My Immortal Protector

by Jen Holling

  When she didn't respond, he looked up to see her staring at him with wide eyes.

  "What?"

  "I rarely eat meat. Only when nothing else is available. It’s difficult when I can hear them."

  Stephen nodded. "I had wondered about that." His own mutton suddenly seemed a little less appealing, but he con­tinued shoveling it in. "When did you stop eating meat?"

  "I've never really eaten it. My parents said I refused to eat meat as a child. I sup­pose I knew even then, though I don't remember."

  He eyed her critically, wondering if the lack of meat affected her adversely. She stared back at him with clear blue eyes. Though pale, her color was still good, pink in the cheeks. She was rather small, though. Still, many cottars rarely ate meat and they survived, though smaller than most chieftains and clansmen.

  She said, Tin very healthy and strong...for my size."

  He’d felt her body. It was strong; slen­der, but strong. He cleared his throat. "If you're finished, you can wash up and go to bed. I'll be up in a bit."

  She shook her head. "No, no—you take the bed. I'll sleep on the floor."

  He gave her a slow smile. "Who said anyone was sleeping on the floor?"

  Deidra's mouth opened, but no words came out. As she stared at him, a blush rose up her neck to stain her cheeks. "I see!”' she finally said, her voice cracking. He laughed softly. "It’s hardly different from the past few nights, aye?" They had lain near each other, wrapped in their own blankets. But somehow they both knew that sleeping together in a bed was different. Intimate. She broke eye contact and her eyes darted around the room, as if looking for escape.

  He doubted he was truly capable of anything lascivious tonight, but it was a pleasure to see her so flustered at the thought of sharing a bed with him.

  She stood. "Well, uhm. I...uh, guess I'll head up then." She turned, still not look­ing at him, and scurried away.

  He ran a hand over his chin and jaw, staring after her. And amazingly, there was a stirring down below. He had truly thought he was in too much pain to even think about lying with a woman, even one he wanted as much as he wanted Deidra, but damned if he'd been wrong.

  He downed the rest of his ale, still star­ing contemplatively at the doorway where Deidra had disappeared. No matter how much he wanted it, this back was going to give him a problem. The tavern wench came by his table, inquiring if he wanted another tankard. Her hands were strong, forearms muscled from carrying platters of food to the patrons. And she had a look about her that said she did some extras on the side for the right amount of coin.

  Stephen smiled at her. She smiled back and shifted a hip out. She placed a hand on her hip and thrust her bust forward so he could get a good look at her ample cleavage.

  "Or mayhap there's something else yell be wanting?" she asked, a red brow arched.

  Stephen jingled the purse at his waist with a smile. “Aye, I think there might be."

  Deidra had lain awake for more than an hour, alternately terrified and excited. But as the time had dragged by and Stephen hadn't come, she'd begun to grow con­cerned. Was he hurt? Maybe he couldn't come upstairs? She was close to throwing back the blanket and going back down to look for him when the door opened. Duke padded in first and flopped down beside the bed.

  A war raged between her mind and her body. She wanted to ask him where he'd been, what had taken him so long, but she couldn't move, couldn't speak, could only lay paralyzed, waiting for him to come to bed. What would happen next?

  The room was dark, but her eyes were squeezed shut anyway. Her ears strained, listening to him moving around the room.

  The mattress shifted beneath his weight and her breath hitched. He was on the bed. His hand was on her shoulder, warm and wide.

  “Are you afraid, Deidra?" he whispered.

  She couldn't lie. Duke sensed her agita­tion and came to stand beside the bed, whining and shifting from paw to paw, his claws making a soft, scraping sound on the floorboards.

  Aye," she said.

  "Don't worry," he whispered. "I won't touch you. Do you wish me to sleep on the floor?"

  She turned quickly and put her hand on his arm. "No, no, I'm fine. You can sleep here, if you want."

  "I want." His voice was low and rough, with an undertone that said he wanted more than just to sleep beside her.

  She turned back toward the wall. Her heart hammered wildly, her body weak. She wanted, too. He stretched out beside her and placed a hand on her hip. She felt it throughout her body, like fingers of lightning, streaking through her. She tried to force a swallow past her constricted throat.

