Lionheart (Moonshadow Book 3)

by Thea Harrison

  Tired people cycled in to be fed, and Brielle cooked hot oatcakes to stretch what they had for dinner and help fill hungry bellies. Kathryn created a quick syrup to pour over the oatcakes, made with honey, dried apples, spices, and pecans. Even though she made a large pot, the syrup was gone within minutes.

  “Well, I misjudged that,” she said with a laugh.

  “You’ll have to make more in the morning.” Brielle licked her spoon with an expression of bliss. “That was sublime.”

  “I would be happy to,” Kathryn told her. She frowned. “I haven’t seen Oberon in a while, have you?”

  The other woman shook her head. “I would have noticed if his majesty had come in for some supper. We all would have.”

  Of course they would have. To Kathryn, he was just Oberon, but to them he was their king. She wondered how often he would have entered the kitchen before. Probably not very often.

  “I’m going to look for him. He needs to eat too.” Grabbing two of the last pies, she wrapped them up in a cloth and set them on a tray with a bowl of stew. After adding the partial bottle of salveri, she headed out.

  This time she found him easily enough in the first place she checked. He had gone to his office and was sitting close to the fireplace, contemplating the flames. He didn’t look around when she entered.

  “There you are,” she said. “I’ve been looking for you.”

  “Not now, Kathryn,” he replied.

  She didn’t budge. “You didn’t show up in the kitchen, so I brought you some supper.”

  He still didn’t look at her. “Leave it and get out.”

  This was very bad. His anger toward her was a palpable thing. Pursing her lips, she closed the door behind her and, after a moment’s consideration, turned the lock. No doubt in the normal course of things, his palace staff was very protective of his privacy, but these were not normal times, and exhaustion and excitement were running high for everyone. Right now, people were more likely to do something they might regret.

  That thought echoed back at her, and she knew very well that it applied to her too, but it wasn’t going to stop her from acting. Feeling regret was often in line with asking for forgiveness, and she would far rather ask for forgiveness than for permission.

  She deposited the tray on his desk, then walked toward him. “We should have that talk now.”

  “For fuck’s sake, what did I just say to you?” His growl shook the floor as he sprang from the armchair and rounded on her with an enraged expression.

  She felt herself flinch as it whipped across her face. As angry as he had been with her in the past, he had never sworn at her before. “I heard what you said,” she replied quietly. “But you’re going to get busier now that your people are beginning to arrive. We should finish what we—there are things I should tell you….”

  “You mean you want to lecture me about the Wyr birds and the bees.” After his first growl, he spoke just as quietly but with a vicious bite in each word. He advanced on her, aggression in each tight muscle. “I’ll save you the trouble. There only one reason you think we shouldn’t make love again—we’ve begun to mate. Because there’s only one reason I should suddenly gain the ability to climax multiple times… and I know you were right there with me the entire time. Weren’t you, Kathryn?”

  Even though she’d known he was clever, she hadn’t foreseen that he would have figured everything out on his own. Shaken by his words and attitude, she backed away as he came closer, until her calves collided with something hard.

  Thrown off-balance, she began to fall backward. He lunged to catch her by the shoulders, but instead of helping her regain her footing, he yanked her against his chest. She clutched at his waist as she collided into him, looking back for what had tripped her. He had moved the footstool away from the armchairs and she hadn’t noticed.

  Then, as she felt his body against hers and smelled his scent, the visceral memory of what they had done together stabbed her low in the gut. Her traitorous body flared with renewed hunger, clashing with her more sensible instincts.

  He shook her, a single, quick jolt that snapped her gaze up to his fierce expression. “Tell me I’m wrong.”

  “You’re not wrong!” she gasped. Gods, what he had done to her with that outrageously sensual mouth. What she wanted him to do to her again. What she wanted him to do that they hadn’t yet explored together. “Wyr who have started to mate can stop in time if they recognize the symptoms early enough…”

  He let go of her suddenly as if she had burned him. “If they recognize the symptoms early enough,” he spat out. “Well, I’m sorry you find the prospect of mating with me comparable to a disease.”

