Love is My Sin: Oathcursed, Book 2

by Julia Knight

  She laid her hand over his and smiled to herself. “Will you stop treating me like a child?”

  “Looks like I’m going to have to, doesn’t it?”

  “Lock me up again and you’ll regret it though.”

  “I promise. No more locking up. I wish—I just wish you needed me, the way I need you.”

  She laughed under her breath. “Idiot. I do. And you must be very worried.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “I’m naked under here and you haven’t done a thing about it. Come to bed.”

  He laughed then, slid his arm around her and kissed her. His happiness seeped through into her. All she ever wanted was for him to be happy, for them both to be happy.

  “Your wish is my command,” he said and slid under the covers.

  ***

  Hunter sat and stared out the window while the healer washed away the blood and stitched his arm. Watched as Oku’s temple came down, stone by stone. Unthinkable. Blasphemy. When the healer had done and had put on the vile-smelling ointment that stopped infection, Hunter laid his head against the wing of the chair and closed his eyes.

  They said Hilde would live, and the babe too. He’d done that, but at what cost to himself and everyone else? Ganheim’s and Armand’s chief god was gone. What they had based their whole selves on, their laws, their faith, their everything, was gone. He had destroyed it.

  He opened his eyes, looked round at the wounded and wondered if he could have done it any differently. Aran and Nerinna sat at the far end of the room, talking earnestly. Nerinna threw her arms around Aran and kissed him. Another nail in the coffin of his heart. At least Aran was happy.

  Hunter shut his eyes again. He was too tired, too empty, and too numb to bother with thinking about it. Tired enough to sleep till spring. And then what? Then nothing. Sweet, black nothing.

  The hum of voices lulled him, the small sounds of other people’s lives carrying on around him. Aran’s voice became louder and a hand fell on his good arm. He forced his eyes open.

  “Are you all right?” Aran asked. “The healer says your wounds aren’t so serious.”

  Hunter nodded vaguely, too intent on Nerinna who stood at Aran’s side. She’d washed the blood and grime from her face but hadn’t bothered with her normal preening. She looked different. Changed somehow and heart-stoppingly beautiful. And had offered herself to Valguard in return for who-knew-what gain. She wasn’t changed, still a skilled deceiver, still the mercenary woman who had come with them, even though he admired her commitment to what was best for the Reethan. Everything had been a lie. He turned away, afraid even to look at her.

  “You’re going to need a new regent,” he said to Aran. “If you feel you still need one. I’m sure Jolnin would do a fine job.” Because he couldn’t do it any more. Didn’t think he could even bear to attend the wedding. The thought of it, of seeing them married, threatened to crush the breath from his lungs. He would just stay here, sleep and try not to think about Nerinna.

  “There’ll be plenty of time to think about that later. Just make sure you get well. But Nerinna and I have something to tell you.”

  “Wait.” A flush crept up Nerinna’s neck as she stared at Hunter. “Before we tell him, there’s something I need to say.”

  Hunter couldn’t look at her as she spoke.

  “My Lord Hunter, I—” Her voiced hitched and she swallowed a sob. “My lord, I’ve managed to insult and offend you at every turn. I know that you hate me for offering myself to Valguard, even though he didn’t get the chance to take it. I know that you believe I should have been true to Aran. But I was offering Valguard the only thing I have ever had to offer in exchange for all I wanted. He promised that if I did all he asked, you would live. That was all I wanted. Just for you to live.”

  Hunter turned slowly back to her, regarded her tear-soaked face as she looked at him, her eyes pleading with him to understand. And finally, he thought maybe he did. “What you have to offer is worth more than that. I’d rather have died than have you do that for me.”

  Now he knew what the change was, the difference in her eyes. No more games here, no ploys. She was speaking her heart. The remembrance of Regin’s voice sounded in his head. He’d been a slave all his life, to his country, his king and the ideals of a worthless god. But that god was dead, and maybe a newer, better one could take his place

  For once he would do something for himself, just because it was right in his heart and to the Dark with the shame of it. He had no shame left; it had burned away when he faced Oku, and maybe that was why he felt so empty—it was all he’d allowed himself to feel for too long.

