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

by Lisa Blackwood

  She allowed herself to touch him, her hands trailing down his bare chest to settle low on his hips. Her thumbs hooked into the top of his pants and she dragged him closer. She broke the kiss a second time, needing air and to taste his skin. Pressing open-mouthed kisses along his neck, she savored the salty male flavor of him. His skin quivered under her light touch. Unable to resist, she nipped at his shoulder playfully.

  Shadowdancer laughed. Slowly, with a patient caution, as if he was afraid she’d break or bolt if he was too aggressive, he rained the gentlest of kisses upon her brow, eyelids, lips, and jaw. He lazily explored on down the length of her neck. Where the curve of her neck joined her shoulder, he buried his nose and sighed contentedly. His nuzzling continued for a few more moments before he finally straightened.

  He opened his mouth to say something, his lips shaping her name, but he closed his mouth again. Frustration made clear by his narrowed eyes and tight jaw.

  She ran her thumb along his lower lip. “Now will you let the Herd Mistress give you the gift of speech? Darkmoon told me you were being stubborn earlier and wouldn’t allow anyone near you. Now, you wouldn’t do that, would you?” she asked sweetly.

  Swifter than she could avoid, a sharp sting burned along her rump where he’d swatted her. Sorsha shouted in mock anger. After a moment of laughter, she admitted she deserved it.

  “I won’t mock your male pride anymore.”

  He glowered at her.

  “Sorry.” Her mumbled apology sounded weak to her own ears. Reaching behind her, she caught his hand in hers. “Come on, let’s go home.”

  * * * *

  Back in the tent where she’d first awakened at dawn, Sorsha surveyed Herd Mistress Neveyah and Shadowdancer where they sat cross-legged on a thick carpet. They faced each other over a low, knee-high table piled with the Herd Mistress’ supplies. While her own Larnkin still wasn’t able to summon much more than a spark of power after Shadowdancer’s healing, Sorsha could feel what Neveyah did. She found it fascinating that one person could give another person an entire language with just a touch of magic and what appeared to be a strange mix of herbs ground down into a powder and blended with pigments to make a crude kind of paint.

  The Herd Mistress had already done the transfer and was questioning Shadowdancer in firm tones.

  “Well, say something then,” Herd Mistress Neveyah demanded. Though she didn’t look up as she carefully returned the remainder of her unused pigments and herbs to their marked jars.

  Ignoring the Herd Mistress, or perhaps honestly wanting to get rid of the smears of paint covering his forehead and throat, Shadowdancer reached across the table and dragged a bowl of water closer and started to dab at his paint-encrusted skin with a damp rag. Even after all traces of paint were gone from his skin, Shadowdancer hesitated, and Sorsha remembered back to the night he’d come to her rooms in River’s Divide.

  She thought she understood his hesitation. He must still feel embarrassed over that incident. Her heart did a strange little lurch and she stood. He watched her, eyes hooded, his face a blank mask, likely trying to hide what was really going on in his mind.

  Sorsha wasn’t fooled. She’d seen the glimpse of uncertainty. Rocking forward on her toes, she wiped her hands on her trousers and squared her shoulders before walking to his side with a determined step. She reached for him, wiggling her fingers with impatience when he didn’t immediately respond.

  “Give me your hand.”

  He did, and she tightened her fingers around his and tugged him up to his feet.

  “Say something.”

  “Sorsha,” he said as he met her gaze, and then quickly glanced back down, as if to study the wood grain of the table.

  She smiled at him. “That’s a start.”

  A thoughtful look crossed his features a moment before he looked back up, his gaze steady and intense. “I lack the words to describe your beauty.”

  “No lies,” she said with a laugh, suddenly nervous.

  He tilted her chin up to look at him. “None. Never between us.”

  Heat climbed her face, but she kept her chin up.

  Shadowdancer looked down at her, his eyes full of gratitude. Heat radiated off his body, and Sorsha fought the urge to touch him.

  It was probably a good thing they weren’t alone. If they were, things might escalate rather too quickly.

  An impish smile tugged at the corners of his lips.

