent a flare of hatred burning through his veins. With the shifter kneeling before him in false fealty, Silas carefully sheathed his weapon. Steel was too merciful here.

  "Les Nantres," he murmured, summoning his shrewdest lieutenant from out of the ranks. "Bring me Avosaar."

  At that, the shifter's head jerked up. He knew what he had wrought, and Silas enjoyed the next few moments, ripe as they were with delicious fear, as the shifter began to beg in earnest.

  "Sire, forgive me. I've meant only to serve you as best I can. If I have failed you in any way--"

  Silas ignored the feeble plea. To his mind, the shifter had been dead the moment he strode into the tent with news from Egremont. Nothing would have persuaded him to spare the fool, then or now.

  "Here it is. Avosaar," les Nantres said from beside him, hardly bothering to mask his revulsion for what was to come.

  Silas turned to admire the stunning beauty of this piece of the Dragon Chalice. Avosaar, Stone of Prosperity, glowed as verdant as summer itself, clutched within the talons of a golden, winged serpent. Endless bounty was the cup's gift, but not for this Anavrin shifter.