  “I don’t!” she snapped as she ran shaking fingers through her hair. This had gone wrong so badly, so fast, she struggled to think of a way to bring them back onto a kinder, more reasonable course. “Oberon, we had to stop. We had to. You deserved to know what was happening to you—what nearly every other Wyr learns about before they ever hit puberty, because mating with someone is irrevocable. Do you hear me? It’s a life sentence. There’s no greater tragedy than when a Wyr has mated badly, because it can kill them. And your emotions have been numbed for so long, and as for me…” For a moment her voice failed her. “I never expected anything like this to happen.”

  “No,” he agreed bitterly. “And as you’ve said before, you have a full life waiting for you back in New York. Friends. Lovers. You’ve made it quite clear from the beginning that your biggest goal was finishing here and going home.”

  “I don’t know anybody in Lyonesse,” she whispered. “I know you, and Robin, and I’ve had two conversations with Annwyn. I’ve seen the bones of a ruined city, and that’s it. And this has hit us with lightning speed—you and I have known each other for less than a week. This is so far outside anything normal or comfortable for me, I don’t know who I am anymore.”

  He was silent for long moments, big hands resting on his hips. He had angled his face away while she spoke, his long body taut with rejection.

  “I agree with you. This is happening far too fast, and the timing could be better—but it’s still happening. And while I appreciate you were trying to look out for me, I figured things out on my own. I can look after myself and make my own choices. I don’t need you to make them for me.” He paused, then asked, “You know that bedroom you woke up in, the morning after the surgery?”

  He had switched gears on her again. She felt as if something fragile inside her was grinding as it worked to switch focus with him. “Yes. It wasn’t your normal room.”

  “No, that was the queen’s suite.”

  Queen? He had been married before? An insane beast of jealousy roared up inside her, and her hands tightened into fists as an avalanche of questions hit her. She felt her talons come out. The tips punctured her palms.

  Who—when—who? Nobody had said anything about a queen. Had he loved her? Had she died? Was she still alive, and were they still married?

  Chapter Sixteen

  The barrage of questions hit with lightning speed and left her shaking. Turning her back to him, she opened her hands and stared at the bleeding punctures. “I didn’t know you had a queen.”

  “I don’t. When we built this place, I wanted to create a space that my future queen would enjoy, should I be so lucky to find the right woman. I never did.” He sighed. “But I thought about her quite a bit, and I prepared for her, in case. I would have welcomed her if she had come along. I would still welcome her, but…” His voice sharpened. “Do I smell blood?”

  “Yes.”

  He was beside her before she realized it and snatched at her wrists. “What did you do?”

  “I balled my hands into fists, and my talons came out. Don’t worry—the punctures have already healed.” She tried to pull away, but he wouldn’t let her go.

  The lion’s eyes looked out at her from the man’s face. “Why did your talons come out, Kathryn? It happened just now, didn’t it—when I mentioned the q
ueen’s suite?”

  Again, she tried to tug her wrists free, and when she couldn’t, the fragile something snapped inside. She cried, “Do you think this is easy for me?”

  If anything, he grew even more inhuman-looking. “I don’t think that now,” he purred. “Listen to me. I want you more with every breath I take, and I have no intention of backing away from this—bad timing, lightning speed, and all. But I also heard what you said. I see your struggle, so I will give you this much and no more. If you need to, walk away. I won’t stop you, and I won’t come after you. But that’s all you’ll get from me, and you’d better leave now.”

  More agitated than she could ever remember being, she wiped her hands on the thighs of her leggings. “You don’t have a doctor here.”

  “We’ll get by until one comes. Likely enough, Annwyn’s group will be here by tomorrow night.” That steady gaze of his was pitiless, and he didn’t blink once. “What are you waiting for? How many times do I have to tell you to get out?”

