Lionheart

by Thea Harrison

  He reacted to that as well. The dark slashes of his eyebrows drew together in a fierce frown while he laid one big, flattened hand on the trunk of the tree, as if he would physically push it away.

  She stared at him, perplexed. What did that mean? He looked as if he were trying to push away her words—he didn’t appear to welcome anything she said.

  She muttered, “I think I’m done here. We’re not making any headway, and I should go home.”

  “Wait,” he snapped. “You may have had your say, but I am not finished yet. You demand I give my consent for you to treat me, so you owe me this interview.”

  Oh, for fuck’s sake. Of all the times for him to come out and say something right, it had to be right as she was getting ready to shapeshift and get the hell away from this cursed place.

  She glared at him. “Fine,” she ground out. “What else do you want to know?”

  His eyelids lowered, hiding his disturbing alien gaze. “Why did Annwyn pick you?”

  The wind had picked up while they talked, and she drew the Mylar blanket tighter around her torso.

  “I’m not sure,” she told him finally. “You would have to ask Annwyn for her reasons, but I know my résumé would have been part of what she considered. I’m two hundred years old. I’ve been a trauma surgeon in the Wyr demesne in New York for over a hundred and forty years, and I’ve been on retainer to Dragos Cuelebre and his court for almost ninety. I specialize in combining magical and surgical techniques when I create treatment plans—”

  He interrupted her, eyes narrowed. “You are the dragon’s physician?”

  Of course. Oberon would be well acquainted with Dragos. Sometimes that fact could work well in one’s favor, and sometimes it most definitely did not.

  She couldn’t tell how Oberon felt about it. Swallowing what she had been about to say, she redirected. “On the rare occasion that he has needed a trauma surgeon, yes, I am. Most of my work has been on the sentinels after they’ve sustained injuries from battle. At first I didn’t understand why Annwyn insisted I would be such a good fit for this assignment, but now that I know you’ve become full Wyr, her choice makes more sense.”

  He started to pace, his long, powerful body tight with leashed aggression. “Those are all other people’s experiences and opinions. Give me one good reason I should consent to you treating me. Why should I trust you when you’re working for my cousin?”

  Kathryn angled her jaw as she chewed on that. Annwyn had shown her nothing but loyalty and caring about Oberon’s well-being, but he didn’t sound like he trusted her at all. What did that mean?

  She told him a version of what she had said to Robin. “I don’t owe Annwyn any loyalty. My first loyalty lies with my patient, always. After almost fifteen years, she probably has a long, elaborate list of preconceived notions about how things are supposed to go once you’re revived. None of that is any of my business. Whatever comes after you’re healed is up to you. My one mission—the only job I care about—is healing.”

  He didn’t look impressed as she spoke. Why did she even bother?

  She could have let it go. Half of her was already winging home. But she knew exactly what an ancient alpha asshole like Oberon would respect hearing, so she leaned forward, met his cold gaze, and gave it to him.

  “Besides,” she said, her voice soft, “I could have already killed you if I’d wanted to. All I would have had to do was keep your Power acquiescent while I drove a dagger home to finish what Morgan’s assassination spell had started, and we would never be having this conversation.”

  For the first time he smiled, a quick baring of his teeth. She caught her breath. Whatever else Oberon was, his expression of naked ferocity was breathtaking.

  Then he bowed his head and held out his arms. It was only as his Power rippled out over the clearing that she realized her danger—he might very well be casting a spell so pervasive she couldn’t fly away from it.

  Whipping off the Mylar blanket, she stuffed it in her pack and prepared to shapeshift.

  Then she realized what he had done.

  He had cast his Power out in as wide and far a casting as she had ever felt, and now he clenched his fists and pulled it all back again. The draw of magic was so forceful it felt dizzying, like sensing hurricane-force winds blowing past her. Usually her sense of direction and balance were immaculate. Now she clung to her perch, afraid to take to the air until it stopped.