  Mild doubt assaulted her. “Are you sure you can’t read minds?”

  He laughed. “That I was never able to do, my little mane ornament.” A moment later, another emotion swept across his face and sadness glittered in his eyes. He shook it off and continued. “Even when I was at full strength, I couldn’t read minds. I could sense emotions and intent. During mind-speech, both participants can hear what the other says and sometimes thinks, but that isn’t the same as reading minds.”

  “Close enough.” Sorsha relaxed another degree. He was beginning to sound like the santhyrian she knew. While it might not last long, at least it was a start. Clearly, this particular battle was far from over, but she’d fight for Shadowdancer as long as required.

  A throat being cleared made Sorsha turn toward the sound. Neveyah smiled at them in such a way Sorsha wondered how sappy they must have appeared to earn such an expression.

  Shadowdancer stiffened, and then gave the Herd Mistress an elegant bow. “Many thanks, Lady Neveyah.”

  “You are most welcome.” The Herd Mistress shared a look with Sorsha. “If either of you have questions or otherwise need guidance at any time, simply come to me.”

  “Thank you.” Sorsha bowed to the Herd Mistress, copying Shadowdancer’s earlier gesture. “We will.”

  “One final thing, and then I’ll let both of you rest. I’m not sure how much Shadowdancer has told you, but this camp,” the Herd Mistress gestured with a wide swing of her arm, “is one of our temporary camps, midway between our summer and winter homes. We have very limited accommodations and supplies until we reach our summer territory.”

  Shadowdancer interrupted the Herd Mistress. “I can sleep with the herd. Sorsha can stay here with you.”

  “No need. As I was going to say, one of the lupwyn healer’s apprentices offered you the use of his tent. It’s only right that the new Herd Mistress have her own place.”

  Sorsha frowned. “But I’m not a Herd Mistress, not anymore.”

  “I can feel your Larnkin’s power again. She is weak, but growing stronger. She didn’t burn herself out saving Shadowdancer.”

  Exhaling sharply, Sorsha jerked her gaze to Shadowdancer before she could think better of it. His eyes widened. This was news to him as well. He covered his shock with a wan smile then nodded to Sorsha.

  “It is good we will have another Herd Mistress. The gods have been merciful.” His tone was carefully guarded, but Sorsha detected the pain behind the words.

  At first she didn’t understand it. Shouldn’t he be happy for her?

  If she could heal, he might, too.

  Then she realized something else. If he didn’t heal and she did, one day her Larnkin would choose a Stallion Mage to compliment her power, and that was a role Shadowdancer could no longer fill.

  Sorsha frowned, not liking the idea, but they would worry about that later.

  “I am tired.” Sorsha took Shadowdancer’s hand before he could stop her. “Show me where I’ll be staying, and then maybe we can find some food.”

  The Herd Mistress didn’t give Shadowdancer a chance to balk. “Forgive me. I’ll have food sent to your quarters at once. And a bath as well.”

  “Thank you.” Sorsha nodded to Mistress Neveyah, then sent Shadowdancer a bright smile she hoped looked reassuring.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Sorsha surveyed the big, as-of-yet empty wooden tub in the center of the pavilion. Rows of candles flanked the bathing tub, filling the air with the sweet scents of beeswax and sun-warmed grass. She curled her bare toes in the thick carpeting und
erfoot and sighed. Off to one side was another alcove, curtained off by plush drapes. “This is too much work. Let me just bathe in the river.”

  “It is a Herd Mistress’ due,” Shadowdancer remarked in a bland tone.

  Sorsha merely looked over her shoulder at Shadowdancer without comment, too tired to argue. He waited with a hip leaning against the small dining table, his expression set in an emotionless mask. She’d attempted to catch his eye all through dinner, but he’d focused on his food with a determination that shunned any other distraction. It hadn’t fooled her for a moment. He’d been avoiding her. Actually, if the way he was starting to gather up the dishes and tidy the table with a single-minded determination was an indication, he was planning on ignoring her for the rest of the evening, too.

  A third santhyrian entered the tent and she stepped out of the way. The three-year-old colt trotted past with his load.