  He stood and took her trembling hand in his, slid his arm around her and kissed her, not caring who could see, not caring about any outrage it would cause. He savoured the taste of her lips on his, jasmine and honey, the smooth feel of her under his hand, the way her hands slid around him as she kissed him back. Hunter felt, no he was alive. As he had not been in far too long. Every capable nerve blazed with life, as though the sword still burned in him. Better than the sword, better than the duria. The pain was still there but it didn’t matter. Like everything else, it was very far away.

  He kissed her till he could barely breathe for the way his heart was squeezed with joy, till he could hear nothing but the thundering of blood in his ears. Then he kissed her again.

  Finally he stopped and he tried to step away, but her arms held him, and the look in her eyes. He became aware that the room, full as it was, was silent, the kind of silence that came with forty people holding their breath in either outrage or shock. Or both. He did not care.

  The only one he cared about was Aran, who stood as still as a statue. Hunter disentangled himself from Nerinna’s arms and took a step forward. This was why he’d always kept his word, why he should have done so this time. Would have done if weariness and want and Regin’s words had not seduced him. He had betrayed his own son’s happiness.

  Aran held up his hand and Hunter stopped.

  What could he say? “Aran—” The words stuck in his throat. He did not know how to say them and he stared helplessly at Aran. At his son and king, who he had doubly betrayed.

  Then Aran spoke as if he knew just what thoughts were flashing through Hunter’s mind. “You’ve not broken your word. Nerinna and I have come to an arrangement, one that doesn’t call for our marriage. I think I can manage without a regent, though I’m sure Jolnin will help where he can. Though he’ll be busy, I imagine. But still, I’m your king and I’ve a command for you. Nerinna and I have agreed that we’re not well suited for this match, though we both still want the alliance. So I’ve decided that one of my nobles should sacrifice his bachelorhood for the good of the country.” He smiled at Hunter. “This is my gift of thanks for all you’ve done for me, all you have taught me—and all you’ve sacrificed for me and my family. A gift for my father.”

  And Ganheim would not need a regent, would not need Hunter. Because its king had become a man.

  Nerinna watched Hunter blink and shake his head, as though he was trying to shake the dream out of it. He looked between her and Aran for a moment, then he smiled, a smile that grew into a laugh, and he clasped Aran’s hand before he caught him in an embrace.

  A shout interrupted then, a stream of Reethan invective. Arashin barged through the wounded towards them, Fadeen at his heels.

  Arashin grabbed her by the arm and Nerinna shrank back from him as he screamed into her face. “You will not marry either of these barbarians! Can’t you see what he’s done, what he is? Don’t bring the gods’ wrath on the Reethan!”

  Something blurred past Nerinna’s vision and Arashin sprawled on the floor. His mouth was a mess of broken, jagged teeth. He dabbed at it with one hand and got to his feet, his face a twisted mix of fear, pain and hate.

  He opened his mouth to speak but Hunter interrupted. “Fadeen, would you interpret for me? Very precisely please.” He flexed his fingers and inspected the back of his knuckles for bl
ood. “Would you tell him that if he ever touches Nerinna again, if he even looks at her the wrong way, I will kill him.”

  Fadeen smiled and relayed the message, very precisely. Nerinna pressed her lips together, trying to hold in the sob of relief. She would never have to worry about Arashin again.

  Then Hunter turned to her, and her knees turned to water as he took her hand and led her away.

  “Where are we going?” she asked, but she didn’t much care. Anywhere would do. She was going with Hunter, and his hand was clasped firmly about hers.

  He smiled down at her and laughed again. The difference to his face almost broke her heart. “The healer insisted I should have bed rest. Lots of bed rest.”