  After a few moments, the magical hurricane died down. Oberon smiled coldly. “I have done what you requested and taken back my own Power. This winter is normal again, Doctor. I give my consent for you to treat me—at least for now. You may begin.”

  Excitement swelled. She could no longer remain sitting on her perch and scrambled to stand on the branch.

  “Not so fast, King,” she told him. “Consent might be a necessary part of treatment, but you also need to prove you’re not going to hurt me before I get near you again. I don’t see how you’re going to do that, but I’m open to you giving it a try. Convince me you’re not a sociopath… or, wait, you don’t know what that terms means in a modern sense. Convince me you mean me no harm, and you won’t hurt me.” She glanced at the sundial. “You’ve got five minutes, more or less. Go.”

  Chapter Eight

  While the Wyr physician talked, she let go of the trunk and walked along her branch as casually as if she strolled along the side of a road. Her balance was immaculate.

  Oberon almost laughed at her insouciance, but the long, draining years of battling the sorcerer’s assassination spell had killed off any lingering sense of humor he might have had.

  Besides, she had a point. He had attacked her once. Part of him still wanted to do it again, wanted to feel her blood gushing between his teeth.

  The other part remembered the heat of their shared kiss—not the chaste goodbye she had spoken of so apologetically, but the other one, when he had covered her body with his and fantasized about spearing her with more than just his tongue.

  Look at her, strolling so far above his head with a complete lack of fear for any potential fall, her slender form held erect. She was almost catlike in her grace. Watching her made the lion inside him twitch. Her hair looked sleek as a mink’s, and her fine-boned features were chapped pink from the cold.

  She was, he realized belatedly, quite beautiful in an understated way. She wasn’t his type. Even before he’d been attacked, he had preferred voluptuous curves and a willing, warm personality that didn’t demand much of his attention after lovemaking.

  This woman would never be that kind of sexual partner. She would be spiky, intellectually challenging, and she would never consent to disappearing meekly into the woodwork after the deed was done.

  Still… as frozen as he was inside, and as inappropriate as she was to his own tastes, he could appreciate the aesthetics of the view.

  “Ticktock, King,” she said.

  He refused to let her goad him into replying before he was ready. She would wait until he said something. She had invested too much to fly off precipitously now.

  What would get her out of that blasted tree, back down to earth, and treating him again?

  “I want to live more than I want anything else,” he said, truthfully. “I want it more than I want my kingdom, more than I want revenge against Isabeau, and more than I want to kill the damned sorcerer who did this to me—and I want all three of those things very badly.”

  At that she paused to give him a sober look. But she didn’t leave her perch.

  After a moment, he added, “It would be suicidal for me to attack and harm or kill the one person who might help me reclaim my health, and I’m not suicidal.” He met her bright amber gaze. “I find you strange, and you make me angry. You and I might not like each other, and we might not see eye to eye. None of that matters. If you work on healing me, I’ll do everything in my power to keep you safe while you do so. And if you free me of this infernal spell, I will lay the world at your feet.”

 
As he spoke, she squatted, rested one elbow on an upraised knee, and smiled at him, and it was as fierce as anything he had ever seen. “I’ll take that bargain.”

  He grinned back, and for the first time in a very long, dark time, he felt hope ignite. “Excellent. Let’s begin.”

  She shook her head. “Not today. We’ll start in the morning.”

  In the morning?

  He snapped, “Unacceptable! You’ll start immediately!”

  “Unimpressed!” she snapped back. “You’re not my king, and I’m not your subject. I don’t take your orders. We’ll start when I say we start.”

  As she spoke, he growled in warning. This time she went too far.

  Raising one eyebrow, she laughed. “If you think you’re the first Wyr to ever growl at me, think again. Tonight, for the first time since crossing over, I’m going to get my needs met. I’m going to find somewhere safe in the city to build a hot fire, melt some water, and cook a good meal, and I’m going to sleep really well for as long as I can.” She pointed at him. “And if you’ve got any sense, you’ll do the same. You’re facing the fight of your life, and your body needs the fuel.”

