In Deception's Shadow Box Set: Book 1-3

by Lisa Blackwood

  A soft blanket landed on her shoulders and Shadowdancer folded the heavy fabric around in front, under her chin. He didn’t let go, instead standing with his chest pressed against her blanket-covered back, his arms encircling her, his chin resting on her head.

  “Thank you,” she stammered. “I don’t think... ever been so cold... my entire life.” It was tempting to simply stand there; the effort to move almost too much, but they needed a fire. Her teeth continued to chatter, making speech difficult. “Fire… we must build a fire while we still have strength.” With a shaking hand, she pointed to a stack of relatively dry wood tucked away in one corner. “Bring some of the smaller pieces closer. I’ll get the flint and kindling from the chest.”

  Chapter Five

  The crackle of the fire lulled her almost as much as the warmth of the flames and the solid heat of the big male at her back. She moved just enough to lean forward and then leisurely stirred the fire before she rested her head back against Shadowdancer’s chest.

  Even after the fire had been burning fiercely—its great, glowing embers flaring up toward the cave ceiling—Shadowdancer had continued to shiver uncontrollably, so she had gathered together ingredients from the chest to make a tea. There wasn’t much in way of food, just a couple of withered apples, which they ate with appreciation. If not very nourishing, at least the tea helped to warm them. In the end, she’d given him her blanket to wrap around his waist, then she’d settled in his lap and he’d wrapped his blanket around them both. The combined heat of their bodies and the fire finally managed to warm the santhyrian. Sitting mostly naked on Shadowdancer’s lap wasn’t how she thought she’d end the night. Modesty was long-since a moot point. Or so she told herself to shake off the nagging blush, which tried to crawl up her cheeks every so often.

  “I’m not sure if I ever thanked you properly for saving me, first from Trensler, and then later the river,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper as she stared into the fire. The flickering flames held her mesmerized.

  Shadowdancer tightened his arms around her waist. He still couldn’t talk, but the way his fingers skimmed along her hip bone, stroking the skin in a lazy caress, required no accompanying words to communicate his mood.

  He’d been an absolute gentleman, his hands never straying from her waist, until now.

  She slapped her hand over his to stop its idle play. “Nice try. That’s not what I meant by ‘thanking you properly,’ just to be clear.”

  Another of his great, rumbling chuckles escaped him, telling her he wasn’t upset to be put in his place. It probably helped his male pride to have her relax against him while her hand played along his arm, her fingertips catching in the dusting of crisp, black hairs.

  “I’m sorry about the arrows. I thought you were a drunken sailor.” She continued to touch his arm, marveling at how her friend was now human. “It never occurred to me you might be able to change your shape. Why didn’t you say anything, warn me in some way? I would have understood the need for secrecy.”

  He shrugged. She could feel the shift of muscles, his dissatisfaction transmitted by a line of tension running down his arms.

  “I’m sorry. It’s not fair to question you until you can talk. It must be frustrating.”

  He released a sigh and began to relax again. Moments later, his hands moved slightly higher, midway between her waist and the lower swell of her breasts. She almost laughed at his less-than-subtle signals.

  “I said I would have understood and accepted you as a shapeshifter. Not that I would forgive you for doing God-knows-what in my bed that night.” She turned to him with a smile to take the sting out of her words.

  A wicked grin curved his lips and humor sparked in his eyes. He bowed his head and rubbed his face against hers in a very Shadowdancer-like fashion. She laughed. She couldn’t help it. He had such an easy way about him; it put her at ease, strange as the circumstances were.

  “Were you hurt trying to change shape? Is that why you can’t use your magic? Or was it whatever Trensler did to us?”

  He nodded his head and then shrugged.

  “You’re not sure?”

  He nodded.

  “Do you think you’ll be able to resume your true form?”

  He nodded with more assurance.

  “I’m glad you’re not hurt beyond a few cuts and bruises. I think I have some calendula ointment in my supplies. Let me up and I’ll go get some.”

  She tugged at his arms, but he seemed disinclined to release her.

  “Shadowdancer. I should look at your wounds. Infection is a dangerous matter.”