  They left the main healer’s room and went into the corridor, where doors led into some smaller rooms the healers used for their more serious patients. One of the doors was open, showing a plain room with a narrow bed, a chair and a washstand.

  Hunter was kissing her even as he kicked the door shut behind them. Her back was to the cool stone wall, his urgent lips on hers and his hand sliding along her ribs, down her leg and through the slit in her dress. His gentle fingers caressed the skin there, moved up and dragged delicious warmth behind them.

  She ran her own hand through a tear in his shirt, felt the firm muscles on his chest and tangled her fingers in the hair as she had wanted to since she had first seen it. So different to the men she’d known, both outside and in.

  At last he pulled away and she all but melted into the look in his eyes. He kissed her again, more gently, grazed his lips along her neck, and she shivered with pleasure. When he spoke, his hot breath on her throat brought the hair up on the back of her neck.

  “Would you have half a man?” He sounded hesitant, uncertain of himself in a way she never thought he could be.

  She brought her hands round to his face and lifted it so she could see him. She kissed him, slowly and longingly. “I’d love a man who stood against a god for what was right. I’d love a man whose people love him so well they helped him take down that god. A man of honour. That’s not half a man.”

  He smiled, unsure of himself or her words, and opened his mouth to speak, but another kiss stopped him. “Would you have a woman like me? One whose only wish was that just once I would get to bed a man who I loved?”

  He laughed, was happy and she had caused it. She thought her heart might burst. “Not only once,” he said. “I give you my word on that. And I always keep my word.”

  Then he kissed her down onto the bed, and bliss.

  Epilogue

  Oku is downed but not destroyed. Hilde and I are still bound to him in many ways, and he will not stop. His revenge may be a long time coming but it will come, I have no doubt. He has made his hatred clear.

  But our dreams have hope now, and a new life of our making. A precious thing I thought I would never know again. I will savour every moment of it. Yet now I have more to lose—and more to fear, for every moment may be the last.

  Hilde loathes him but does not fear him yet. I would keep her from her fear, if I can. Keep that innocence of what may be in her tender heart. I would let her keep her hope. But I know Oku of old. I know his cruel and heartless ways. I fear for the fate of our souls.

  About the Author

  Julia Knight is married with two children and the world’s daftest dog. She lives in Sussex, UK, and when not writing she likes riding motorbikes, watching wrestling (it’s the muscles, sweat and baby oil combo) and exploring new ways to get a giggle out of life.

  To learn more about Julia Knight, please visit www.juliaknight.co.uk. Send an email to Julia Knight at Julia@juliaknight.co.uk.

  Look for these titles by Julia Knight

  Now Available:

  Oathcursed

  Ilfayne’s Bane

  He destroyed a continent. Dethroned a god. Now her love will destroy him…

  Ilfayne’s Bane

  © 2009 Julia Knight

  Oathcursed, Book One

  Hilde is shunned for her strange looks and ability to dream the future, both unwelcome gifts of the half-kyrbodan blood that flows in her veins. One of those dreams summons the legendary mage, Ilfayne. Beneath his cynicism and penchant for melting eyeballs, she discovers a tortured man driven by demons as cruel as her own. And the only man who doesn’t recoil from her.

  Condemned to four thousand years of loneliness and regret, Ilfayne finds a rare thing in Hilde: a friend. For that, he will do anything to keep her safe. Just as he gathers the courage to reveal the tender feelings he thought he’d lost, her kyrbodan blood forces her to bond with a man of her own race. To deny the bond means she could die. Either way, she is lost to him.

  Now llfayne’s oldest enemy has resurfaced, a sorcerer who will stop at nothing to destroy him. Including targeting their greatest vulnerabilities—Ilfayne’s hidden love for Hilde, and Hilde’s guilt-wracked conscience.

  When the sorcerer makes his move, Hilde holds the lives of two men in her hands—and faces a terrible and deadly choice. Loyalty…or love.

