Thoroughly Kissed

by Kristine Grayson

  He continued to growl, but he stopped clawing and trying to bite.

  “I think we’re awake, aren’t we?” Michael asked.

  “Your guess is as good as mine,” Emma said.

  “That felt real enough. But maybe I should try to wake you again.”

  She flicked on a light. “Nothing else has changed. Except that you’re bleeding.”

  Michael’s T-shirt was ripped, and blood seeped through the holes. She set Darnell down. The cat looked up at Michael as if he were apologizing.

  “Take off your shirt,” Emma said. “Let’s see how bad that is.”

  Michael grabbed the bottom of the shirt and pulled it over his head. “I was fantasizing that you would ask me to undress, but not in these circumstances.”

  She had been fantasizing too, but her imagination wasn’t up to the perfection of his muscled chest and lean torso. His shoulders were broader than she had thought.

  The perfect male physique—in any century.

  Except that this physique was bleeding from ten scratch marks, made by her cat.

  Michael finished pulling off his shirt. She was still staring at him. She blushed.

  “Um, let me wash this off.”

  “No,” he said. “I can do it. Just keep that killer cat out of my way.”

  He didn’t sound angry. In fact, his comment about Darnell sounded vaguely amused. He got off the bed and walked into the bathroom.

  “Scarred for life!” he announced.

  “Is it bad?” Emma asked.

  “Nothing I can’t fix.”

  She heard the sound of running water. She would have gone to help him, except for the memory of that chest—so very fine, even with Darnell’s changes.

  Darnell was still staring at the empty spot between the beds, his hackles up. He wasn’t growling anymore, but he was braced, ready to attack if the things came back.

  Emma gingerly reached out. The oily feel had left the air. It was as if the shapes had never been.

  “What were they, do you think?” Michael asked. He had come out of the bathroom, a towel wrapped around his neck.

  “I don’t know,” she said.

  “This loose magic thing. Have you heard of it?”

  She shook her head.

  “Wow,” Michael said. “Lack of education in your world is costly, isn’t it?”

  “I guess so.” She let out a small sigh. “I suppose that’s the point of all this.”

  “What is?”

  “Making my life difficult so that I’ll never disobey the rules again. Everyone says the rules are there for a reason. Only I didn’t deliberately disobey them.”

  “Of course not,” Michael said, sounding confused.

  “I just thought I had another twenty years. I mean, I’m only thirty.”

  “Yeah—um.” Michael frowned. “How do you figure?”

  “I told you. Technically. I’ve only been awake thirty years. My body is only thirty.”

  “How do you know?”

  “I can have babies,” she snapped. “Do you know any thousand-year-old women who can have babies?”

  “I-I guess I’d have to say that I do.”

  “What?”

  “You’re the first thousand-year-old woman I’ve ever met.”

  “I’m thirty!” Emma said.

  Michael held out his hands like a man who was afraid of being shot. “Right. Right. You’re thirty.”

  She nodded.

  “And I’m Henry the Eighth. Reincarnated.”

  Anger rushed through her as quickly as desire had earlier. “How can you say that? It’s not fair—”

  “Life’s not fair, Emma.” He was speaking softly. “I grant it’s been particularly unfair to you, in ways I could never comprehend. But you were born over a thousand years ago. I know that women like to fudge their ages, and you can pass for thirty—”

  “Pass for thirty? Pass for thirty?”

  “But by the way we mortals count ages, you’re one thousand and forty, and no amount of fudging will change that.”

  “Except that I was in some kind of stasis. Except that I came into my magic before menopause. That never, ever, ever happens.”

  “That’s something you’ll have to take up with your own people.”

  “I have!” she said, getting off the bed. “And they’re as stubborn about this as you are.”

  “I’m not stubborn on this.”

  “Well, it sounds like you are!”

  “Emma,” he said softly. “I’m not the one you’re angry at.”

  “Really?” She put her hands on her hips. Darnell cringed. “You could have fooled me.”

  “Emma,” he said in that same calm tone, “think about it. If you fight me, you’ll be wasting energy. We have to find out what those shapes were.”

  She made herself take a deep breath. He was right, of course. She had survived the last ten years by fighting hard for herself and for what she believed in. But the end result was that she attacked before she got attacked. Her anger was her shield. She was beginning to learn that she didn’t need her shield with Michael.

  “I guess,” she said, sitting on her own bed, “that they’re Darnell’s spirits.”

  Darnell looked at her, his golden eyes bright. It was as if he felt vindicated.

  “We should find out what they’re really about,” Michael said.

  She nodded. Then she sighed. “I’m sorry I got angry.”

  “It’s all right,” he said. “I’m getting used to it.”

  “Oh, that makes me feel better,” she said with Midwestern irony.

  He smiled. “You’re beautiful when you’re angry, Emma.”

  She turned away from him. He leaned across the space between them and took her hand. His touch was as electric as before.

  She didn’t have enough strength to pull away. “Michael…”

  “Emma, listen. You’re upset. It’s been a stressful night. Let me hold you. Nothing else. Just two people comforting each other.”

  She shook her head quickly before she had a chance to change her mind.

  “I promised not to kiss you,” he said. “And I promise just a simple arm around your shoulder. Nothing else.”

  His hand felt so good holding hers. Just that touch made her calmer even as it stirred desire within her. “Michael…”

  “I promise,” he said.

  She let him pull her back toward his bed. Then he moved over, giving her the spot warmed by his body. He fluffed the pillows behind them and put his arm around her.

  Darnell growled.

  “If you can hold her like this, pal, you’re welcome to take my place,” Michael said.

  Darnell started up the bed.

  “But holding you is no substitute. You have to put your paw around her.”

  Darnell sat down, then laid down, defeated.

  Emma smiled, and leaned into Michael. He felt very, very good. She wanted to shift in his arms, to hold him in return, but she didn’t.

  It was too dangerous. Maybe when they got to Portland, where Aethelstan could help, then she could kiss Michael or respond in the way he wanted.

  But not until then.

  Michael rested his cheek on the top of her head. Being in his arms felt right. She had never felt like she belonged before.

  She did now.

  ***

  Michael didn’t sleep at all. He had the most beautiful woman in the world—one of the most beautiful women in all of history—in his arms, asleep. She might never let him touch her again. He didn’t want to forget a moment of it.

  Until tonight, he hadn’t realized the depth of her panic—and the way that she defended herself when the panic took over. Her anger h
ad probably kept her safe for a long time, but he suspected it wouldn’t work against out-of-control magic and misty gray shapes that whispered in the night.

  He had to get Emma to Oregon. If they continued at the pace they were on, they had two more stops after Rapid City—Billings and Spokane. The roads out West were increasingly desolate. He really didn’t want to get stuck on one in the middle of the night. They wouldn’t be able to walk for help—and the chances of someone passing by were much slimmer than they were almost anywhere else in the country. The West was a large region, filled with loners and empty spaces where only a few hardy folks could live.

  The image of Emma in trouble, the image from his dream, had stuck with him. He didn’t want any situation in which that scenario could come true.

  So as dawn crept through the window, he gently shook her awake. Part of him had hoped that by doing so, they’d go back to the moment before the shadows entered the room. Part of him was glad when it hadn’t happened. He had treasured holding her, treasured her warmth, her even breathing, the fresh scent of her hair.

  She stirred and her hand eased up his chest, sending shivers of delight through him. She cupped his chin and for a long, heart-stopping moment, he thought she was going to kiss him. He wondered if he would have the strength to stop her.

  He hoped so.

  Then she smiled at him and slipped out of his arms. She disappeared into the bathroom, leaving him aroused, and touched, and wanting to defend her even more.

  He wondered if she knew that she was his lady, and he her knight defender. If he were a medieval knight, he would ask for a token and keep it close to his heart. Instead, he would have to use the memory of her face as that token.

  Then he sighed and eased himself off the bed. He had never understood courtly love before.

  He wished he didn’t understand it now.

  Chapter 12

  Emma arrived in the hotel coffee shop, feeling shaken and uneasy. She had just gotten off the phone with Aethelstan, and she needed to tell Michael about the conversation.

  Michael was sitting at a table by the window. It had a great view of the parking lot, still covered with winter gravel and sand despite the fact that it was May. A woman stood near the ditch, throwing day-old bread toward some birds that had gathered as if this were a daily ritual. This coffee shop was a far cry from the restaurant of Emma’s dreams.

  Michael seemed to feel that as well. He was stirring his plate of runny scrambled eggs as if he could create enough friction to finish cooking them. A large, soggy blueberry muffin stood beside his tiny glass of obviously canned orange juice, and some burnt toast was teetering precariously off the edge of the table.

  Emma sat down. Michael had ordered her some orange juice and coffee. A menu still sat in front of her place. The waitress came over, pad in hand, and Emma ordered cereal and an English muffin, lightly cooked. After looking at Michael’s eggs, she was afraid to order anything else.

  “You don’t look so good,” Michael said after the waitress left.

  “That’s a terrible thing to say to a woman, especially first thing in the morning.” Emma sipped the orange juice. She was right. A mix, probably from a giant can of Tang, out of the back. She almost spat it back into the glass.

  “You know what I mean.”

  “Unfortunately, I do.” She hadn’t been able to look at him since she woke up. She had been so comfortable in his arms. She had felt right there, and she knew if she let something like that happen again, she would forget herself.

  Michael shoved his plate aside and picked at the blueberry muffin. He had been shy all morning too.

  “Aethelstan was not encouraging,” she said.

  “He knew what the shadows were.”

  “No. But he said my guesses were good ones. And he had a few of his own.”

  Michael took a bite of the muffin and grimaced. He pushed that plate away as well.

  “You have to eat something,” Emma said.

  “Who made up that rule?” he asked.

  “Me. I have to ride with you.”

  He piled the toast on the eggs, then topped the whole mess with the muffin plate. “We’ll stop at a 7-11 on the way out of town. Even Ding Dongs would be better than this.”

  “Ding Dongs?”

  He smiled. “You have interesting gaps in your modern education.”

  “I’m sure you’ll rectify that one,” she said.

  He nodded. “Aethelstan?”

  She sighed. “He said that the shadows could have been feelers. There are several wizards in the area whose names he did not give me. Apparently this place draws a certain kind of practitioner.”

  “Not a good one, I take it.”

  The waitress set down a bowl with a box of Raisin Bran unopened in the center. Then she set down a single-serving size carton of milk, and an English muffin, toasted black.

  “Yuck,” Emma said, but by that time, the waitress had disappeared.

  “This was the place you should have transformed,” he said.

  “And condemn fifty chefs to spending the rest of their lives here? Michael, you’re crueler than I thought.”

  He picked up the milk and looked at the carton date. Then he opened it and sniffed it. “Passable, but I suggest Ding Dongs.”

  “I may take you up on it, but I need something to get me to there.” Emma poured the Raisin Bran into her bowl, and covered the whole mess with sugar, then milk. The milk hadn’t turned, but it was threatening to. “Aethelstan wouldn’t say much about them, except that they were drawn here over a hundred years ago with the soldiers who fought in the Indian wars. This land has a lot of power and they were part of the changes we see now.”

  “So I was right,” Michael said. “They’re not good people. And they’ve sent out feelers?”

  “Loose magic can be captured,” she said.

  “I’m still not sure what loose magic means,” Michael said.

  “It means magic that no one controls.” Her voice shook. She had promised herself she wouldn’t let him see how upset she was, and she was failing at that.

  “I don’t understand,” he said. “If they could capture your magic, why didn’t they do it last night?”

  “Because I have to give it to them.”

  “You won’t do that,” he said.

  “I might, if they manage to coax it out of me.”

  He shook his head. “Things just keep getting better and better.”

  “Aethelstan says they can’t harm us once we get to Billings.”

  “Billings is most of a day’s drive from here.”

  “I know.” Emma ate for a moment. The cereal was passable—better, at least, than the burned muffin. “I talked to the desk clerk. He said that there’s a shortcut between here and Billings.”

  “I’ve heard about Western shortcuts,” Michael said. “They look shorter on the map, but they drive long because you’re on single lane roads or going through mountains.”

  “He swears it’s shorter,” Emma said. “But he did warn me that it was desolate.”

  “Desolate, great,” Michael said.

  “Maybe we won’t run into anyone there.”

  “And if we do, what, then? There’ll be no phones or help.”

  “We’re traveling in the day time. And if I remember right, it’s not exactly populated on I-90. I looked at the map. It would cut off quite a few miles and we’d still end up in Billings.”

  “It sounds like a risk,” Michael said.

  “This whole trip is a risk, Michael,” Emma said, “but the Fates promised me that it wasn’t the hardest thing I’ve ever done.”

  Michael let out a small laugh. “Emma, you did the impossible by learning how to survive in this culture. How could anything else compare?”

 
“That’s their point, I guess.” She ate one last bite of the cereal. Maybe these Ding Dongs, whatever they were, would be better.

  “But I haven’t done that,” Michael said. “I spent most of my life wrapped up in books.”

  Emma smiled at him. “You’ll be fine. You’re wulfstrang.”

  “What?”

  She hadn’t meant to let that slip. “Maybe you need an adventure.”

  “I always thought my trips to England were adventure enough.”

  She leaned back in her chair. “Was your life at risk?”

  “Only from bad driving.”

  “Did you save any damsels in distress?”

  “Just an old woman who tripped going down the sidewalk. I caught her and she whacked me with her cane.”

  Emma chuckled. “At least my people haven’t changed much.”

  “Your people,” he said. “Your people didn’t even speak English.”

  “Just its precursor. You could say that I’m proto-English.”

  “You could say that you’re overeducated.”

  Her smile grew. “I’ll take that as a compliment, Professor Found.”

  He nodded. “You should.”

  “And you should enjoy your adventure.”

  His gaze softened. “I enjoyed last night.”

  She felt a shiver run through her. “The shadows?”

  “No.” He smiled. “And, before you ask, I didn’t enjoy it when Darnell pushed his ample backside against my hip, either.”

  “I enjoyed it too,” Emma said, picking up the check. “And I wasn’t speaking of Darnell either.”

  “The poor cat. His ears are probably burning.”

  “I hope not,” she said. “We’d pay for that, if that’s the case.”

  “As if we’re not going to pay for having breakfast without him.”

  Emma surveyed the table. “Something tells me that even Darnell wouldn’t have enjoyed this meal.”

  Michael said, “Something tells me that you’re right.”

  ***

  An hour later, they had finished packing the car and were on the road. Emma let Michael drive. He seemed tired that morning. She figured she’d give him the first shift, and then take over. It looked as if he hadn’t slept as well as he said he had.