  He sighed with the sound of long suffering, his brows furrowing in displeasure.

  “Oh, come on. It’s not that bad. Cleaning your wounds won’t even hurt… much.” Besides, with her back to him, she hadn’t been able to study him as much as she’d like, and she was curious.

  His arms loosened with a great deal of reluctance. Before he changed his mind, she scuttled out of his lap and bolted for her shirt where she’d spread it out next to the fire to dry. Once dressed in her still-slightly damp shirt, she wasn’t much warmer than she’d been completely naked. Moving quickly helped her stay marginally warmer. The air grew colder against her legs the farther she moved from Shadowdancer and the fire. Tossing the few remaining items around the bottom of the chest, she dug until she found a jar of ointment. The wax seal was intact and, when she pulled out the cork, the paste looked and smelled as it should.

  As she returned to Shadowdancer’s side, she watched him through her lashes. His human hide was nothing like the color his santhyrian body had been. By the warm light of the fire, his skin reflected a deep, rich gold. But in daylight, she’d bet he was more of a sun-kissed tan. Deep brown eyes and a long, black mane were the only reminders of his santhyrian blood.

  He caught her staring and she hastily turned and busied her hands by dampening a rag in the small pot of water heating by the fire. It had been intended for more tea, but his injuries took precedence. With her back to him, she bent closer to the fire, and hoped if he did notice the pink tone coloring her face, he’d assume it was from the fire.

  A blanket rustled behind her, and the soft scuff of a bare foot on stone alerted her Shadowdancer had moved. Once again, a blanket settled around her shoulders, only this time it carried his scent. She dragged in a great lungful of air, and felt her usually dormant magic stir. Beyond a few failed attempts to create the light balls Shadowdancer called mage globes, and her somewhat modest gift of mind-speech, she’d never called on her magic for much. And it normally didn’t stir unless she called on it, but now it was gathering, rising up from her core to spill like heat across her fire-warmed skin.

  Shadowdancer leaned against her back, his cheek resting on her one shoulder. His arms circled her waist and held her close. He continued to hold her, not moving or doing anything that she could see or feel. Yet her magic sensed something and it responded, flowing into him.

  While she might not know what her Larnkin was doing, Shadowdancer’s contented sigh alleviated her fears. Whatever her Larnkin was doing, it seemed normal enough. Distantly, she remembered a few times when she’d raced across moonlit fields with Shadowdancer, she’d experienced the same strange pull, like her magic was reinforcing his, giving him strength. Only now it felt like her Larnkin was giving of herself to heal him.

  They stood for a long time, just hugging each other, until Shadowdancer nuzzled her neck and the unexpected heated caress broke the spell. With a sigh, he pulled away and resumed his place next to the fire. He arranged the blanket under him, with one corner tossed up over his groin to cover himself. She had a sneaking suspicion he only bothered for the sake of human modesty. He seemed rather comfortable in nothing but his own skin. Once the blanket was arranged to his satisfaction, he watched her with an expectant look.

  She folded her legs under her and sat across from him. A lopsided grin gave him an impish look, and she wasn’t surprised when he presented her with one fo
ot.

  She scrutinized the damage with a little sigh. The underside of his foot had numerous abrasions and farther up a nasty line of scratches marched along the length of his calf. One hip was marred by a large patch of raw-looking skin.

  “What did you do? Slide down the bluff instead of climb down?” She hissed in sympathy as she applied the damp rag to the minor wounds. She dabbed gently, but he still grunted once in pain. “And here I thought you were so stoic and robust. Guess I was wrong.” But she was careful to smooth the damp rag along his hip gently, softening the worst of the dried blood before wiping it away. She dipped her fingers into the pot of paste and slathered a liberal amount on the area.

  After a while, he stopped hissing at each of her touches and rested with his back braced against the cave wall. She worked in silence, completely engrossed in her task until his breathing deepened. Thinking he was asleep, she looked up and was startled to find his dark eyes filled with desire.

  Not about to be cowed by a simple look, she started on his other foot. When she washed the worst of the dirt away, she realized this one had sustained greater damage. Cuts and bruising mottled the bottom of his foot in a raw, ugly pattern. The deepest abrasions seeped rivulets of blood. She let his foot bleed freely for a few moments to help clean dirt and foreign debris out of the wounds.

  When she deemed the cuts clean, she pressed a rag against the deepest ones to help clot the blood. She was applying a layer of ointment when power surged within her and she gasped in surprise. Apparently, her Larnkin wasn’t satisfied with her work. Without thought or control, her fingers brushed along the bottom of his foot, her thumb skimming along the arch. Where she touched, the skin was as it had been before, undamaged by stones or rough terrain.

  She leaned forward and caressed the healed skin of his foot, marveling at her Larnkin’s accomplishment. Shadowdancer hissed, but it didn’t sound like pain. He pressed his heel into her lap. Needing to see what else her Larnkin planned, she traced her fingers over the curve of his foot, then up the inside of his ankle, along his calf until she reached his knee.

  Pausing at the hollow of his knee, she stroked the undamaged skin. It was entirely unneeded, there was no damage to heal, but she couldn’t resist. And by the way Shadowdancer rested his head against the cave wall with his eyes closed, he enjoyed the subtle touch. After a moment, the power within her guided her hands up his leg to come to rest on his outer thigh, where the large wound she’d cleaned earlier still patterned his flank like a bloody tattoo.

  Her new healing power made short work of that, too.

  He spread his legs apart and she knelt between them, resting on her knees. She maintained her contact with the fading wound on his hip while she transferred her free hand up to the deep abrasion on his chest. The long scratch started at his right shoulder and drifted down to terminate just above his navel. Her ointment-covered fingers followed the trail, but it was the power of her Larnkin as it flooded out of her into him which knitted the edges of the wound together until only a pale, white line showed against his tanned skin. The worst of the wounds dealt with, her Larnkin seemed content to return to sleep and Sorsha found herself alone in her body.

  Shadowdancer’s hand emerged from his blanket and powerful fingers locked around hers. Without the bold assurance of the sentience, Sorsha found she was suddenly uncertain. She refused to look at Shadowdancer and tugged at her hand.

  “I… I should finish applying the ointment. We’re almost done. Then you need to rest.” Finally she chanced a glance up.

  He stared at her, his eyes hooded, his nostrils flared to catch her scent. A sardonic smile graced his lips. For a moment, she thought he was going to rebel. If the heated look in his eyes was any indication of his mood, he was very close to dragging her into his arms. Oh, yes. He’d liked her Larnkin’s little healing session. The problem was so did she.

  His eyes bored into hers, his look one of pure challenge. Then he surprised her, loosening his grip enough to free their entwined fingers so he could lift her hand to his lips. He placed a warm kiss on the back, then each finger, and lastly, the center of her palm. She was too stunned to stop him when he returned her hand back to his chest, flattening her fingers against his skin. Heat from his body warmed her hand and spread up her arm. After wasting a few moments uselessly trying to tug her hand free, she shot him a glare.

  Shadowdancer held her hand in place with little effort, his blatant invitation to explore impossible to miss.

  Well, fine. If he wanted to challenge her, she loved a good challenge. Still kneeling, she shifted, her knee sliding forward, coming to rest snug between his legs. She edged her weight forward a breath more until she had his balls crushed against her knee. He grunted, but with the wall at his back, there was nowhere for him to go to escape the pressure of her knee.

  She leaned forward, drawing closer. His scent coiled against her tongue and the back of her throat, a tantalizing blend of man, his Larnkin’s power, and summer’s heat. His breath quickened, coming faster as she drew nearer. She paused above his lips, pretending to think about kissing him. She shifted to the side at the last moment and rubbed her cheek against his. Her lips caressed his ear and then she exhaled against his neck.

  He made the strangest sound, part-moan, part-nicker.

  “Shadowdancer. Let me go. Now.”

  He ignored her tugging.

  Sighing, she pressed her knee harder between his legs. “If you don’t let me go, you’re not going to like how my knee is planning to get familiar with your balls. Last time I kneed a man who didn’t understand the word no, he peed blood for half a moon, or so I was told.”

