When he took the blanket from her and would have placed it around her shoulders, she jumped up and darted out from underneath his hands. “Oh no you don’t. I will not foul that lovely blanket with my far-from-clean person. A bath is my first priority after I get the cook fire going.”
Silverblade laughed. “I understand. I’m none too fresh either. However, I’ll see what I can hunt up to go into a stew. There are some herbs, salt, and tubers in my supplies.”
He turned and started off toward the forest but she called after him. “You don’t by chance have some kind of soap in there, do you?”
Glancing over his shoulder at her, he flashed her a grin and a hint of fang. “Yes. But save me some too, unless you like the aroma of sweaty wolf.”
Beatrice took that as permission and started to dig around in the bag. A few moments later, she whooped in delight and extracted her hand from the satchel, a hard, fist-sized, balsam-scented package clutched in her fingers.
When she unwrapped her newfound treasure, she looked at the large lump of soap with a huge grin. “The gods are ever merciful.”
And somehow, she imagined Silverblade would appreciate it more if she was clean when she seduced him later.
She made her way over to the stream and then looked up towards the setting sun. There’d be enough time to wash her clothing now and have it dry by the time she needed it again in the morning.
Not that Beatrice hadn’t worn damp clothes before. But dry ones were always nicer.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Silverblade returned to their small camp to find the cook fire burning and the rest of the supplies out and ready for use. A kettle already sat near the fire warming, and next to it his spare cooking pot already had steam rolling from the top. At least the small ball of soap hadn’t made Beatrice completely abandon all reason.
His ears pinpointed her location. She was at the river’s edge scrubbing her clothing in the shallow water. While he used one of his spare knives from the satchel to cube the meat for the stew—rabbit again—he cast about for something else to do after he finished his present task.
Regrettably, Beatrice was too efficient and had all the other small tasks completed.
Still, he held back, poking at the fire and feeding it a few more twigs while he cast stealthy glances in Beatrice’s direction. As it was, he should be joining her by the river, for he certainly needed a bath and the fire did not need tending. The stew would take a good candlemark or two before it was ready.
Curse it. So much for hanging back and watching. It wasn’t modesty or cowardice; he was lupwyn. He didn’t suffer from either of those afflictions. But after her earlier line of questioning about the pack bonds and what would happen to him if they were separated, he had a good idea that she planned to revisit that unfinished conversation about what would happen to him if he got separated from her. He didn’t want to be caught off-guard, so he studied her. At least that’s what he kept telling himself.
‘I’m not interested in her.’
His Larnkin stirred awake for the first time in days and looked out through his eyes. ‘Then why are you afraid?’
He jerked in surprise and looked around.
Had he really just heard his Larnkin? Apparently. He drew in a sharp breath at his Larnkin’s thoughts as a new restlessness rose within him. This wasn’t caused solely by his rising magic flowing through his body.
Silverblade blinked in surprise to find himself now standing halfway between the campfire and the river. Turning his thoughts inward, he sought out his Larnkin. ‘Old Man, listen to me this one time: I’m not interested in a mate.’
The last thing he needed was a second mate to betray him like his first.
He closed his eyes for a moment, but his ears picked up the sound of splashing and his Larnkin seemed to urge him toward it. Silverblade fought to stay rooted to the spot, unwilling to trust either his own or his Larnkin’s wish to be near Beatrice.
‘You chose poorly last time. Your heart is safe with the Healer.’
His own heart had been whispering that to him for days now, but he’d ignored it. Dare he trust his Larnkin in this? Regardless if it was wise or not, he very much wanted to believe his Larnkin’s words and act upon them.
Undecided, he stood staring at the ground, looking at his own boot toes. He only had to unlace them, take a few quick steps, and join Beatrice in the river and see which way things progressed.
There was a great splash, some thrashing followed by sputtering and then clear, high laughter.
“Blade!” Beatrice called him by that shortened name she was fond of.
At first he’d found it too personal, but now he liked it for that very reason. And she used it almost like an endearment.
“Blade? Be careful of the stones at the side of the falls. They’re very slippery.”
Curiosity, that most insidious of emotions, once again overcame his better judgment. He cracked open an eye and peered towards the river.
She wasn’t where she’d been when he’d first returned. At some point she’d made her way over to the left side of the falls where the water wasn’t such a torrent. She’d taken the ball of soap with her and was working it into her hair while she sat on one of the boulders at the bottom of the falls.
He tried to study her with an indifferent eye. And failed. She was beautiful. While she did appear small and delicate compared to him, her full breasts, trim waist that flared out into a wide pelvis, and well-fleshed hips said she was in her prime. And if that hadn’t been enough to judge by, her long legs and muscular thighs also spoke of her good health. She was not sickly or starving. Clearly, even if he’d been unable to provide for her, she had the skills to find what she needed to survive. She’d been doing just that for years before he’d first met her. Likely, she could do so again if something happened to him. Although it saddened him to think she would be all alone. He didn’t like the idea of her having to fend for herself. If he had his way, she’d never have to rely solely on her own skills again.
