Knight Awakened (Circle of Seven #1)

by Coreene Callahan

  She hesitated, her attention straying to his bare chest. He held his breath, forcing himself to endure her scrutiny without moving. After what seemed an eternity, she brought her hands to the lacing running down the front of her gown. The tidy bow sitting atop her breasts gave way and his knees almost followed suit. He locked them to remain standing and watched as she drew the folds wide then toyed with the string holding her chemise closed. The corners of her mouth curved, her focus steady on him, she played, wrapping the tie around her fingertip and pulled...a wee bit, but not enough to expose what lay hidden beneath.

  Xavian raised a brow, relishing the playful taunt. “Enjoy teasing, do you?”

  “Mayhap...” Her tongue peeked out, leaving a moist trail on her bottom lip. “With you.”

  He inhaled hard, loving her response. She understood both her power and appeal. And was prepared to torture him with both. The realization cranked him higher and, unable to hold back, he unlaced his trews and joined her on their makeshift bed. She sighed, burying her hand in his hair, arching against him, bringing him flush into her. As he groaned and settled against her, Xavian murmured to her, praising her welcome, her softness, her desire for him.

  Afina hummed and tipped her chin, begging for his kiss. But as much as he wanted to taste her again, Xavian needed something else more. He wanted to see her, touch her, hold the soft, warm weight of her in his hands. So instead of kissing her, he did what she hadn’t and released the tie holding her chemise. His heart hammering like he’d run flat out for a mile, he pushed the linen wide.

  Sweet Jesu. She was perfect.

  The most beautiful thing he’d ever had the privilege to lay eyes upon.

  “Afina,” he murmured, awe in his tone, hand sliding beneath the folds of linen.

  Her breath caught as he cupped her, covering her pretty pink nipple with the heat of his palm. The bud furled tighter at the contact, and she twisted a little, as if shocked...as though unaccustomed to being touched. The reaction told him plainly she didn’t accept men with ease—or very often.

  His heart went loose in his chest and a burning rush of tenderness lit him up from the inside out. Precious. She was precious. Someone to be cherished and cared for. Someone for his warrior soul to shield and protect. The depth of emotion startled him a bit, but he took no notice, his happiness that she had chosen him to please her too strong to deny.

  Dipping his head, he set his mouth to the soft place between her breasts then turned to kiss the tight bud of her nipple. She started, twitching before arching beneath him, begging for more. He hummed, the sound one of satisfaction, and licked the pebbled peak. Her hands flexed in his hair, drawing him closer as he sucked, lightly. God, she was sensitive, exquisitely so. “Been a while, hasn’t it, draga?”

  She whispered his name.

  The husky entreaty unleashed him, washing every thought from his head. With a growl, he shoved her skirt up, pushed her legs wide, and settled between their spread. Hitching her knee around his hip, he caressed the inside of her thigh on a steady upward slide. The instant he found her heat, his shaft thumped in his trews.

  God give him strength. She was so wet, so soft, so unbelievably hot. He couldn’t wait. She was ready, and his greed, out of control. He needed inside. Now.

  Stroking the nub at the top of her sex, he waited until she caught his rhythm then set himself to her entrance and thrust, embedding himself to the hilt. She stiffened, a wild cry rippling from her throat. Xavian froze. What the hell? He’d hurt her. That terrible whimper was one of pain, not pleasure.

  He reared, concern stilling his heart until the only noise he heard was the hitching sob of her breath. He cupped her face, smoothed the furrow between her brows with his thumb and tried to think. What had he done wrong? Desperate to soothe her, he brushed the hair away from her face and adjusted his position in hopes of easing her.

  As she quieted, he replayed his entry. He shook his head. Nay, ’twas not possible. She...she was...she had a child, for Christ’s sake. But the physical evidence overrode what he believed to be true. He’d felt the membrane tear, the one that confirmed she was untouched.

  La dracu. A virgin.

  Regret and a strange sense of pride battled, fighting for supremacy. Disappointment and the razor-sharp edge of betrayal won, hitting him gut level. He dropped his chin to his chest and, head low, fought the dull ache punching through to his heart. She’d lied to him...about everything.

