by Jenna Kernan
That was ridiculous.
“What threat could I possibly be to you?”
He drew away. “You make me want things I cannot have.”
What things? What couldn’t he have?
“I don’t understand.”
“And that is best for now.”
She resisted the urge to kick him in the shins, but instead exhaled her frustration. “I would like to take a shower.”
He drew back as if she were suddenly contagious.
“Do you think there is something I could wear?” She motioned toward the missing sleeves. “You know, afterward?”
“No.”
“No, you don’t have any, or no, I can’t wear them.”
“I have no clothing.”
“That’s ridiculous. A T-shirt, for heaven’s sake.”
He shook his head. The man had white wine and fine crystal but didn’t own a pair of socks. She’d heard of traveling light, but this was ridiculous.
“Fine. Can I take a shower?”
“Of course.”
She turned and his voice halted her. “Afterward I will replace the bandage.”
“All right.”
He beckoned with his head and stalked away, moving through the house, down the hall and into a bedroom. She followed, pausing in the doorway as she gasped in surprise. She did not know what she expected, but not this fairy-tale bed. The headboard had been carved of blond wood by a consummate craftsman, but instead of garlands of flowers or cherubs, realistically carved animals sprang from the wide expanse of wood alive with character. A raven perched on each of the four posts, beaks raised and open, as if calling to one another. On the headboard, flanking foxes appeared beside mountain goats and two baying wolves, and in the center sat a bear looking smug and satisfied by his central position.
“What a lovely bed.”
“You’ll sleep here.” His words made it sound like an order instead of an invitation. “And don’t leave the lodge unless I am with you.”
Her eyes narrowed at this. His ultimatum made this lovely mountain lodge seem more prison than sanctuary. She was now well aware of the dangers surrounding her, though she had trouble believing all of what was happening. She wanted to dismiss it, but she just could not. For an instant, she wished this was a hallucination. Then she would have the freedom to do as she liked instead of the responsible thing. For example, she could rest her hand on his arm and lean closer to him for a kiss.
He strode across the room, past the chair upholstered in green velvet, past the simple bureau, stopping at the threshold.
“Call when you are finished and I will see to the wound.” He seemed to want to say something more but instead he clamped his lips closed, turned and stalked away with more speed than grace.
She stared after him, fascinated by the primal aura of supremacy radiating from him. Who was he and how did he have such powers? Mulling the possibilities, she explored her room. There was a walk-in closet, devoid of even a single hanger. She turned to the dresser, opening one empty drawer after another. It looked more like a model home than a real one. It certainly wasn’t lived in, at least not in the way she understood.
She closed the last drawer and glanced out the bare window devoid of curtains or blinds. What time was it? She found not one clock in the room, and she’d failed to put her watch on this morning. She studied the sky. The long summer days and northern latitude meant that sunset came slowly. But even now the sky turned a deeper blue and the shadows grew long on the ground. Soon she would see her reflection in this dark window. She stepped back from the pane and glanced at the bed. Then she would have to close her eyes and sleep.
Would the ghost attack her again, or did Sebastian’s protection extend to this place, as well?
Michaela backed from the room, recalling the shadow creature she’d seen in the glass. Nagi? Sebastian said so and she began to believe it was possible.
Shaking off her apprehension, she headed to the bathroom. A bracing shower would chase the shadows away. She closed the door behind her and stripped out of her jeans and tops, leaving the bandage in place. She told herself it was to protect the wound, but in reality she did not want to see the charred flesh again.
Sebastian’s guest bathroom had a travertine floor, flecked granite countertops and a raised basin sink made of black marble. The shower echoed the travertine and was trimmed with a small black rectangular tile that had some kind of animal track stamped into its surface to make it appear as if a creature had run the perimeter in wet clay. She fingered the indentation and thought it most resembled a bear paw.
She turned on the taps, praying for hot water. Her prayers were answered as steam rose around her. Michaela turned to her reflection and stiffened. She grasped a bath towel from the rack and draped the towel over the oval mirror before stripping out of her panties and stepping under the warm spray.
Paradise, she thought, as she turned in a full circle.
Outside the door, Sebastian pressed a hand to the solid wood and let his mind wander as he heard her sigh with pleasure. The insistent throbbing ache at his groin intensified at the symphony of the water jets drenching her skin.
“The hell with this,” he growled, and headed out the double doors and down the hill; then, without pausing, he splashed into the lake. He dove into the water, changing his clothing into the simple necklace as he submerged. He needed to keep his skin with him, and the circlet around his neck was most efficient. He surfaced, letting the water stream from his heated flesh. Then he dove again and swam with swift, powerful strokes, trying in vain to work away the tension building relentlessly inside him. The exercise did not rid him of the desire. This had never happened before.
He stood in the chest-deep water, his feet sinking into the ooze. Was this what his father felt for his mother? Did he have this same unquenchable thirst to possess her?