  She coughed, then found her voice. "You seem much improved."

  He sighed deeply. “Aye, I am."

  She frowned and sniffed, catching a pungent scent. "Is that liniment I smell?"

  "It is." His hand moved, stroking her hip. His hand was large and strong, and her body melted like butter next to a flame. Her head fell back. She drew in a shuddering breath.

  His breath warmed her neck. In her mind, she imagined his mouth, a hairs width from her skin, so close, almost touching- She trembled inside, waiting, wanting.

  The clean scent of him, along with the sharp scent of liniment, filled her nose.

  "You didn't have to put it on yourself," she whispered. "I would have, had you just asked me."

  "I didn't." The words blew across her skin, followed by the feather touch of his lips gently kissing. Her loins loosened as she sank deeper into the bed.

  "I know you didn't ask me. But you should have."

  "No, no, I mean I didn't put it on myself."

  She froze, brows drawing together. "Then who did?"

  He still kissed her, soft lips on her jaw and ear. "The woman downstairs, Anne is her name, I believe."

  Deidra's stomach plummeted and nau­sea rose. She had seen this Anne. That woman looked like a whore. Deidra doubted very seriously that the only thing she'd done had been to rub his back. And now here he was, in bed with her. His breath tickled her neck again, and her skin crawled. She slapped at the skin on her neck, trying to wipe away the sensa­tion. Her curled fingers collided with his mouth. He jerked away with a muffled grunt.

  "What the hell was that for?" he asked. He’d moved his head back, but his hand was still firmly planted on her hip, hold­ing her in place.

  "Why didn't you just ask me?" Deidra's face burned with indignation. The more she thought about it and imagined it—that woman, rubbing her hands all over him—the more her belly twisted. She feared she might be ill.

  Before he had a chance to reply, she continued, her voice too loud, trembling slightly, "I've offered over and over again and you refuse. All I want to do is help and you won't let me. Instead you hire a whore to do it. What else did she do?"

  He said nothing, only held very still.

  Deidra turned, anger making her move­ments exaggerated, and pushed at him. "Get off me."

  His hand held her hip tighter. She tried to climb out of the bed, but he held her down. It was too dark to see.

  "Let me up," she ground out through clenched teeth.

  "No." He pressed with his palm, sur­prisingly still holding her in place. He was very strong. "She did nothing more than rub liniment into my back. I knew you were tired. I didn't want to ask you to do that."

  "Liar! You just don't want me to touch you. You'd rather lay with that...that...woman with the breasts. I am the strange woman, the animal woman with crazy hair and no breasts—that's why—"

  His hand moved from her hip to cup her breast. She inhaled sharply, her thoughts scattering like dropped pebbles. His fingers kneaded, palm sliding beneath and holding her breast, as if weighing it.

  Deidra couldn't seem to catch her breath. She had just been sick with anger, but now she couldn't remember what had made her so angry.

  "They feel like breasts to me!”' he mur­mured. “And very fine ones, so your bab­bling makes no sense."

  Her response was a shuddering exhala­tion. The ache
from the other night was back, throbbing between her thighs. But her memory was also back—he had hired a whore to rub his back.

  "You shouldn't have!”' she whispered.

  "Maybe not, but I wanted us both rest­ed."

  Her belly dipped and she immediately forgave him.

  His hand left her breast, only to reap­pear on the strings holding her shift closed. He pulled slowly on each one until the air cooled her hot skin.

  His hand slid inside, over her bare skin. Deidra's eyes closed and she bit her lip.

  "What was it I said I would do?" When she didn't answer, he asked reproachfully, "You don't remember?"

  Oh God. She remembered every word he'd said that night, imagined it over and over again until she'd ached with unsatis­fied lust.

  She swallowed hard, trying to find some moisture in her mouth. "You said...you said you'd kiss...them."

  "Them?" he asked quizzically. His thumb rubbed lazily over her hardened nipple. Each time it swept across her, it was as if he strummed an instrument between her thighs. "Oh, you mean these" he said.