  Pain. She hadn’t expected so much pain. A sting, yes. A pinch, certainly. But not...Afina swallowed...this.

  The burn broke from her body and entered her mind. Agony expanded, opening a door to somewhere else. She was fracturing, being torn apart inside by an outside force that had nothing to do with Xavian. Red mist seethed through the cracks, bubbling between the jagged seams to wash in behind her eyes. The haze grew, turning gold then white, an expansive sensation that unlocked a floodgate. Images flowed in a river of fire: great winged beasts and smoke, cauldrons and incense, the blood-red glow in the Chamber of Whispers.

  Voices, a thousand strong, murmured inside her head...begging her to accept something she didn’t understand. What was happening? Apart from the pain, the pressure and heat—the vivid pictures in her mind—didn’t seem, well, normal. Was every woman’s first time like this, or was there something wrong with her?

  Whatever the case—right, wrong, or somewhere in between—Afina knew that it was all her fault. It always was, but she couldn’t dwell on that now. She was in serious trouble, in way over her head with Xavian.

  Inhaling hard, she shifted beneath him. The movement helped, and the fog in her mind receded, a slow retreat that dimmed the pain enough for her to open her eyes. Xavian’s face came into sharp focus. She lost the air she so desperately needed. The chill in his expression sucked it right out of her lungs. Gasping, the ache still fierce enough to make her flinch, fear coalesced into a giant ball in the center of her chest. She wiggled, pushing against his shoulders while digging one heel into a grain sack, hoping he would let her go.

  Eyes of ice blue drilled into her. One big hand clamped on her hip, he planted the other beside her head, locking her in place as a muscle jumped along his jaw. His throat worked before he unclenched his teeth and growled, “Do. Not. Move.”

  Was he insane? Anger burned in his gaze and bled from his pores, and he wanted her to stay put? Not in this lifetime. Her will to survive was too strong for that.

  “Y-you are h-hurting me.” Afina blinked back tears, hating the wispy stutter in her voice.

  Xavian cursed and shifted, easing the pressure between her thighs, only to come back. She stiffened, a desperate sound exploding from her throat as he tilted her hips into his, widened her legs a little more. The angle pushed him deeper. The pinch intensified, shooting stinging barbs up her spine.

  “P-please.” Her bottom lip trembled.

  Good goddess. Now she was begging, something she’d experienced too often at her mother’s hand and in the temple. Weak. She was weak, so foolish to have given into the yearning and welcomed his possession. But she had wanted him with a fierceness that broke all the rules and, truth be told, still did. But not like this. Not with fury on his handsome face and in the hard lines of his body. The vulnerability that held her trapped beneath him was too much for her to handle.

  “Please...I c-cannot breathe.”

  “Draga, be easy.” His voice came to her on a soft exhale. Tears in her eyes, she watched the anger fade in his as he held her gaze. “The first time is always difficult, but the pain will go.”

  “W-when?”

  “Soon.”

  Soon? How soon? Afina needed to know. She didn’t think she could take much more.

  Closing her eyes, she tipped her head back, twisting a little beneath him. He answered her movement, coming down on his forearms to cup her head between his large palms. The caress eased the throb between her temples, and grateful for the reprieve, Afina turned her face into his hand.

  Wi
th a low murmur, he kissed her collarbone and settled deeper between the spread of her thighs. The breath she’d managed to capture sped out in a rush.

  “It still h-hurts. M-mayhap...mayhap you should let me go.”

  He muttered something she didn’t quite catch. A moment later he nodded and, with a rough exhale, shifted to leave her. Something unnatural roared inside her head, sending denial pounding through her veins. On a gasp, against her will, she locked her calf around his hip and arched to keep him deep.

  His hand flexed on her hip. “Rahat.”

  What was wrong with her? She shouldn’t be resisting—wanted to release him—but something hungry and aggressive took over, refusing to let him go.

  Panic welled inside her chest. “S-sorry, I cannot...I don’t mean to—”

  “Jesu, do that again,” he rasped, his breath hot against the side of her throat. “God, you feel so good. So good, and I...Christ.”