  Her attitude was so infuriating, he hated the fact that her words made sense. Eyes narrowed, he told her, “I’ve never met a more insufferable woman. Why didn’t you just say so in the first place?”

  She did not appear to be distressed by his honest opinion. “Well, we’re even. Hats off to you, Oberon—even after years of dealing with Dragos, now that I’ve met you I’m surprised to say I’ve never met a more insufferable man.”

  He bared his teeth at her, then burst out laughing, and that shocked him more than anything else had since he’d woken up. Her eyes widened, and she stared at him in frank astonishment.

  “Go,” he told her. “Get your needs met, and I will see to mine. If you’re not back first thing in the morning, I’m coming to get you.”

  “Don’t worry.” She shouldered her pack. “I’ll be back. I can’t wait to find out what happens next.” She paused to run her gaze down his form. “Have a good night. You’ve earned it.”

  Stepping back, he watched as she shapeshifted into a falcon and launched into the air.

  As it happened, he couldn’t wait to find out what happened next either.

  Hands planted on his hips, he angled his head back to watch her fly away. He didn’t like it, that she was winging out of his sphere of control. What if she changed her mind and left? Other than an apparent fascination for his case, there was nothing holding her here. As she was so determined to point out, he had no hold over her.

  Assuming she didn’t leave in the night, how could he get a hold over her? He was an accomplished magic user, but so was she. For every control spell he might throw, she could very well have one that counteracted it—and then if he tried to trap her and failed, he risked alienating her forever. If he broke the fragile trust they had managed to build between them, she would leave, and he would die.

  Hmm.

  Unable to take her advice and focus on food and rest, he went up to his suite to don shirt, coat, cloak, and gloves. He had no intention of sleeping. He had already been asleep for too long. Besides, Isabeau waited to haunt his nightmares.

  After dressing, he headed into the dead city.

  His dead city. He poked at himself, like poking at a sore tooth. He had ruined it. It was his responsibility.

  It meant nothing to him. He didn’t care. Presumably the man he had once been would have been saddened and horrified to have driven his people away, but the man he was right now liked the desolation, the silence, and the strange twists of ice that the howling wind and sea had wrought over the years. It felt…

  It felt like it mirrored the landscape inside him.

  Every member of your court that I’ve met is more devoted than I would be. Based on what I’ve seen of your charming personality, I don’t get it.

  Annwyn, Nik, Gawain and the others… they were devoted to the man he had once been. A man he might very well never be again. What if the doctor healed him but he stayed exactly the same? What if the Oberon that the Daoine Sidhe had known was gone forever?

  If that happens, he thought, the rest of the Daoine Sidhe will have to find somewhere else to live. Because dead or not, this city is mine.

  As he lifted his head and inhaled the chill sea air, he caught a whiff of woodsmoke and smiled. Aha. I’ve found you.

  He tracked the smell of burning wood to the lower city, which baffled him. The doctor had bypassed all the grand estates that clustered around the palace on higher ground. Instead, she had chosen to go into the lower city. That area had sustained a lot more damage over the years as the sea levels had risen, and he had to pick his way through broken streets.

  Finally he located her at the site of what had once been a large, popular inn at the intersection of two major roads. The main taproom had been flooded several times, he saw, when he looked in the broken doors.

  But, assuming she’d found an intact store of food somewhere, there were plenty of bedrooms on the upper story that would provide decent enough shelter, and also enough fuel for a wood fire. If she were ambitious, she could even melt enough water in one of the bathtubs to take a bath.

  He climbed to the roof of the abandoned shop across the street, and after a time his patience was rewarded. He caught cracks of golden light gleaming from the edges of closed storm shutters at one bedroom, and the woodsmoke took on the rich scent of cooking bacon.

  A corner of his mouth notched up, and he relaxed. The doctor wasn’t going anywhere. She was doing exactly what she said she would.

