by S. Young
Feeling Wolfe’s burning stare, I tipped my chin out of Kir’s hold. “I’ve had worse.”
“I remember.”
Not in the mood to take a trip down nightmare lane with him, I put my hands on my hips, trying to exude the strength I wasn’t feeling. “All right, so now what?”
“Now you make your escape. Remember”—his eyes moved between us—“to get out, you take a left, a right, and the back door is at the end of the hall. I left it unlocked.” He stared at Wolfe. “When you attack me, you have to make it look real.”
Wolfe’s expression grew taut.
Kir sighed. “I mean it, Wolfe.”
“Is it really necessary?” the captain asked.
Kir pulled back his shoulders. “Yes.”
Wolfe frowned.
A dark mischief entered Kir’s eyes. “Fine. Then I guess I’ll just have to make you want to.”
Abruptly he caught me around the waist and I squawked in undignified surprise. I pushed against his hard chest as he crushed me to him, his other hand winding into my hair to bring my lips against his in a hard kiss. The hand on my waist slid down my back and squeezed my bottom.
Fury flushed through me, and I was just about to knee him like I’d kneed Vrik when his body was wrenched from mine. I watched as Kir soared across the room and straight through the door. That’s right. Straight through the door.
I gaped. Kir collapsed around the wooden splinters of the door in the hall and then groaned as he drew himself into a sitting position.
“Come on.”
I blinked down at the large, familiar hand wrapped around my wrist and then up at its owner. An extremely angry Wolfe.
He led me out through the fragments of the doorway, into the hall, and then pushed me behind him as furious yelling filled the hallway. Jesper hurried toward us with Nalia at his back. Wolfe stared them down in concentration. I felt the heat of his energy blast into me as he threw the two thugs back up the hallway with the force of his thoughts. They crashed against the back wall and crumpled in an unconscious heap on the floor.
Hearing Kir groan, I turned and gasped as he clasped his hand over the wound on his arm.
“Are you all right?” I made to rush toward him but Wolfe tried to pull me in the opposite direction. “Hey!”
“I’m fine, Rogan,” Kir assured me, wincing as he pushed a large chunk of door off him. “Go. Just go.”
We shared a long look as Wolfe continued to haul me up the narrow corridor, and just as we turned left, I mouthed “thank you,” unexpected tears threatening to spill over. He gave me a small smile and a nod just before I lost sight of him.
“You can move things with your mind,” I hissed at Wolfe as we hurried along the next hall.
“Be quiet, Rogan.”
I raised my eyebrow at his tone. I could either argue with him or get out of there. Mind made up, I yanked my arm free and picked up my skirts. As I ran, Wolfe ran with me, and we burst out through the back door.
Only to be confronted by two of Kir’s thugs.
They stood in the courtyard, smoking tobacco and staring in confusion at the two horses tethered to a drainpipe on the next building.
Shocked to see us, they dropped the paper tubes containing the tobacco to the sodden wet ground. Without a word, Wolfe flicked his hand and sent the two men soaring. At the sounds of flesh hitting brick, I decided now was probably not the time to question Wolfe about his abilities.
Instead we moved in tandem, hurrying to untie the horses Kir had procured for us. We hurried into the streets of the rookery, the horses’ hooves echoing loudly against the buildings. Amazingly, the horses worked against the slickness of the cobbles with more proficiency than I would have expected, and soon we were out of the rookery, past the glassworks, and into the green land of the Vasterya I remembered.
As we galloped down the muddy trade road, past farm country, Wolfe slowed a little until my horse was abreast his.
“Rogan.” He licked rain from his upper lip, seeming afraid to meet my eye. “We need to get somewhere safe. I know you don’t want me to use your magic …”
Understanding he wanted permission to utilize my magic to find a safe place to stop, I decided it was the perfect opportunity to pry some answers out of him. “If I let you … will you tell me everything?”
He scowled at me, his eyes a piercing blue against the dullness of the gray sky. “What do you mean?”
“You!” I gestured to him in anger. “Tell me why you hid whatever magic you have. I want to know about you and Kir. I want to know about the horseshoe brand.”
“That’s none of your business, Rogan!” Wolfe yelled to be heard over the pounding rain and the cantering horses. Uneasiness strained his features.
It was none of my business. But not knowing was driving me mad with curiosity, and I needed to remain focused on Haydyn. This distraction had to be dealt with. “I’m making it my business.”
“If we don’t find a safe place to stay, that’s on you.”
“No.” I shook my head. “That’s on you. What’s so important you can’t trade for this?”
“It’s private, Rogan. My personal business. There is no reason for you to know it.”
“Yes, there is.”
“What reason could there be?”