  The breathy quality of his voice caught her attention. He sounded like he was being tortured while loving the abuse. Afina’s lips parted in wonder as his spine arched and his head came up. Color rode the ridge of his high cheekbones, and she drew in a soft breath as something close to bliss winged across his features. Do what again? By the goddess, she’d do anything to see delight return to his beautiful face.

  “Squeeze me tight...with your muscles deep inside,” he said, answering her silent query as though she’d spoken it out loud.

  She did, and her eyes flew wide. What was that? She did it again, tightening around him. The contraction dragged a guttural groan from him and a startled gasp from her. The goddess preserve her...the pain was gone and the pleasure returning, pulled to the surface when Xavian circled his hips.

  “Oh. That’s...O-ooh!”

  Sliding his hand between their bodies, his fingers found the top of her sex, just above where they were joined. He played with the nubbin, stroking her lightly. She bucked, the maelstrom of sensation tearing a low moan from her throat.

  “Aye, like that, love.” Xavian pressed a little harder, caressing her with his body as well as his hand. “I’ll make it good for you. I’ll make it good.”

  Bliss threw her head back and churned her hips, and in that moment, Afina didn’t doubt him. No matter how they’d started, this was unbelievably good. The feel of his hot skin beneath her hands and between her legs, the rocking of his hips and hardness deep inside was everything she’d imagined. Everything she’d dreamed of sitting beneath the summer moon, star gazing, hoping to someday find a man of her own. One who was gentle with her body and kind to her heart.

  Xavian, with all his strength and quiet ways, fit. Mayhap she was wrong to leave him. Mayhap she should give him a chance, tell him all her troubles and let him help fight the battles instinct warned her were coming. He was a warrior: hard, capable, honorable. The kind of man she needed, wanted—yearned for.

  The evidence was in his patience, in the way he moved and watched her from above, gauging her pleasure then adjusting to give her more. He was splendor in every form. Fashioned for her...only for her.

  “Xavian!”

  “Hmm, almost there, love. You’re almost there.” He hummed, the soft purr so full of satisfaction it catapulted Afina to a whole new level of awareness. To the place where ecstasy lived and oblivion ruled. “Come for me, Afina. Scream for me.”

  He backed the command by lowering his head to her breast. His gaze trained on her face, he curled his tongue around her nipple then bathed her in the heat of his mouth and suckled...hard. The suction drew her up, arched her spine, sent her flying, and she did as he asked. She screamed his name, cresting on a wave so intense she knew she would never be the same.

  Locked in a free fall, spiraling out into space, she felt him quicken, riding hard. The wild rhythm turned her inside out, and with a moan she wrapped her legs around his hips and rode with him into another round of oblivion.

  Adrift on wonder, the red mist faded to the back of Afina’s mind. One hand buried in the soft curls at his nape, she left the other to play along Xavian’s spine. Umm, he was amazing, his body relaxed yet so solid at the same time. She loved his weight, the way he smelled, forest musk woven into the fabric of masculine scent that was as much a part of him as the width of his shoulders and the strength in his limbs.

  He’d given her a gift. One of splendor and light.

  The urge to hug him tight and kiss the cove behind his ear—to thank him—warred with the need to stay precisely as they were; tucked against one another, skin to hot skin, safe from the world and all its troubles. It was silly, the need to stay hidden, and she sighed when he shifted, hating to lose his warmth when he withdrew and pushed to his feet.

  Too sated to move, she lay supine, legs curled, gown unlaced and soft against her thighs. She watched him set his trews to rights and felt a momentary twinge of regret. Next time. He would undress for her next time, and she for him. Her heart thumped a little faster at the thought, but as he turned to pick up his leather tunic, Afina frowned. He was being awfully quiet. Why? Was there something wrong or was this how all couplings ended? Without cuddles or kisses, without aid from the other as each of them dressed?

  She pushed onto one elbow. “Xavian?”

  His head turned, showing her his profile. The small muscle—the one that liked to jump along his jaw—twitched. Afina swallowed. He was back to being angry. It showed in the set of his shoulders and in the tight, straight line of his spine. Each movement controlled, he slipped the leather tunic over his head, tied the side laces, and reached for his swords.