Beatrice tossed her wet hair out of her face and glanced up at him. “The water’s not going to get any warmer and neither is the evening. You’re welcome to join me. Unless it’s taboo or you’d prefer to stare at your boots for the rest of the night.”
He huffed at her humorous jab and stomped over to the river’s bank. “That’s actually funny coming from a human.”
Reaching down, he unlaced his boots and kicked them off. His belt came next and then he freed his tail as he shimmied out of his pants. Being able to shapeshift again one day soon would be nice, too.
But he merely shook out his tail to fluff it up and waded into the river. This close to the small waterfall the bank was lined with round river stones instead of mud. They were slippery and he didn’t relish the thought of slipping in with one great splash, since the water was as cold as she’d promised. He gingerly made his way deeper.
So he couldn’t possibly betray his confusion more than he already had, he dunked under the surface and swam the rest of the way to the ledge where Beatrice sat. Once he reached her side, he hauled himself up through the falling water and copious spray onto the ledge next to her.
“It’s a bit loud, but I figured it would get me clean,” she shouted over the roar of the water. She pointed and grinned to reinforce her meaning as she handed him the soap and rag. He took them without comment, since he’d been so addled as to forget his own bit of cloth.
“Thank you,” he mouthed back and began to wash vigorously.
Getting truly clean for the first time in days did border on the divine. After several soapings, he turned his face up into the water and then quickly choked and sputtered.
“Are you all right?” she asked between bouts of laughter and strong thumps to his back.
“Yes,” he said, chagrinned by the mishap.
Beatrice slapped his shoulder. “Turn around and I’ll scrub your back for you. It’ll be faster and easier for me to reach.”
Un-uh.
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But unable to resist, he turned and knelt down in front of her, presenting his back. She was all business at first, which surprised him. He’d thought for sure she was angling to make this an intimate time between them. Perhaps he’d been reading her wrong all evening. He sighed and began to relax.
It was rather nice.
“I’m curious,” Beatrice said and her voice was suddenly in his mind. “Can you hear me when I speak this way?”
“Yes,” he replied in kind, surprised he could. He hadn’t had the ability since that first acolyte attack and Beatrice had spoken to him across the distance. It meant his Larnkin was recovering and that was a cause for celebration. “We call it mind speech.”
“That’s an accurate name. I wasn’t sure if you’d be able to hear me yet. It’s good. I had hoped this might help.”
“This?”
“Yes. I figured there had to be some middle ground between feeding your Larnkin the power he needs and me becoming your mate. After studying what remained of your pack bonds, I came up with a theory I wanted to test.” She reached around in front of him, grasping the ball of soap where he’d dropped it when he nearly drowned himself in the spray from the waterfall. His senses sharpened, honing in on her every move, the way her every breath caressed his wet skin.
“You said you had a theory?” he prompted.
“Yes, I don’t think the actual physical act of mating is what forges the pack bonds. I think it’s the intimacy. I think intimacy without the actual physical joining might work just as well.” Her voice dropped. “I’d like to test my theory, if you’ll allow.”
What she said might be true. But he wasn’t sure if it mattered. One way sounded as dangerous to his heart as the other.
Ah. By the Light, he was certain he was already falling in love with the healer. And if he let this progress as both his Larnkin and phoenix heart wanted?
Likely complete and total devastation of his wellbeing.
Still, he wasn’t strong enough to leave. Closing his eyes, he tucked his chin to his chest and simply enjoyed her touch as she slowly worked out the knots of tension. And, in a small part of his heart where he allowed himself to dream, he wondered how different his life would have been had he met Beatrice first.
His Larnkin must have liked his line of thinking, for suddenly he saw Beatrice with his child at her breast, the rest of his pack arrayed around them. In his Larnkin’s fantasy, Beatrice was the alpha female, the rest of the pack’s young gathered around her, growing strong off her magic.
He’d always wanted young and Beatrice would be a good mother. His Larnkin knew his heart all too well.
‘Nice try, Old Man. However, your ancient wisdom would be put to better use figuring out how to destroy the acolytes.’
Before his meddling Larnkin could get other ideas, Silverblade stood suddenly and then leapt from the rocky ledge and started to swim toward the bank.
***
Earlier Beatrice had felt when Silverblade relaxed at last, the tension flowing out from under her hands as she’d worked. She’d thought she was making some headway when he’d suddenly bolted from her side and made for shore. She would have been insulted, except his Larnkin had shared the vision with her. Surprise had stolen her voice and she could only stare at Silverblade in mute silence as he emerged onshore and walked to the fire and attended to the stew cooking over the embers.
The vision didn’t clarify what was going on in his mind, but she was certain he’d been greatly conflicted by what he’d seen.
She didn’t want to force him into a situation he was uncomfortable with, but he also meant too much to her. She couldn’t not try to heal him. Mind, body, heart, and Larnkin, he’d sustained injuries. And she needed to help him heal.
But first, she’d need to get him to open up, to trust her.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Brave. Really brave, Silverblade berated himself. He’d just tucked his tail between his ass cheeks and run from a female for the first time in his life. Well, he hadn’t actually tucked his tail, it was too waterlogged and heavy. It had hung straight like a drowned squirrel’s as he’d fled. He huffed unhappily, disgruntled by his clear showing of cowardice.
Sitting with his back to the fire, he used its heat to dry the thick ruff that grew from his scalp and cascaded over his shoulders. Beatrice had emerged from the river shortly after he’d fled. She hadn’t said anything, but he didn’t miss the look of sympathy she cast his way.
Now Beatrice sat with the blanket pulled tightly around her shoulders and leaned forward closer to the fire while she squeezed the excess water out of her thick mass of hair.
To keep his tail out of the fire, he’d curled it around in front. The fire’s proximity gave him an excuse to keep his tail across his lap and hide what Beatrice’s touch or his damned meddling Larnkin had done to his body.
“I think the stew is almost ready,” he said, needing to say something to break the uncomfortable silence.
Once Beatrice had the majority of the water wrung out of her hair, she glanced sideways at him. He met her gaze and then quickly looked away.
Gods. I’m such a coward.
But he didn’t want to contemplate even half the number of questions he saw hovering in their gray-blue depths.
If she asked them, he would answer them truthfully. But he was in no mood to expose his soul to another if it wasn’t required. He was tired and hungry.
“We should share the blanket, there’s only one. I don’t mind.”
Silverblade hid a grin. Well, that was obvious. Clearly she was still thinking of a way to reopen the topic of his severed pack bonds.
“Keep it for now,” he said, gesturing at the blanket. “The fur along my spine is still damp, no point getting the blanket damp as well.”
Beatrice only nodded, not seeming upset or put off by his answer.
He scooped out a bowl of stew and handed it to her. She took it with a soft “thank you” and then settled next to him. Nibbling at his own too-hot bowlful, he studied her and still, her next words caught him by surprise.
“Are you going to tell me what had you bolting away back there at the waterfall? I know it wasn’t some misguided attempt to protect my modesty.”
“Yes. No.” He didn’t elaborate. Instead he leaned forward and grabbed his satchel. After digging around for a moment, he pulled out his grooming brush and patted the ground directly in front of him. Sighing, he said, “I’ll groom your hair while I explain.”
Beatrice studied him in silence for a moment, but in the end crawled over and sat cross-legged before him, presenting him with her back.
He ran the brush through the same section of her hair several times before he started to speak. “You are aware that I am both phoenix and lupwyn, but you may not know that those two sides do not always live in harmony.”
He hit a snag in her hair and gently teased it out before continuing. “Lupwyns are very much bound to the pack, and live and love freely within it. Because of that, some lupwyns will take different mates over the course of their lives. That is natural, normal and accepted. However, I’m also half-phoenix, and that race mates but once. And normally only after years of courtship.”
Beatrice glanced over her shoulder at him. “No wonder you are conflicted.”
“Yes. Your words are true.” He started to laugh and tension melted away. “Never has there been born a creature more conflicted than I.” Laughter bubbled up within him, catching him by surprise. “My body’s natural rhythms are like those of any lupwyn and I share a fertility cycle with my pack. So yes, my body is all too willing. But my heart is solely phoenix.”
“Ah.”
It was one single word. Yet he heard a world of understanding within it.
“Blade, I’m so sorry. I’ve been making things worse not better, haven’t I?”
“No. Everything you’ve done has helped me in some way. And while I find your touch pleasant, I’m not ready to risk my heart again.” His words weren
’t entirely true. He wanted to give his heart to Beatrice. If there was some certainty she would remain loyal…
“Again?” she prompted gently.
He sighed, but decided to tell her what she needed to know if she was going to remain in his life after the current crisis was over.
“We call the complete turning of the seasons a cycle. Four seasons in each cycle.”
Beatrice nodded. “A cycle equals a year. I understand.”
“My pack enters its fertility time every twenty-five years. Each fertility period lasts three years. Those are the times the unmated most often find their mates. Being half-phoenix, I would usually return to Grey Spires to study during that time to avoid any regrettable complications. Being farther from my pack and surrounded by a city of prudish phoenix always doused a case of lust pretty quickly.”
Beatrice giggled and then slapped her hand over her mouth.
“Afterward, I would return to the pack. This suited me well enough for many, many years. Eventually, a female from a neighboring pack who had been visiting with mine for several years expressed interest in joining. Her name was Autumn Shadow.” He paused and was somewhat surprised to see he’d discarded the brush and was running his fingers through Beatrice’s hair instead. “A friendship had grown up between us and we got on well together. Also, we were both alphas, and I knew I would one day have to lead my pack during my father’s absences. I thought she’d make a good co-leader. Fifty years ago, when the pack entered its fertility cycle, she convinced me to stay. I did.”
Silverblade stopped brushing her hair with his fingers and looked down at his hands. “I can’t tell you how much I wish I had gone to Grey Spires instead.”
Beatrice turned around and reached for his hands. She entwined their fingers together. “I don’t know what happened, but I can feel your pain. If you don’t wish to say more, I’ll understand. I know nothing I say can soothe that old pain, but for what it’s worth, I value you. I value our friendship and I’ll never compromise you now that I know.”
In Deception's Shadow Box Set: Book 1-3 Page 69