He huffed, shaking his head in misery. He had to be rid of her, but already he wanted to keep her. This was new territory for him. Nicholas had managed relations with human females, had been with many human females, including a naturalist he’d lived with for over a month, but when he’d found himself growing fond, he’d left her. Brevity prevented attachments. When Sebastian had asked what he did if he grew fond of her, Nicholas had laughed. Sebastian knew it was vital to keep humans at arm’s length if one wanted to prevent offspring. For a human to carry the child of a Skin-walker, she must first have fallen in love with him. She could not be taken by force, and consent was not enough. Perhaps it was the Great Spirit’s way of limiting his kind.
Sebastian still worried. His existence and Nicholas’s were proof that some humans could love Halflings. Nicholas was wise to set these women back upon their path, unharmed and unaware of what he was.
Sebastian had been with Michaela for little more than one full circle of the sun, and yet already she had seen the whirlwind and a Supernatural Spirit.
He admitted the truth. He wanted Michaela so badly it tortured him, and not just for a night. He did not believe he could work her out of his system. He envied his friend’s cavalier attitude and detachment, something Sebastian never managed.
Unlike the wolf, deception was contrary to his nature. He understood he could not tell Michaela, yet to take her without telling her was deceitful. He would not trick a woman as his father had done to his mother, not only because it was wrong, but because he wanted the woman who accepted him to know him for himself.
Once he thought he had found such a woman.
He had not thought of Anoki for many decades. She was long dead now, which was another reason Inanoka did not often take human companions—their short span of years. Nicholas said it didn’t matter if you only stayed one night. But it did.
Sebastian dunked his head.
This was the legacy of his father, the curse of the supernatural that Sebastian was determined would die with him. If any more unfortunate souls were to be born to walk through life alone they would not come from him.
In his early days, far south of here, when Sebastian still felt connected to his tribe but after his change and then his banishment, he had come back a year later for Anoki. She had loved him or said she loved him and he naively thought that nothing could alter her love.
He had been so certain that she would accept him even when his own family would not. He could still hear her screams and feel the sting of the rocks she threw to drive him off. The humiliation had been enough to penetrate even his thick skull. No woman was strong enough to love a Skinwalker.
He glanced toward the house. Michaela asked why he lived alone. The truth was hard. If his own wife could not accept him, who could?
Sebastian’s thoughts were interrupted by the sound of the water pump switching off. She was out of the shower. Before stopping to think, he left the lake, pausing only to shake the water droplets from his skin.
What did she think was happening to her?
He read her fear and it troubled him. It was wrong to cause fear in another creature; even when hunting he killed quickly and mercifully. But this feeling was more than not wanting to frighten her. He wanted to comfort, protect, claim. Never in his solitary life had he had such impulses.
He stood on the soft moss that grew thick below the porch, wearing only his claw necklace. But this wouldn’t do. He pictured the clothing. An instant later the garments assembled over his skin. He was dressed, though the jeans were slightly damp. He glanced down at his bare feet.
“The hell with it.” He stalked to the stairs. The pads of his feet were tough from going without shoes and he was as sure-footed as a goat.
He reached the deck as she left the bathroom. He heard the door click open and smelled the humid air that billowed down the hallway. She had found a new fragrance. He sniffed the air and recognized the scent of lemon oil. It was some lotion. He recalled the white bottle, but it smelled different as it reacted with her own chemistry, changing it into something sensual and erotic as all hell.
He growled again.
“Sebastian?” Her call was low and tentative. But something in her tone beckoned.
He was not at all sure what would happen now. She called to him on so many levels. How long could he resist her?
He stalked forward, homing in on her scent, tracking his prey. If she were wise, she would run. Instead, he found Michaela peeking down the hallway from the bathroom. Her smile died on her lips as she spotted him striding toward her and apprehension bloomed on her features.
“Ah, I’ve finished.”
She backed up as he filled the doorway. What was she wearing? He stared at the fluffy white towel she had wrapped around herself in a tempting package. He grasped hold of the edge of the cloth, fighting the urge to tug. The bulk of twisted terry cloth pressed her breasts together, creating an enticing line of cleavage. The edge of the towel cut across her slim thighs. He glanced at her inviting legs, picturing them wrapped around his hips as he plunged into her warm, wet body.
“You call to me dressed in this?”
She flushed and dropped her gaze.
“You said you have no other clothes. I didn’t want to put on my dirty ones.” She rubbed the bandage uneasily. “You wanted to change this?”
“Not anymore.” He was having trouble recalling anything but the inviting smell of her warm, damp skin.
She crossed her arms before her and he stared at the sodden gauze, feeling guilty for his primal thoughts. He squeezed his hands into fists to gain control before reaching to unwind the bandage. What would he find beneath?
The moment he touched her, he had her thoughts once more. The crazy jumble brought him up short.
Fear and longing battled like supernatural beings for control of her will.
She grasped the wrapping and unwound the bandage until it fell away. She was outwardly brave as she gazed at the wound, revealing none of her inner turmoil.