  Shadowdancer made his way to the tub and muttered something to the colt. Once the young santhyrian was in position, Shadowdancer twisted the valve at the bottom of a heavy water sack suspended from the colt’s harness. Water gushed into the wooden tub with a loud splashing sound, but not so much as a drop of water hit the carpets surrounding the tub. When the sack was empty, the colt turned, offering his other side. They repeated the same procedure and by the time the second was empty, another youngster had entered the tent and taken up position behind the colt.

  Feeling guilty, Sorsha came to stand next to the bathing tub. “Really, the river would have been fine.”

  “If you’re worried about feeling indebted, don’t. As a Herd Mistress, you will have many responsibilities. You’ll soon find those with hands will have many duties to keep those hands moving.” Shadowdancer chuckled. “The herd can be very demanding at times.”

  “I’m glad. I hate being indebted.”

  “Just wait until burr season,” Shadowdancer muttered, then cleared his throat. “For now, Mistress Neveyah has forbidden any of the herd to pester you until you’ve had a chance to rest. After that,” Shadowdancer shrugged, “you’ll likely have a lineup of eager santhyrians outside your tent each morning. We love our daily grooming sessions.”

  Seeing no other option, Sorsha bowed to his wishes. Besides, it was difficult to argue against something she secretly wanted. The privacy of the tent offered the perfect opportunity to talk about the Twelve and if they might be able to fix what was broken. And the forced intimacy of sharing a tent might shrink the growing distance between her and Shadowdancer.

  “Your bath is almost ready.” Shadowdancer’s voice jolted Sorsha back to the present.

  “Thank you.” Fantasies of how she and Shadowdancer might go about shrinking the distance between them would just have to wait. She needed to talk about more pressing matters than their personal relationship.

  “I’ll leave you to bathe in privacy,” Shadowdancer said and started for the door.

  “You promised to talk later. It’s later.” She couldn’t fight off a yawn. “Besides, if you leave I’ll probably fall asleep in the tub and drown.”

  “I can have one of the mares stay with you, if you wish,” Shadowdancer said with a straight face.

  Was he serious?

  “A mare? Not exactly what I had in mind. We need a battle plan regarding our missing family members and the Twelve Talismans.”

  Her words had the desired effect; he halted and turned back to her with a raised brow. “That’s hardly a talk to have when we’re both swaying with exhaustion. Better we leave that until morning.”

  He’d have to be stubborn. Well, Sorsha grinned, she was a Stonemantle. Besides being stubborn, they also possessed the gift of bluntness.

  Sorsha stepped up to him, her fingers coming to rest on his shoulders. She stretched up onto her toes and brushed her lips against his in a brief kiss. “After the talk, I was rather hoping to continue what we’d started at the river.” She nuzzled the underside of his jaw.

  “That isn’t possible.” Shadowdancer’s voice rasped out against her skin, warm and moist. He held himself rigid, nearly unmoving under her hands. He broke away with a look of undisguised anguish on his face. Other emotions rolled across his features too fast for her to assimilate. “I’m no longer a Mage. I’m no longer what you need.”

  Sorsha frowned at him, her hands coming to rest on her hips. “I think I’m capable of deciding what I need, and who I love.”

  “One day, you’ll need a Stallion Mage… and I won’t be able to step aside if we do this.”

  A finger to his lips stopped further words, but Sorsha sensed his turmoil. She had her own inner turmoil to deal with. Later, she told herself. For now she would not think beyond the moment. Her lips replaced her finger.

  The heat of his fingers brushed her cheek a moment before he returned her kiss. Sorsha closed her eyes, seeking other senses. He smelled of male and wild places, of green grass and leather. Her hands molded against his bare chest, learning him. Skimming her fingers in a light caress down his sides made him chuckle. When she idly played her fingertips along his hip bones, he reached down and grabbed her hands, guiding them back up around his neck.

  “You’re so soft,” he mumbled into her hair as he rubbed his cheek against hers. His hands glided along her sides and then stilled. The hesitation betrayed his indecision. Sorsha began placing gentle kisses along his shoulder. Bringing her hands from behind his neck, she rested them on his shoulders for a moment before sliding down until her hands caught his. She guided him to the laces on her vest.