  “I-I don’t know.” She lifted her shoulders and held out her hands in a helpless shrug. Her boots seemed to have fused to the floor. “Maybe a lot.”

  If she left now and went back to New York, she wouldn’t see him again for years. He would embroil himself in hunting down Isabeau—and they lived so far apart it was more than likely that she would never see him again.

  They would never argue again. They would never stare deeply into each other eyes, as they were doing now. He would never make her angry. She would never roll over in bed and discover what it was like to wake up peacefully with him beside her.

  She would never have him inside her. Never again. And he would be completely free to fill his queen’s apartment with anybody else that he chose.

  She felt like her broken pieces were tearing her in two.

  “You’re out of luck,” he whispered. “Because I’m done talking. What are you going to do?”

  “I’m leaving!” she shouted. “Don’t think I’m not!” She launched at him.

  When she smacked into his chest, he staggered and grunted, “Seven hells, woman. You’re heavier than you look.”

  “Why are you still talking?” she hissed.

  A savage smile lit his face, and he didn’t bother to answer. Muscled arms the size of tree trunks snapped around her, and he sank a fist into the hair at the back of her head. It was confining and so barbaric it took her breath away.

  How could he think that was acceptable? That she would—that she would have a total meltdown at his rough dominance and practically orgasm over the fact that he yanked her hair…

  …even though she did….

  She tore at his shirt. Material ripped. He tugged her down with him as he went to his knees and shredded her tunic. Next he jerked down her leggings. She tried to struggle free of them, but they had forgotten her boots. Even as she swore and tried to yank her leggings back up to take care of the boot problem, he bodily flipped her around and pushed her forward until she was on her hands and knees, leaning over the footstool.

  “Wait,” she gasped. “Was that heavy lifting?” Through the urgent haze of need clouding her mind, she tried to calculate.

  “Who’s talking too much now?” he growled. “Shut the fuck up.”

  “You didn’t go up with my body weight, so much as around…” Holy shit. He came over her from behind and covered her. Her legs were trapped. The weight of her torso rested on the footstool, so her arms were free, but she couldn’t reach him.

  Meanwhile, his heavy weight settled on her. She could feel the crisp hair on his chest rubbing along the sensitive curve of her spine. He grabbed her hair again—this was so not like her—and he pushed her head down and held her there.

  “You stay down, do you hear?” he hissed into her ear.

  “Oberon!”

  He paused. His breathing was rough and loud as his lungs worked overtime. Gently, he whispered, “Is this okay?”

  He hadn’t gathered all her hair into his fist. The rest fell around her face, the ends trailing on the floor. She had no idea what to do with her hands. Her talons had sprung back out. She dug them into the thick, rich carpet and hung on while she snarled, “If you stop now, I might murder you.”

  “We can’t have that, can we?” he purred.

  His teeth came down on the nape of her neck, and he held her pinned that way, with his body, his fist and teeth, while he palmed one breast and pinched the tip of her nipple, stroking and exploring wherever he wanted. However he wanted.

  When he reached around her hip to stroke her, she started swearing. Then he found her clit and rubbed, and the resulting shock wave of pleasure was so intense she almost levitated the both of them off the stool as she bucked and squirmed.

  It was like fighting, and he easily overpowered her as he held her in place and stroked and stroked. All the while she could feel his huge, gorgeous erection pressing against her ass. It was just lying there, wasting away…. She wanted to touch it, suck on it, and pull it into her body where the ache was sharp and knifelike.

  Her next climax crested like a rolling wave, so hard she heard herself cry out hoarsely. His fist left her hair, and he clamped his hand over her mouth. All the while he massaged her with a relentless rhythm, until the climaxes crashed and crashed, and the waves tossed her head over heels.

  She cried out harder. His fingers on her cheek tightened, the sound blocked by his broad palm. “Not everyone is in bed yet,” he whispered hoarsely. “But scream all you like. I’ll muffle it.”