  Even though he couldn't see her, she nodded vigorously. He must have heard the sound of her hair against the pillow, because he asked no more questions. The bed shifted slightly, and then his tongue replaced his thumb.

  She made a sound in her throat, part choke, part gasp. It felt so good, but she wanted more. Her back arched so that she pressed her breast hard into his mouth.

  "Mmmm...," was all he said and sucked harder.

  Yes. That was what she wanted. Her body ached and throbbed. She felt swol­len down there, as if she was about to burst. Her hips moved against his leg. His hand touched her bare calf, then slid upward, under her shift, pushing it up as he went.

  Oh God. Yes, touch me there. She was afraid to say it aloud, afraid to hear her voice, heavy and strained with excite­ment, but she wanted him to know, know like the animals knew her thoughts.

  His hand slid up her thigh to her belly, barely brushing the curls. Her legs had loosened for him, knees falling apart. She made a frustrated noise.

  He released her nipple with a soft chuckle.

  "What did I say I would do next?" His breath blew cold across her damp nipple and she shivered.

  "Kiss me," she whispered.

  His mouth covered hers, tongue meet­ing hers. She gripped his neck, holding him to her as she met his tongue, explored his mouth. Her leg hooked over his, pressing closer.

  He pulled away. His labored breath feathered the side of her mouth. She panted now too, ready to explode. She needed him to do something, to touch her, to be inside her.

  "What next, Deidra?"

  Her mind was blank, she could barely think. She shook her head.

  "Think, sweet, you must remember." "Uh...you said you'd kiss me...every­where."

  He made a deep sound of appreciation, then kissed her jaw. The tip of his tongue teased her ear, drew the lobe between his teeth.

  She gasped, desire stabbing her low.

  He kissed her neck and her collarbones.

  "Everywhere?" he whispered.

  “Aye, yes, I pray you!" The words burst out of her, urgent, pleading.

  He pushed her skirt up farther so that it was gathered around her chest, and then his lips, warm and soft, pressed to her belly. The muscles quivered beneath his mouth. He kissed and licked as his hand slid between her thighs, pushing them open.

  Please, please, please. The refrain cycled over and over in her mind, and she didn't even know what she begged for. All she knew is she needed him lower, touching, inside...and then he was, his fingers stroking between her lips, opening them, then his tongue licking at the nub.

  She gasped, light flashing behind her eyes, her hips pressing up. Pleasure made her heart and belly tremble. She didn't know if she could stand much more, but it was wonderful, impossible, her body felt barely able to contain the sensations. His finger slid inside her and his tongue continued to lick. The air left her lungs.

  She gasped. Her body convulsed. The pressure that had been building reached a crisis and she cried out as it washed over her, over and over again.

  And when the strange squeezing pleas­ure lessened, she let out a shuddering laugh. Her body felt heavy and loose, tiny shocks of pleasure still radiating from her core.

  "You found that amusing?" he said, humor in his voice.

  "No...no...just...I do not have the words."

  He laughed softly. "We're not finished yet.

  No, she didn't suppose they were. She knew there was more to lovemaking than what they had done thus far, even though that seemed like quite a lot. She lay there, her skin damp, her body weak, waiting.

  He rolled heavily onto his back. "That was quite a lot for my back, lass. If you want me to finish, and I know I do, let’s do this."

  His hands spanned her waist, and he pulled her on top of him. Her leg snaked over him so she straddled him. He slid one hand along her lower back to her bot­tom, pressing her into his erection. And unbelievably, the lust stirred in her again. His other hand gripped the back of her neck, pulling her mouth to his.

  He pulled her up so that his cock pressed into her, stretching her, filling the ache that had reappeared. She felt a moment of pain, and her body stiffened. He held her, whispered to her and kissed her chin and mouth and neck. When he moved again, the pain was gone. She relaxed. She pushed against his chest so that she was nearly sitting up. His hands pressed her hips down so that he went deeper, filling her.

  And then he lifted her, pulling out half­way, then thrusting up into her. She moaned, catching his rhythm and match­ing it. His cock rubbed against something inside her, and each time it did, the pres­sure wound tight and tighter. She rocked against him, working him deeper with each stroke, their bodies moving like one sinuous animal.

  Stephen groaned, his hands stroking up her ribs to rub at her breasts. She covered his hands with hers, loving the way he felt inside her and all over her. She shifted and pressed, the pleasure winding tighter and tighter. Stephen cried out suddenly, his hands sliding around to her back and pulling her onto his chest. His mouth covered hers and her body tightened around him as they both climaxed, bodies and mouths locked.

  She collapsed on his chest, head resting beneath his chin. The sensations pulsed through her in waves, centering in her core and radiating outward. She couldn't think or see; she could only lie there, completely wrung out. She was asleep within minutes.

  She woke sometime later, her body chilled. Stephen had pulled her shift down over her body, and his hands traced lazily along her shoulders and back.

  “Am I keeping you from sleeping?" she asked, rolling off of him so she could lie beside him.

  "No, I wasn't tired." Liar.

  "I mean it... tomorrow... everything changes."

  His words were like a door slamming in her heart. Though she hadn't expected him to change his mind, she had managed to forget about it for a while. She turned her back on him and faced the wall. This was why they had come. The only reason. And if the blood witch agreed to change him, everything would change.

  His hand rested on her arm. "It will be fine!”' he said, stroking her skin. "I promise not to do anything stupid."

  "I don't care what you do. I was only making sure you got here safely." The words were out of her mouth before she could even think about them. Stupid, stu­pid. Of course she cared. She would not be with him in this bed if she didn't.

  "If you do not care, then why do you care whether I'm safe or not?"

  "I don't!” she hissed. “At least not any­more."

  He sighed, his hand dropping away. "Very well. We'll talk about it later, then."

  She bit her lip to stop herself from say­ing anything else.

  Are you coming with me?" he asked.

  Her vision blurred. She didn't know what she wanted anymore—except that she didn't want this to change. Not him, not the way they had felt together tonight. Now that she spoke with the animals again, she was reluctant to
give it up. It didn't matter to Luthias whether she actually did or not. He believed what he believed, regardless of proof otherwise, so why should she give up the one advan­tage she had?

  After a long moment she said, "I will wait here."

  He sighed again but didn't say another word.

  They lay the rest of the night in silence. Deidra's thigh muscles ached, his seed still damp between her thighs. Uneasiness filled her. Change was in the air, she felt it. She feared that the change was Ste­phen and that his changes would leave no room for her.

  Chapter 12

  Stephen didn't think Deidra was asleep as he prepared to leave the next morning. He hadn't slept much, and he didn't believe she had slept at all. He stood over the bed, staring down at her small figure curled away from him.

  Duke sat beside him, whining.

  Stephen shook his head at the dog. "No. You cannot come with me."

  Duke lay on his belly, nose between his paws, and didn't make another noise. Ste­phen suspected Deidra had spoken to the beast. He usually wasn't so well behaved.

  Stephen wanted to say good-bye to her, but she was strange to him suddenly. This had been her quest. Now that she had changed her mind, it seemed she expected him to as well. But their prob­lems were nothing alike. She was a still a whole woman whether she spoke to ani­mals or not. He loved her. He wanted to be the man she deserved—a whole man. She would see when he returned that it would all be well.

  He turned to leave when her voice stopped him. "I left something for you on the table, by the door. Take it with you." Her voice was flat, emotionless.

  He crossed to the table. A simple wooden rosary lay upon it. He lifted it, puzzled. "Papist idolatry?"

  "In the stories, it is the only thing that will protect you against a blood witch."

  His hand curled around the rosary as he looked back at her. More protection. It angered and touched him at the same time. He didn't know what to do with this woman. He only wanted to be a man, and she continued to mother him. Still—who knew what would happen next? He took her offering and left with­out a word.

  The village sat on Scotland's northern coast. The baobhan sith's island was a few miles out. Unfortunately, there were many islands to the north. He would need directions and a vessel. The wind blew hard, cold, and salty coming up off of the water, pushing up high, jagged sea caps. Fishermen at the waters edge pre­pared their vessels to head out, regardless of the rough water. Stephen didn't want to ride with a fisherman. He wanted his own boat. And besides, he doubted many people visited a blood witch.