I couldn’t meet his eyes. Nervous butterflies agitated my stomach, all the while guilt pricked me. I saw my brother’s face in my mind and clenched my teeth. Finally, I met Wolfe’s curious, frustrated gaze. “I don’t know why.”
He searched my face … and then. “Fine.”
“You’ll trade?” I was shocked by his sudden capitulation.
“I’ll trade.”
“Then ask away.”
“Rogan, I need you to find us someplace safe to stay via a secure route.”
My magic washed through me in a warm, tingling wave, and I was almost sorry when it was over and my skin turned cold again in the downpour.
I sensed the pull of the little farm over the border into Daeronia. I grinned wearily. “Follow me.”
Chapter 17
It took us a few days but we crossed the border into Daeronia with little problem (except hunger and exhaustion), and soon our olfactory senses were bombarded by the sweet, yeasty smell of the large brewery to the west as we headed toward Caera.
Caera was another half-day ride onward, so I led us off the main trade road and into fields toward a tiny farm owned by an elderly widow I’d sensed through my magic.
The widow was lively and peppered us with questions about who we were and what our business was. Since my magic led me to her, Wolfe thought it safe to tell her he was one of the Guard and that we’d gotten into some trouble at the rookery in Vasterya.
“Oh, I heard about all that mischief at the border.” She nodded, leading us past her little sitting room and into a spacious farm kitchen. The smell of home-cooked stew caused my stomach to rumble; I clutched it in embarrassment. The widow threw me a sympathetic smile and gestured to the table for us to sit. “Sounds like the two of you were lucky to get away.”
“Yes, ma’am, we were,” Wolfe agreed. “We really appreciate your hospitality.”
“No thanks needed.” She bustled about, ladling huge amounts of stew into bowls. I felt the saliva building up under my tongue. “I ain’t got much room in the house, I’m afraid, but I got a barn outside with a nice, warm hayloft. I got some blankets you can take up there. That should keep you cozy for the night.”
Even though I didn’t fancy a night in a barn, I was grateful for her kindness. “That sounds perfect.” I smiled gratefully as she put a bowl of stew and a cup of ale before me. I shared a happy look with Wolfe and we broke bread, scooping the stew as if we hadn’t had a decent meal in ages. And to be honest, we hadn’t. The old widow was almost as good a cook as Cook.
“This is delicious,” I said between mouthfuls.
She smiled cheerily, watching us scoff it down, seeming happy to have someone to feed.
&
nbsp; Once our bellies were full, we sat with her awhile, engaging her in conversation about herself. Finally, seeing her eyelids droop, I suggested we get some sleep. After handing over some blankets and an oil lamp, the widow drowsily wished us a good night and turned to ascend the stairs to her bed.
Wolfe and I strolled outside to the barn. It wasn’t huge, and when we climbed up into the hayloft, we shared a wary look. It was certainly cozy. I flushed at the thought of being in such close quarters with him.
We spread the blankets and then tentatively sat down next to one another. I could feel the heat from his skin inches from mine, the scent of him tickling my senses.
After a while, I couldn’t take the silence. “So, you’re quite a powerful Glava?”
Wolfe tensed. I wondered if he was going to go back on his word and not tell me all I wanted to know.
“Well?”
He exhaled. I almost felt bad for pressing him about it.
But not badly enough to stop.
“Wolfe?” I placed a hand on his arm.
He looked down at it, his eyebrows raised in surprise. When he lifted his eyes to meet mine, I flushed at the intensity I found there.
I jerked my hand away, breaking the connection.
“I hid it,” he offered.
“But why?”
He shrugged, staring off into the dark rafters, his jaw taut with suppressed emotion. “Because … because I was afraid the magic would mean I was like my father.”
The vulnerable honesty in his answer hit me with an impact I had not expected. It was as though he’d reached out to take me by the shoulders to shake me from a dream.
A sick feeling swam in my gut.
Guilt.
How could I have been so wrong?
“Kir … Kir said you were as much a victim as we were. What did he mean?”
Wolfe’s eyes slanted toward me, dark pain and fury fencing in his gaze. I knew he didn’t want to tell me, that I was using his sense of honor against him. If I were a better person, I would have allowed him to keep his secrets. However, my selfish need to discover the real Wolfe held my good conscience hostage.
“My father …” His voice cracked. “He didn’t treat me and my mother very well. As you know, he was a cruel man.”
“What did he do to you?”
“Mostly manipulative mind games played to make us feel inferior, subordinate. But when Haydyn’s father died … well the situation worsened. Not just for everyone else, but for my mother and I as well.”
Shock robbed me of my voice. In truth, I wasn’t sure I wanted to know what Syracen had done to Wolfe. It was one thing for a man to abuse strangers, but to hurt his own flesh and blood …
“He, uh … he horsewhipped my mother. