"What about Donovan?"
Bolin's jaw tightened. "I think it will be some time before he can attempt to move on us again."
"But he will, won't he?"
"I believe so. He has even more cause now than he had before." His voice became hard and cold, his eyes like chiseled pieces of ice. "You should know, when we return from Galys Auld, I'll be hunting him with the Emperor's blessing."
"I expected as much," Ciara said.
"And?"
"And I'll help if you let me."
His expression remained guarded. "You understand, his life is forfeit? We will pursue him with every resource at the Emperor's command."
"Aren't I one of those resources now?"
"I would never ask you to stand against him," Bolin said. "And neither would Dain."
"Because you told him not to?"
He quirked a brow. "Do you think I command the Emperor, then?"
"At times." Ciara looked out at the dancing falls. "I always thought I was obligated to feel something for Donovan because he was my birth father, that blood ties could never be broken. But blood doesn't make us family, it only makes us relatives. He has no claim to me, and no more love for me than he had for my mother. He is evil without any hope of change, and no remorse for anything he's done, or anyone he hurts. He'd kill me if he could. He'll certainly try to kill you again if he gets the chance. So many lives have been shattered because of him." She looked back at Bolin. "I used to wish I could save him, but I know that's not possible. So if you're asking if I'll try to stop you again, the answer is no."
Bolin nodded and looked away as Ciara had, toward the glittering water spilling over the rocks far below.
"So much has changed so quickly," she said, half to herself.
Bolin slid her a sidelong look. "And your feelings toward me? Have they changed?"
Ciara held his gaze, trying to read behind the ever-present mask. He wouldn't want to hear it. He never did. But she was done hiding things. "I think they have been the only constant in my life. And even though you totally confound me, they've only grown stronger."
Bolin closed his eyes for a heart beat, then turned and took her hands in his. For a long moment he stared down as he caressed the back of her knuckles, and Ciara braced herself. She could guess at his words, at the excuses he would use to push her away once again. She'd heard them all but they would never alter how she felt.
"You don't have to say anything," she said. It would be easier hearing nothing than facing rejection again. "I know you can't tell me what I want to hear, and I can't force you to feel something you don't, or to accept what you do. That doesn't mean I'll ever stop loving you."
"I still don't understand why you do." He rolled his gaze up to her, his eyes bright beneath his furrowed brow. "There are better men for you than I."
"Not as far as I'm concerned."
"And how do you know?"
She shrugged. "I just do."
Bolin shook his head. "I can't help but believe one morning you'll wake up and regret it."
"Regret what?"
"I'm not an easy man, Ciara. You know that better than most," Bolin said. "That's not about to change. I've had enough people tell me I'm an overbearing ass to believe there's some truth to it. Also not likely to change. My first duty is, and always will be, to the Emperor--if he's decided against executing me that is. And there are some things..." He inhaled and looked over her shoulder, the line of his jaw tightening. "There are some things I need to reconcile. Some things I've called into question of late." He brought his eyes back to her. "But Garek tells me I'd be a fool to let you get away, and I'm inclined to believe him."
Ciara's breath caught. She hardly dared speak. "What are you saying?"
An uncharacteristic grin twisted Bolin's mouth. "I'm not very good at this, am I?" He glanced at their hands again as though gathering his thoughts. The mask was gone when he lifted his face. His expression had softened, and his eyes were warm, deep pools swirling with unchecked emotion. "The thought of you as anything other than happy tears at my heart, and I would do anything to insure you never see another dark day as long as you live. I know that's not possible, and I know I may be the cause of some of them. I will never understand what I've done to earn your love, and I'll live each day in fear of losing it when you come to your senses. I can't change who or what I am, and if you take me, you take me with all my faults. You deserve a man who can give himself to you completely. I can't do that."
He pressed a finger to her lips when Ciara opened her mouth to speak. Her pulse raced. She held her breath, and waited to find out if the tears she held in check would fall in joy or heartache.
"What I can do is promise all I can give is yours and yours alone. That none but you holds my heart. That I will hold your own heart closer than my own. And when the morning dawns that you awake and see me for what I am, as opposed to what you imagine me to be, and realize the error you've made, I will count you blameless and hold you to no oath." He slid his fingers along the curve of her cheek. "If you'll still have me, that is?"
Ciara could do nothing but stare until a glimmer of uncertainty crept into Bolin's gaze and pulled her from her shock. Her chin trembled despite her best efforts to keep it firm. "Regardless of the fact you are an overbearing ass, know that the day you fear will never come. I will never regret loving you. I will take what you can give and relish it, though I'll have to adjust to sharing you with the Emperor."
"Then you'll have me?"
Ciara stood on her toes and kissed him. "As often as I can."
Bolin hesitated, then pulled Ciara's body tightly against his, and she felt a wall inside him begin to crumble. His mouth curved into a mischievous smile against hers. "Starting tonight, then?"
"You mean I have to wait?"
He chuckled. "I'm afraid I've some things to see to today, or you'd not have to wait at all."
Her skin tingled beneath his touch as Bolin slid his hands up under her hair. He deepened the kiss, his tongue teasing her lips open. So unlike any other time, he held nothing back. Ciara could feel the depth of his love even if he couldn't put it into words. The strength of his desire hit in a sudden flush of heat that swept over her until she felt certain the flesh would sizzle from her bones. It left them both looking for breath when he finally drew away and rested his forehead against hers.
"We best head back," Bolin said, his voice low and rough, a texture to it Ciara had never heard before. It made her knees go weak. The color of Bolin's eyes had shaded to a deep moss green, and they stroked over her with passion held in check by the barest thread of self-restraint. "Dain will send a patrol looking for me, if he hasn't already."
She smiled up at him, and slipped her hand into his when he offered it. The shadows of the recent past and the unknown of the future loomed just beyond this moment. Ciara would have to face both sooner than she would like. But for this small space of time, she had found contentment, and would do everything she could to make it last.
***
How long he swam in blackness, unable to see anything beyond hazy shapes that drifted before his eyes like ghosts, Donovan did not know. Chill fingers touched his face like a blind man seeking for clues. They traveled across his body, searching, prying, learning. Donovan shuddered in revulsion, though he should have been thankful he still had a body to touch. His departure from Nisair had been abrupt and reckless. And, as much as he hated to admit it, desperate. The crone's power had betrayed him in the end, just as Donovan had betrayed her.
"Where am I?" His voice came out as a croak, but carried the weight of a demand and the tingle of power. He had not lost those. "Who are you?"
Who are you? The question returned, little more than a breath of sound that sighed and hissed like an errant wind. Echoing as though repeated by a multitude of sibilant voices. You carry our names, but we do not know you. You are not she.
"She?"
She who called us. The voices rippled around him. She who walked with us.
>
"The priestess?"
Where is she?
"Dead."
Slithering laughter. Death does not claim one such as her. Darkness holds her. Darkness surrounds her.
"Who are you?" Donovan asked again.
The air moved. Breezes, like phantom touches, whispered across his skin. Played with his hair. Trickled across his flesh. Sudden images bombarded him, swirling in a chaotic frenzy that made his stomach lurch. Memories he had kept locked and barred were laid bare. All the long years of his life spread out before him, picked through, examined. The debacle on the wall played out before his eyes: his daughter, the priestess, the General.
The voices reached a fevered pitch at what they saw. Who they saw.
That one. They fell over one another in a tumult of hissing, groping at Donovan's thoughts with clammy fingers. Darkness has touched this one. Darkness will claim this one.
Something shifted in the distance, and the voices fell silent with all the intensity of an imminent storm. A presence loomed, and the shadowy figures fell away before it without a sound. Immense. Oppressive. It surrounded Donovan, removing even the hint of light, stealing away the air itself. Sweat ran down the back of Donovan's neck, and his palms became slick. An emotion he had not felt in three lifetimes of men clenched around his heart, and he dropped to one knee, head bowed. He dared to breathe only because he refused to die. He had come too far to give in to that petty master.
A touch beneath his chin lifted his face, but only blackness met his searching eyes. Donovan shivered at the chill that claimed him, fighting to quench the racing of his heart, to swallow the bile that rose in his throat. He would give in to terror as easily as he would give in to death.
A sense of curiosity radiated from the specter. Donovan tried to pull away, reaching for his power. The crone's answered instead, tearing through him as though ripped from his chest. Donovan screamed, and the sound shattered him. Scattered him like bits of splintered glass. He clung to consciousness through force of will alone.
Then, even that deserted him, leaving nothing but Darkness.
~ Finis ~
~Continued in Edge of Darkness
Book Three of the
Darkness and Light series.~
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
K. L. Schwengel lives in southeast Wisconsin on a small farm with her husband, a handful of Australian Shepherds, Her Royal Highness Princess Fiona the Cat, and assorted livestock. Growing up as the youngest of nine children, and the daughter of a librarian, Kathi spent many hours between stacks of books, and secluded away in dusty archives, drawn to tales of medieval heroes and conquering knights. With so many characters and ideas spinning in her head, she had to get them onto paper or risk what little sanity she possessed. She has been penning wild tales of magic and mayhem as long as she can remember, but opted to follow her artistic muse first. After earning a Bachelor of Fine Arts and spending many years working as a freelance artist, grocery clerk, art teacher, graphic designer, stable hand, advertising account coordinator, dog trainer, and process technician (among other things) she answered the call of her writing muse. When not writing, Kathi trains and trials working Australian Shepherds, still paints, dabbles in photography, graphic design, and anything else creative her assorted muses send her way.
Connect online at…
Blog: http://myrandommuse.wordpress.com
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/KLSchwengelWrites
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Emergence (Book 2) Page 37