  Goddammit! Goddammit! There was only one way she could make noise, and that was by yelling telepathically at him. She reached behind her to yank at his short hair and claw at the back of his neck. Why aren’t you fucking me?

  You have the patience of a gnat, he told her.

  Gnats don’t have patience! she snapped, then scowled as she realized that was what he had meant.

  Another climax was coming…. Sweet gods, she couldn’t take it…. This one was like a tsunami, and it flattened everything in its wake. Tears sprang to her eyes, and she sobbed as she convulsed with it.

  He rocked with her, mimicking the act of sex without penetration, stroking, stroking. Then his teeth eased from her neck as he muttered, “I can’t wait any longer.”

  Nobody asked you to! she exclaimed.

  He gasped out a laugh. “Do you always tell your partners off when you’re having sex?”

  Nobody has made me feel the way you do.

  She trembled on the edge of saying the words, but she already felt so bared, so overextended, she swallowed them down and kept them to herself.

  * * *

  I’m leaving! Don’t think I’m not!

  The words wormed through the back of his mind, leaving a dark shadow like rot even as he made love to her and brought her to climax over and over.

  She was leaving him, and her arousal drenched his fingers. She was leaving even as she egged him on. Even as her body shook with the pleasure he gave her.

  He couldn’t fathom it. There was so much he needed to do before she left. It stripped away niceties and left nothing polite behind.

  Finally he couldn’t take it any longer. He had turned into a hot spike of need. Rubbing the thick head of his cock against her entrance, he thrust all the way home in one long, aggressive push. By then she was so ready for him his entry was a slick, tight slide in. He strained to get in farther, tighter, but he was already in at the root. There was nothing left to do but pull out and slam back in again.

  She clenched around him, tight as a fist, and started swearing telepathically again. He would have laughed if he’d had the room to do so. She had a filthy mouth. He never would have guessed from her educated composure.

  After three hard thrusts, he came. It felt glorious and hollow at once.

  It wasn’t enough, and he strained to another one. And then another one. All of it felt hollow. The synergistic blend of spirit and flesh was marred, and the shadow of that fucking worm had stolen something es
sential away. Something he hadn’t realized he needed until it was gone.

  His arms shook as he finally finished emptying himself. Lying heavily on her back, he rested his forehead on the slender blade of her shoulder as he fought to get his breathing under control. She cupped the side of his head and stroked his hair, and he let the hand that had been muffling her mouth fall away.

  He couldn’t say the frenzy had died down. In the face of their exhaustion, it merely retreated enough so they could resume other functions. How he was going to live with this when she left, he didn’t know. He might have survived all this time only to have his healer kill him after all.

  “Can you move?” she murmured. She sounded hoarse.

  He stirred. “You must be tired of my weight.”

  A ghost of a chuckle shivered through her torso. “Your weight is fine. I just want to get my boots off.”

  He laughed as he pulled away. Laughter pushed the rot away, at least for now. As she rolled off the footstool and into a sitting position, he helped her get the leggings untangled and her strange boots—hiking boots, she called them—unlaced. They were both unsteady in the aftermath, and her hands trembled as much as his.

  Another urgent need made itself known. He lifted his head. “You said you brought supper.”

  She tried to finger comb the tangles out of her hair. “I did.” She sounded more than tired. She was exhausted. “I didn’t mean to stay, so I only brought enough for one. You’re going to have to share it.”

  “Of course.” He had never taken the time to strip off his pants. Tucking himself back together, he fastened them and went to retrieve the tray.

  As he returned to the area in front of the fire, she slipped into his shirt. She had ripped it, but he had totally destroyed her tunic. His shirt was far too big on her. She had to roll up the sleeves, and then she tied the long trailing ends into a knot at her waist.

  He liked her wearing his clothes. He liked the fact that this time she didn’t think to heal the marks on either of them, nor had she managed to get her tangled hair sorted out.