He shifted his attention to the four-inch gash that neither scabbed nor bled. He was relieved to see none of the otherworldly green glow, but troubled that there was no sign of healing.
He felt her eyes on him as she sought reassurance. Sebastian struggled to think of something optimistic. “There is no evidence of Nagi’s mark.”
“The strangest part is that it doesn’t hurt. Why is that?” She moved her arm up and down to show him.
He knew the reason.
His eyes narrowed and he released her, unsure if she could read any part of his thoughts.
Nagi killed the nerves along with the flesh. If he could not heal the damage, the wound would kill her. Sebastian’s stomach constricted with the force of his next realization. He did not want to lose this woman.
He met her gaze, noting the tension around her mouth and recognizing her need for some measure of hope. It was then he knew he would lie for her sake.
“My healing gifts are strong.” He tried not to squirm at the relief that glowed in her smile.
His own mouth went dry.
Where were the blasted bandages?
He found them and set to work, gingerly wrapping to avoid grazing her bare flesh. He had never read the thoughts of a human before and could not explain this development.
He finished the knot and glanced up to find her green eyes pinning him.
For the first and only time in his life, he felt hunted. What was she playing at to give him such a direct stare?
Had she been a male he would have accepted the threat and clouted him, but from a female, this aggressive gaze meant something entirely different. Or at least he thought it did.
And she gave this summoning look to him. He could barely keep the hope from stealing his breath.
She wanted him, didn’t she? A touch would give him the answer. He leaned closer.
But then he remembered, she didn’t know what he was, not entirely, at least. It was why she still desired him. The realization dampened some of his need, but it did not extinguish, clinging tenaciously to his desire as a flame in a rainstorm. Slowly the desire gained ground.
It was not the only time in his life he wished that he were merely human. The first was when his mother saw him transform and had run from him screaming. He’d been an adolescent and not able to fully control his powers.
Now he was. So Michaela would not know. The only question was whether to deceive her or leave.
Her smile made him dizzy with longing.
“Thank you.” She indicated the bandage.
“You should rest,” he said, hoping she would leave him now before he acted on the promise in her eyes.
“I’m not sleepy.”
He heard the lie in her voice and understood. Perhaps this was not so much about desire as it was her fears. “It won’t come while you are under my protection.”
Her eyes assessed him.
He stood his ground. “Go to bed, Michaela.”
She hesitated. He reached out and brushed her cheek with the palm of his hand. He drew a breath at the sharp desire that leaped out at him. It vibrated from her like hoofbeats through dry ground. But that was not all—he read uncertainty, as well.
She knew he was dangerous, some kind of “other” being. It was why she hesitated. It would not be difficult to push her to one direction or the other.
She stared at his mouth, wanting his kiss. He met her gaze.
“You’re sure?”
She knew what he was asking. He sensed it. The tension shimmered between them in waves like heat off asphalt, and he found his uncertainty drain away. He would kiss her. Even if she retreated, he would have this at least. He would taste her lips and feel the warmth of her tongue glide over his.
He bent toward her, looming as he captured her, pressing her forward, preventing her escape and realizing that she did not want to. Instead, she lifted to her toes, straining to reach him. It was a gift he had never expected.
Chapter 9
A s Sebastian’s lips met hers, she poured herself onto him like warm honey, molding to every contour. Warm, damp terry cloth rubbed against h
is chest. He trembled at the wave of need the contact awakened—hers and his, wrapping around each other like vines.
Michaela’s lips trembled as he explored them, nibbling first and then stroking with his tongue. Her mouth opened and he slipped his tongue against hers, tasting the mint of mouthwash. The scent of pine clung to her damp skin and he breathed her in.
The closer he drew her, the more her body accommodated his intrusion, and the harder he pressed against her. She lifted a leg to grip him, bringing his erection in contact with her sex. He paused, trying to clear the red haze of lust. He drew back and shook his head, but her fingers twined in his hair, insisting.
Her mind barraged him with messages, thumping against him like a storm on the beach. She wanted him to stroke her breast, touch her sex, kiss her lips.
He drew one hand from her back and grabbed the front of her towel, bunching it in his fist and meeting her eyes with a challenge of his own. She lifted her chin and he yanked the terry-cloth sheath from her body.
He held it before them like the scalp of an enemy taken in battle, then cast it to the floor.
She stood before him wearing nothing but the spiraling circlet of gauze around one upper arm. He stared into her green eyes, measuring the heat, flashing like the fire of a cut emerald caught in sunlight. Her pulse beat through the two vessels that flanked the slim column of her throat. He longed to kiss her where her neck and shoulder joined.
Her fast breathing caused her full breasts to rise and fall. He found the invitation irresistible.
He reached and she met him halfway. His fingers splayed, flattening the soft, pliant flesh of her breasts. Her head dropped back as she groaned with pleasure at the kneading pressure of his hands. The tender flesh of her breasts responded, growing firm to his touch. Her nipples beaded into tight knots in his palms, making him greedy to taste her.
She wanted him to. That thought came through most insistently.