  “Beautiful,” he rumbled. “But your bathwater is getting cold.” Then, in less time than it took to blink, his arms were around her. One arm snaked under her legs and the other across her back. She’d barely registered the feel of his body heat against her before he had lifted her and deposited her into the steaming water. Clothes and all.

  “Shadowdancer!”

  He pulled his hand free of her grip. Studying her from arm’s length, he sighed out a long, bitter sound. “And as much as I want you, I can’t have you.” His frown deepened, taking on a hint of sorrow.

  “Why, by the goddess of your prairies, not?” Sorsha’s words came out sharper than she’d intended, but didn’t care. He had just unceremoniously dumped her in the bathtub fully dressed.

  “In the eyes of my people I’m…”

  Sorsha scrambled to her feet, water pouring off her hair and clothing in sheets. “I don’t care what your people think. Our love is between us and no one else.”

  “But they are correct. I’m no more use to you than a gelding is to a mare. You need a mage to strengthen your power. You’ll be a Herd Mistress again one day. I’ll never be anything more than I am now. Not in this lifetime.”

  “We’ve been over this.” Sorsha despaired of ever making Shadowdancer see reason. “I don’t care if your Larnkin ever heals enough to form the link between Herd Mistress and Stallion Mage. I chose you, regardless. Nothing will change my mind. I’m a Stonemantle and I’m going to be stubborn about this.”

  “Your Larnkin may have other ideas.”

  “Then she’s going to have a fight on her hands, the scope and duration of which she’s never seen before. I will not be a slave.”

  Shadowdancer retreated toward the tent flap. If she didn’t do something, she was going to lose him. The noble idiot was going to put the herd above his own happiness. And Sorsha didn’t know how to change his mind, or even if she had the right.

  “I don’t want to fight about this,” Sorsha whispered as she dropped down on the tub’s edge in defeat, her chin resting in her hands. “And I can’t lose you.” The words tumbled from her lips too quickly to stop them. Unshed tears collected in the corners of her eyes and her throat tightened. Damn it, she wasn’t going to cry again.

  Shadowdancer returned to her side so fast, she was caught off-guard by his sudden reversal and fierce expression. His arms embraced her and he was suddenly holding her to his chest like all else in the world was gone.

  “You
will never lose me. I denied death itself to remain with you. I am your friend now and always.” He held her against his chest with one arm while his free hand stroked her damp hair back from her face. He stilled his gentle caresses and placed a lingering kiss on her forehead. “You are my soulmate always, and even if we are not bondmates in this life, one day in some future life, our Larnkins will regain their strength and forge the bond anew. I await that time with whatever patience I can master.”

  “Thank you,” Sorsha whispered. His words renewed her hope. Somehow they would find a way and come together like her heart said they were supposed to.

  “I do love you, please know that, but you need to finish your bath alone or whatever noble intensions I have will experience a quick death.” He gripped her shoulders and then held her out to arm’s length. Sorsha didn’t try to cling to him even though she wanted to; she needed to retain a little dignity.

  “I’ll get a quick bath, and you can use the water while it’s still warm.” She tried for playful and unaffected, but failed miserably, even to her own ears.

  He pressed another kiss to the top of her head. “That sounds good, little one. I’ll go find some clean clothing for you.”

  After he left, Sorsha stripped quickly and then bathed while deep in thought. There had to be a way to heal Shadowdancer. She sighed in defeat. He was grieving deeply and she didn’t know how to help, how to make him see he still had value.

  Frustrated with her inability to come up with a solution, Sorsha dunked under the water and rinsed the soap from her hair, scrubbing with enough vigor to pull some strands out by the roots. When she came back up, she combed her fingers through her wet hair, squeezing the majority of the water out.

  She was still mulling over the situation when Shadowdancer returned with an armload of clothing and towels. He ignored her as he made his way over to the two sleeping areas tucked away in a cordoned off alcove at the rear of the tent.