  Using exaggerated care, Shadowdancer released her hand and braced both of his against the floor. He seemed docile enough now, but the look in his eyes was anything but.

  “That’s better.”

  With an evil grin, she applied ointment to a cut just above his elbow, and another dab on the curve of one shoulder; both wounds too small for her Larnkin to be concerned with, apparently.

  Once finished, she wiped her fingers on a corner of blanket.

  “Not so bad after all, was it?” She speared him with another grin.

  “Why you would think I’d want you to change from warm bedfellow to prodding healer—with a tendency to tease a poor male until he’s nearly beyond thought, and then threaten to geld him when he does react—is a mystery to me.” Shadowdancer continued to glower at her, though his mind-voice was colored with humor.

  “I can hear you!” She struggled to her knees and rested her hand on his shoulder for balance when she felt both dizzy and giddy. “You’re healing?”

  “Yes, my Larnkin grows stronger thanks to the magic yours shared. I am in your debt.”

  Sorsha whooped with joy and threw herself on him, hugging him in a tight embrace. “I’m so glad you’re going to be all right.” She pressed her cheek against his shoulder. It felt right holding him close, her fingers finding their way into his thick hair. “As for saving my life, if we’re counting, you saved me twice—from the river and Lord Trensler. I still owe you another favor.”

  Shadowdancer raised both eyebrows, his smile widening into a truly mischievous look.

  “Oh, don’t start thinking like that again. I really don’t want to bust your balls. It would be such a waste of a fine specimen…so stop staring.”

  “I can’t help it. You’re female.”

  “Ouch. That’s hardly romantic.” While her words held the sharp bite of sarcasm, her body language was mellower. She sat back down in his lap, shifting so she could sit crosswise and lean her cheek against his chest. She wrapped one arm around his back. “Behave yourself,” she told him, then repeated the words silently to herself as a reminder.

  With her ear pressed close to him, she could hear the steady thump of his heart. His scent was stronger now. Perhaps a hint of desire made the aroma richer, darker somehow.

  His hand cupped the back of her head and then his fingers started combing throu
gh her mostly dry hair. She sensed his awe at his body’s new tactile abilities.

  “Thank you for sharing power. By dawn, I should be able to resume my true form.” He almost sounded saddened. She must have misread his mental tone. Unless he wanted more time to…

  To what? That was the problem. As much as Shadowdancer felt a part of her soul, she didn’t really know him, his motives, or his loyalties. Not really. But now, the way he was holding her, it was so gentle. She knew he’d never hurt her on purpose. And pressed so close it was impossible to miss the evidence of his rising interest. He’d always been a flirt, even when he walked on four legs. Yet now he was ready and apparently willing. Man or santhyrian, he was virile to the core.

  Her stomach tightened with nerves. She didn’t know how to take that information and relate with him.

  Why was she suddenly so uncertain? It hadn’t been a problem with past dalliances; the old Sorsha would have responded without a thought. But she’d never sought a relationship before, just a momentary distraction. Now she wanted more. That realization scared the Stonemantle bravado right out of her. The past moon’s cycle with Shadowdancer had changed her more than she’d thought.

  “We both need a few candlemarks’ worth of rest. I’ll shift back to my true form before dawn and we’ll return to River’s Divide and warn the others about the nature of Trensler’s power.” Shadowdancer was already moving into a more comfortable position. Sorsha let him arrange her the way he liked. For once she didn’t have any witty retort. She was just thankful he hadn’t picked up on her confusing thoughts. Her uncertainty bordered on cowardice, and cowardice wasn’t something she would accept. She should just turn a little more until she was straddling him, offer him what his body seemed eager for, and get over her stupid, momentary fear. And what if come the morning he was no longer interested?

  Her thoughts continued to chase each other in circles until her eyes grew heavy. Maybe sleep was the best option. She snuggled closer to his body, molding to his chest. His arms came around her, tightening for a few moments. His touch fed some deep, emotional craving, and that scared her. She only hoped that come the dawn, this whole mess might look better.