  Warning: This book contains a jaded hero, sarcasm, violence, and magic spells involving aggressive turnips.

  Enjoy the following excerpt for Ilfayne’s Bane:

  Hilde woke to cool moonlight and a sense of foreboding. The shadows seemed darker and full of menace as she waited for her hands to stop trembling. She fumbled to put the pendant over her head and stood.

  Something was here, something that held nothing but evil intent. A shiver worked its way up her spine. She swore silently and pressed her back to the tree. The horse shied, pulled itself free with a scream of fear and plunged into the darkness. Dread settled on Hilde’s shoulders like a blanket. She pulled her knife from its scabbard. Her free hand grasped at the rough bark of the tree behind her. The feel of it reassured her she was awake, but that comfort was slim. She could wake from a dream.

  Something white gleamed in the dark, like moonlight on teeth. The shadows shifted. The form of a man stood with her, except this was like no man she had ever seen, more like some malign animal that had worked out how to stand upright. Its skin was a glossy midnight blue, its fangs as long as her knife. Claws tipped its fingers, and a long tail whipped about behind it. It lifted its snout in her direction and scented her while its long tongue ran up and down its fangs.

  Blood drained from her face and her lips felt numb. How little use her knife would be against this beast that towered over her by a head and more, but there was nowhere to run even if she had the strength for it. Someone moaned close behind her and she whipped her head round, but there was only darkness. She turned back to the beast.

  It spoke and the guttural words sounded like someone being sick. In the midst of it, there came a word she knew. “Hilde.”

  Her heart ran to a stop in her chest and then the thing came for her, its claws outstretched to take her by the throat. Her heart started again, to hammer at her ribs like a frantic bird.

  She twisted out of the way to put the tree between them but with a snarl it was on her. A clawed hand grabbed her left arm with what felt like enough force to snap it. The feel of its skin on hers drew a scream from her and she slashed at it. The blade skittered over its skin.

  Its smell threatened to bring up the meagre contents of her stomach, but she bit, kicked and hacked at the beast with all her failing strength. It hissed in pain at a lucky stab that managed to just pierce the skin, and its grip relaxed for an instant. Long enough for her to wrench herself free. Her quiver and bow bounced as she tried to put as much distance between them as she could. It ripped at her, close enough that the breeze washed over her skin as she ran for her life.

  Something crashed amongst the trees, and she shied away until a voice bellowed curses. “You stupid bugger, what have you done this time? Where in the gods’ names…”

  A man, and he spoke the language she knew. She ran towards him. Even vicious nomads would do right now. The beast’s hand dragged at her shoulder and claws dug into her skin
to spin her round. A second hand grabbed for her throat to cut off her scream. The claws clenched without mercy, stopped her breath and the blood to her brain.

  The angry voice came again, along with a metallic jangling as though an armoured man had tripped. “What are you doing down there? Get up!”

  Her struggles were no match for the beast’s strength and it dragged her away. If she did not call now she was lost. She twisted in its grip and managed a strangled cry before the hand clamped down again. The creature lifted her by her throat and ran. Stars spun in front of her eyes. A black spot in her vision grew, almost took her, and then the creature threw her to the ground where she gasped and heaved for breath.

  With a roar and a muted flash of steel, a sword buried itself in the beast’s shoulder. Dark rancid blood splattered over her and stung her skin.

  A new voice, soft and menacing, spoke some unknown language. A burst of flame on the creature’s face made it scream and claw its eyes. The sword struck again, straight through its chest, and it fell dead. Its body ignited the grass briefly before the flames sank back to a sullen glow.

  A shadow loomed over her and resolved into a face above mail armour. She scrambled away from him and bumped into another pair of legs. No armour on these, just the slippery leather of breeches.

  The haft of her knife bit into her hand as the soldier bent and gripped her wrist. The man behind her leaned down, as though to get a better look. She could not see his face. A hand shot out and grabbed at the pendant that dangled from her neck.