Lionheart

by Thea Harrison

  Like most of the palace, the room had an air of neglect about it. Dust coated the furniture, and the artwork needed a good cleaning, but a new large pile of firewood had been stacked on the hearth. He had prepared for their meeting.

  As the lion strolled toward the fireplace, he changed shape and became the man. Oberon wore a different outfit as well—leather pants, boots, and a white shirt underneath a dark gray jacket that had been fitted to his large, powerful frame. He looked almost urbane, until she glanced at that strange cracked-ice gaze that was so like the lion’s.

  He squatted in front of the fireplace and quickly, competently stacked the wood for a fire. With a flick of his fingers and a tingle of magic, he set the wood ablaze.

  Then with a powerful grace that belied his size, he rose to his full height and turned. “What now, Doctor?”

  She realized she had been staring, and she tore her gaze away from him to focus on one of the bookcases. “Do you have a blank journal I could use?” she asked. “I’d like to take notes.”

  Wordlessly, he went to his desk and pulled out a leather-bound notebook from a drawer. As she took it from him, she looked at the priceless workmanship of the tooled leather. She flipped through the empty pages. They had all been hand pressed. She passed her fingers over it lightly, savoring the quality. If she had been in New York, she would have grabbed a disposable legal pad.

  “There’s something wrong with it?” He frowned.

  “Not at all. It’s beautiful. Thank you.” She looked up. “Let’s start by talking for a while, shall we? We did a lot of sparring yesterday that didn’t get us very far. Today I want to discuss your symptoms.”

  His expression tightened with impatience. “Is that really necessary? We already know we need to extract the needle from my chest. Talking isn’t going to solve anything.”

  “That’s certainly one point of view,” she acknowledged. “Here’s another one: you have an immensely sophisticated magic spell that you’ve been battling for years, yet despite your obvious magical talent, you haven’t managed to defeat it.”

  “Neither have you, yet,” he pointed out.

  She decided to ignore that dig and told him quietly, “I think it’s naïve to expect there haven’t been consequences. So, while we certainly need to get that needle out, I want to see if we can bring you back to the man you were before you were attacked. I want to eradicate any trace of Isabeau’s influence on your life. To me, that would be the real triumph. But you’re the patient. What do you want to achieve?”

  “Freedom,” he growled. There was repressed violence in the long, taut lines of his body. He made the large, airy room feel small and closed in. “I want to be completely free of that evil bitch, and then I want to destroy her and spit on her grave.”

  She didn’t know him well enough to predict what behavior might result from such volcanic anger. Subtly, she checked behind her to make sure she had a clear path to the open door if she needed it. “Excellent,” she said. “So, let’s talk, shall we?”

  He expelled a sharp sigh. “Fine. We’ll do it your way.”

  She gestured to his desk. “Do you mind if I sit at your desk?”

  “Whatever, Doctor,” he snapped, his icy gaze filled with storms. He prowled the expanse of the room. “Just get started.”

  She didn’t waste any time but slipped behind the desk. Setting her backpack on the floor, she sat in his chair and opened the journal. Damn it, she needed something to write with, and the pencils she had found a few days ago presumably still lay scattered and broken on his trashed bedroom floor.

  When she cleared her throat delicately, he whirled to face her. She raised her eyebrows inquiringly and indicated his drawers. He sliced the air impatiently with one hand, which she decided to take as permission to poke around.

  Quickly she found an inkwell still holding plenty of ink, a stylus, and a blotter. Being well acquainted with all three tools, she soon situated herself to her own satisfaction.

  “Tell me what happened when you were attacked,” she said. As he stared at her, she added, “Help me to understand how you got from there to here. I know that spans a huge amount of time and you’ll need to summarize, but I want to hear anything you think is relevant—what you sensed and what you felt along the way and any physical, mental, or emotional symptoms you’ve had. You can clearly feel the magic working inside you, and you were able to gauge it well enough to know that you needed to put yourself into stasis. What does it feel like?”

  He didn’t answer at first. Instead, he paced through the spacious office as if it were a cage, even though the door stood wide open. At first she sat poised to take notes, but after a few moments she set down the stylus, stripped off her winter coat, and sat back in his chair while she waited.

  Reluctantly, pity crept through her. She might not like him very much, but chronic illness or injury were very difficult things to cope with, especially when one had previously been gifted with the abundance of long life and health that so many of the Elder Races enjoyed.

  Friends and family of those afflicted didn’t know how to cope either, and often those battling with adverse physical conditions also had to contend with isolation, judgment, and lack of empathy from those they had previously felt close to.

  Was that what had happened between him and Annwyn?

  Finally he turned to face her. “I won’t bother telling you what happened. Instead, I’ll show you.”

  She sat very straight. What did he mean? If he intended to initiate some kind of deep telepathic bond to share imagery with her, she wasn’t comfortable getting that close to him.

  But he made no move to approach. Instead, he unfurled one long, big hand in her direction. For a brief moment, she felt a tingle of his magic, and then a scene appeared in front of her.

  It wasn’t a telepathic connection that occurred inside her own head. Instead, it looked like a pale, transparent holographic image that overlaid the landscape of the office.

  Instantly entranced, she rose to her feet as she stared at the scene.

  A transparent image of Oberon himself stood at the edge of what looked like a dance floor. The Oberon of the past was dressed in a severe black coat, pants, and boots. His dark hair was longer and tied back in a queue, and his richly embroidered coat glittered with jet.

  After taking in his appearance, her gaze swept over the rest of the scene. Snow appeared to cover the ground at his feet, and the dancers that swept by were fantastically dressed in brilliant costumes, their faces obscured by elaborate masks. Behind him, nearby bonfires blazed with light.

  She had read accounts of how splendid the Daoine Sidhe King’s masques had been. Even though everything in the vision was transparent, the detail was so precise she could almost hear a far-off tinkle of music and feel the roaring heat from the fires.

  When the past Oberon turned to face the dance floor, her attention snapped back to him. His masculinity was so raw and overwhelming she was surprised at how elegant he managed to appear.

  Smiling, he held out his hands, and snowflakes of ice, glittering with reflected gold and silver from the light of the nearby fires, fell over the scene. Dancers stopped, and everyone looked up. Silent laughter flashed over their faces, and they applauded.

  She barely took it all in before staring at the vision of Oberon again. The difference between this past version of him and his present self was striking. Quickly she strode around the edge of the desk to get a closer look.

  It was undeniably him. The man in the vision had the same bold, intensely masculine features with strong bones, a neatly trimmed beard, and that astonishingly sensual mouth. But the resemblance ended there.

  This man’s smile was keen and bright, and it lit up his face. He was enjoying himself and the people around him. His dark eyes sparkled.

  His dark eyes…

  She was so caught up that when he slapped a hand to his neck and spun around, she jumped.

  There, not ten feet away, stood a man dressed in plai
n black, holding a reed. Even though he wore a black domino, she recognized him immediately. It was Morgan, of course.

  The Oberon in the vision appeared to shout, and he lunged forward before crumpling to the ground. Everything in the vision whirled. Staggering from the optical illusion, she had to clutch at the edge of the desk to keep her balance. For a brief moment she saw everything as if she were lying on the ground, looking up.

  Then the real Oberon clenched his hand into a fist, and the vision stopped.

  Only then did she realize how rapid her breathing had become. Forcing her lungs to stop working overtime, she stared at him.

  “Have you seen enough?” His tone was cold and bored.

  “I certainly saw more than I expected to.” Forgetting any discomfort with his proximity, she strode over until she stood toe-to-toe with him and peered up at his face.

  His strange irises looked even more unsettling close up. They resembled ice and snow on black rocks—or no, more like an iced-over lake fractured with deep cracks.

  His heavy, dark brows drew together. “What are you doing?”

  “Oberon, what color are your eyes?”

  Quick impatience flashed across his hard features. “Isn’t it obvious?”

  “It would be logical to assume so,” she murmured. Reaching up, she touched his hard jaw and gently urged his head from side to side. Despite his ill temper, he complied, looking first at his desk and then at the fireplace. “Please humor me and answer the question.”

  Jerking his chin out of her grasp, he snapped, “Brown, of course.”

  She turned away and strode to her backpack. As she knelt to open it and rummage through the contents inside, she remarked, “I gather you haven’t looked at yourself in a mirror since you woke up.”

  He took in a deep breath. “Doctor, kindly explain what the fuck you’re going on about.”

  Even when he agreed to cooperate, he had to argue and fight with her at every turn. Shaking her head, she finally located what she sought and pulled out her toiletries kit. Inside, she kept a small fold-up mirror.

  Opening it, she stood and held it out to him. “Look at your eyes.”

  Striding over, he snatched at the mirror and held it up.

  As his silence stretched out, she asked, “Not what you were expecting to see?”

  He clicked the mirror shut and handed it back to her. “No.”

  Fascinating. She almost leaped back to the desk to start taking notes. “What other symptoms have you experienced since the attack?”

  Reluctance evident in every word, he replied, “I don’t feel cold, but I thought that might have been from my transforming into full Wyr. The lion is a very warm animal.”

  Every alpha male patient she’d ever had hated to discuss symptoms, as if confessing to them meant they were admitting to some weakness.

  She shook her head, writing furiously. “Maybe it’s because you’re Wyr now,” she told him. “You’ll certainly be warmer than you used to be. But maybe it isn’t. Do you feel heat?”

  “No,” he told her. “Not without directly putting my hand into flames.” As she looked at him quickly, he added dryly, “I know because I’ve tried it.”

  “Okay.” She made another note. “What else?”

  “Over time, as the spell got closer to my—to its target, I stopped feeling other things.” He began to pace again while he recited the words as if the experience had happened to someone else. “I stopped… caring. That love and loyalty you say that members of my court have toward me—I remember feeling that for them. I remember having the emotions, but I no longer experience them. In fact, I only feel two things anymore: anger and lust.”

  She stopped writing, suddenly inundated with the memory of yesterday’s encounter. The feeling of his mouth moving so urgently over hers as he speared her with his tongue. The delicious sense of weight as he shifted to lie on top of her, and the thick, heavy feeling of his erection pressing against her hip.

  For one shocking, mindless moment it had been glorious.

  His voice sounded softly in her ear, deep and dark as the ocean and rough with the lion’s purr. “But I do feel anger and lust very deeply, Doctor.”

  She had gotten so lost in her reverie she hadn’t noticed he had come around to her side of the desk, and she nearly leaped out of her skin. “For crying out loud, Oberon! Back up and give me some personal space!”

  She listened to her own exclamation with deep dismay. That was supposed to have come out much more sharply than it had. Instead of sounding disapproving and offended, her voice had sounded as breathless as a gasp.

  “Are you sure that’s what you really want?” Callused fingers traced the line of her jaw, down the side of her neck, and lightly pressed against the very spot where he had sucked so hungrily at her pulse. She remembered. Oh, she remembered it all too well. The shadow of his body fell over hers on the desk as he bent over her, and his lips brushed against the sensitive shell of her ear as he whispered, “Or wouldn’t you rather experiment with just how deep and hard my feelings can really go?”

  Chapter Nine

  Oberon had her rattled. He knew he did.

  But suddenly she laughed, and the bright, carefree sound broke the sensual spell he had begun to weave over them both. “Did you really just say that to me? My lord, that line was bad.”

  She wasn’t funny.

  And he wasn’t suddenly grinning. He wouldn’t allow it. Angrily, he wiped the smile off his face.

  Then he noticed something else. Despite her strong-sounding words, a hint of arousal lingered in her scent.

  He knew it. He knew he had gotten to her yesterday before everything had exploded on them. The predator in him took note and decided to give chase.

  Leaning over even farther, he planted both hands flat on the desk on either side of her, trapping her in the chair. Her hair smelled amazing, like apricots and Kathryn, and he rubbed his face in the silken strands and inhaled deeply.

  “You wanted me,” he whispered. “It was only for a few moments, but I can tell your body remembers. Think of how good it can be to give in to your deepest instincts, Kathryn. There’s nobody here to judge. Nobody cares. We can do anything we want, and no one will be the wiser.”

  He had never used her name before, and he could feel her almost imperceptible jolt as she heard her name on his lips.

  “Stop it,” she whispered. “I never get involved with my patients.”

  “That wasn’t what your mouth was saying yesterday when I was kissing you.” He angled his head so he could nip at her delectable neck with his teeth. Everything dominant in him wanted to pin her to the floor and cover her body with his. What would his spiky doctor think of that?

  She pressed a fist against the bridge of his nose and pushed hard. Her voice was stronger when she spoke, hard and cold. “Back up, Oberon. Yesterday I promised I wouldn’t cross that line again, and I meant it.”

  “Forget what happened yesterday,” he growled, brushing her hand away. “Today is a new beginning. I can tell you want me, and I know you can tell that I want you too. Give in to it. I can bring you more pleasure than you’ve ever known before.”

  She coughed out a shaky laugh. “Those are some mighty ambitious words, King. I’ve had some amazing, considerate lovers. I doubt you can compare, especially since you have no empathy right now.”

  “Empathy is overrated.” Sliding one hand underneath her jaw, he tilted her head back and held her against his shoulder. The long, exaggerated line of her slender throat aroused him more than he had expected. A hot spike of desire stabbed him.

  “Oberon, I mean it—I’m telling you no,” she said. “Let me go.”

  It would’ve been so easy to ignore her. It would’ve been so easy to push her body down on the desk and pin her from behind. But suddenly he realized that he no longer scented her arousal.

  She smelled different now, like stress and anger, and her body felt strung tight as a bow.

  He whispered in her ear,
“I don’t want to let go.”

  She whispered back, “Is that what you would have done, before?”

  If she had reacted any other way… But she didn’t give aggression for aggression, not this time, and her riposte had unerring accuracy.

  And the man he once had been would have picked up on her signals and stopped a long time ago.

  The realization made him drop his hold on her, as if she had suddenly become scalding hot and he had developed the ability to feel heat again.

  “I don’t force women,” he said between his teeth.

  “No, of course you don’t.” Carefully she straightened her clothes. “You just needed to be reminded of who you really are.” Standing, she turned to face him. Her amber eyes were dilated, the lines of her face tight. “Let me be clear so we don’t have any misunderstandings. Forget about what you may think you perceive in my scent. I am never going to choose an inappropriate liaison with a patient. I would not betray your trust that way, and I wouldn’t betray myself either. So I would appreciate it if you would keep your distance when I’m not examining or treating you. Neither one of us needs that kind of distraction right now.”

  She meant it, he realized. He stared at her in fascination. “Darling, if you think what could happen between us would be a mere distraction, your considerate lovers were not as excellent as you think they were.”

  Her lips parted. He sensed the tiny sound of her indrawn breath as clearly as if he had felt it against his bare skin.

  “We need to take a break for lunch,” she announced. She bolted out of the room before he could decide if he was going to argue further.

  Fine. Lunch it was. Maybe by the time it was over he could get his unruly erection to subside. He strode out of the office as well and headed in the opposite direction. He might no longer feel the cold, but he could damn well use some fresh air anyway.

  If he hadn’t been so determined to keep from compromising the man he used to be, he might have done something they both would have regretted and given in to his baser instincts. But he had promised her—if she worked on healing him, he would do everything in his power to keep her safe while she did so.