  Afina drew the sides of her gown closed, covering her breasts behind wool worn by time and faded by use. She shivered, the chill in the small chamber unbearable as shame reared its ugly head.

  Her voice a mere shadow of its former self, she asked, “Why are you angry?”

  At last he pivoted, the rasp of his boots sounding loud on the compact earth. Deadly serious, his eyes burned with a dangerous intensity that drilled a hole in her breastbone and took her breath away. “Has everything you told me been a lie?”

  Afina shook her head, hurt sloshing around inside her. “I—”

  “Have you been honest with me once? Do you even know how to tell the truth?”

  She opened her mouth to answer.

  He slashed his big hand through the air, the motion one of fury as he stepped toward her. “I warned you I value truth, yet you lie to me at every turn.”

  “What are you accusing me of...what crime?”

  “You are not Sabine’s mother,” he said, tone harsh, expression fierce.

  “Yes, I am! I may not have birthed her,” she said, her voice as hard as his, “but she is mine in every way that truly matters.”

  “Bullshit.”

  His harsh denial lit the fuse on a temper Afina hadn’t known she possessed. Dolt. What was his problem? True, she hadn’t warned him. Had bedded him knowing full well he expected her to be a woman of experience. Regardless, the lie paled in comparison to what she’d given him—her innocence. Most men would have been thrilled with her gift. Afina chewed on her bottom lip. Wouldn’t they?

  Ice in his gaze, Xavian opened his mouth, no doubt to hurl some other unpleasantry in her direction.

  “You insufferable ass,” she said, cutting him off. “Lie or no, you lay with me and it is too late for regrets. You cannot take it back and...by the goddess, all this because I chose you...gifted you with my maidenhead.”

  “’Twas not a gift, but a curse. Jesu, I...Rahat.” He shook his head and took a step back. Away from her. Away from what they had done together. Anger coupled with something intangible—something approaching pain—flashed across his face. With another expletive, he tunneled both hands through his hair and headed for the exit. Hammering the wooden lock free, he wrenched the door open and snarled over his shoulder, “Put yourself to rights and meet me outside. I have business to see to and no more time to waste.”

  The door slammed closed, the sound as hollow a
s the hope dying in her heart. A curse. He’d called her innocence a curse. He abhorred what they’d shared. And hated her for not telling him...for her duplicity.

  Yes, he valued honesty, but not her. Never her.

  Betrayal.

  He felt it, and now she did too. But more than that, she suffered from the shame in knowing the man she’d made love to didn’t consider it so. It had been naught more than a quick tumble for him. An unimportant event to slake his lust with the woman nearest to hand.

  And she thought to stay with him, to trust him with all her secrets...with her life? When had she become such a fool?

  The red mist returned and heat prickled, clouding her vision pink.

  Afina covered her mouth with her hand to stifle a sob. She would not cry. She would not. Xavian was not worth her tears.

  She repeated that over and over, forcing herself to believe it as she stood. Spotting a water bucket in the corner, she limped to the table and reached for the ladle. Her eyes burned, and her chest tightened until it hurt to breathe. She swiped at her cheek, told herself she wasn’t weeping, but another droplet fell, joining the first. A choking noise filled her ears, the sound raw as she picked up a thin piece of linen. As the cool cloth brushed flesh too tender to touch, she washed Xavian from her body, all the while wishing she could wash him from her mind. Mayhap then she’d feel whole again.

  Vladimir fisted his hand, crushing the precious parchment. Christ, could the timing be any worse? He scowled at the vellum then tossed the wretched thing into the hearth. Flame flared, devouring it with ravenous teeth as he headed for the sideboard across the chamber.

  He needed a drink. More than one, truth be told.

  The white-robed, ruddy-cheeked bastard. What the hell was the Grand Master of the Teutonic Knights doing traveling so close to Castle Raul?

  ’Twas a mystery. One Vladimir didn’t want to unravel.

  But what else could he do? The grand bastard had requested his escort, safe passage into the Carpathians. Something as acting voivode Vladimir couldn’t deny. News spread like piss on dry ground. Any slight to Grand Master Stein would reach King Charles. Shit, word would travel so fast the corners of the missive would still be smoking as the royal arse cracked the seal.