  Still, he stayed at his post far into the night, until the scent of cooking bacon gave way to plain woodsmoke again and the last of the golden light faded from the edges of the shutters.

  Only when a deep, frozen silence blanketed the city did he make his way back to the shadowed luxury of the darkened palace.

  * * *

  When Kathryn woke the next morning, she felt like a million bucks.

  The night before she had eaten too much bacon, and she wasn’t sorry. What’s more, after eating she revived enough to hack chunks of ice from the thick layers that coated the inn’s roof.

  After stacking the ice in a bathtub in one of the bathrooms, she threw a simple heat spell repeatedly until the ice melted and warmed enough for a quick, shallow bath.

  To top off her evening of luxurious frivolity, the fire she’d built in one of the bedrooms actually threw off heat until the room turned deliciously toasty. The bedding she had found smelled musty, but she didn’t care. After a while the room was warm, the covers were soft, her belly was full, and her hair was clean again.

  After waking, she felt reluctant to leave her nest, but she had promised that blasted cat she would be with him first thing in the morning, so she rose, ate cold, leftover bacon, more cheese and mixed nuts, and dressed for the day in her last clean outfit.

  Later, she would have to do something about either cleaning her clothes or foraging for new ones. She would also need to locate more food and possibly a long overdue bottle of liquor. But overall, she was in far better shape than she had been the day before.

  After brushing her teeth with minty toothpaste powder from a small tin stowed in her toiletries kit, she packed up her belongings, shrugged on her backpack, and hiked to the palace.

  On the return, she caught Oberon’s scent almost immediately. Had he followed her to the inn? That felt creepy, but maybe he had been worried she would go back on her word and take off without telling him.

  She was still chewing over how she felt about him stalking her as she rounded a corner and the palace came into view.

  The lowering, malevolent presence had lifted from the city, and it was shortly after dawn. With the lifting of the unnatural cold, outside it felt like a normal winter’s day. She guessed the temperature was around thirty degrees Fahrenheit. She felt quite comfortable in her winter coat, and she carried her fur-lined cloak draped over one fo
rearm.

  Brilliant early-morning sun underscored the moody clouds in the winter sky. The dawn light poured rosy beams over the pillars of the golden palace façade and the immense alabaster lion reclining on the palace steps.

  Her stride hitched. The lion was magnificent. What a shame the man was so detestable.

  Oberon’s impenetrable, cracked-ice gaze tracked her progress as she climbed up the broad steps to him.

  “Good morning,” she said. “Did you sleep?”

  No. Since he was in his animal form, his blunt reply was telepathic. Your vocal cords have healed.

  “I told you all I needed was hydration and rest.”

  Very good. Then you are ready to begin.

  “I am. Where would you like to go? I assume you don’t want to be examined here on the front steps of your house.”

  Leisurely, the lion stood. The tiny hairs at the nape of her neck prickled, and she had to force herself not to jump back. Standing, he was as big as a horse. If he managed to land a direct blow on her, he could crush her with one of those immense paws. She had already seen for herself that he was blindingly fast for his size.

  She was much smaller, much lighter, and faster. That and the fact that she could go airborne were her two major advantages. If he took her by surprise, she wouldn’t stand a chance.

  He paused when she did. Is there a problem, Doctor?

  The heavy sense of his presence, like dark chocolate, poured over her. She repressed a shiver. She loved dark chocolate. “Not at all,” she told him in her best crisp, professional voice. “Please lead the way.”

  When the lion padded ahead of her, she felt marginally better. Trailing behind by several yards, she followed him through a part of the palace she had not yet explored.

  When he pushed open double doors to a large office, she looked around with interest at the large room. Windows overlooked the back gardens. Bookcases lined the walls, filled with all manner of books, interspersed with paintings coated with the patina of age.

  There were a couple of sitting areas that had been created with heavy, comfortable furniture along with rich, thick rugs, a large marble fireplace at one end, and a massive desk at the other. This was Oberon’s personal office.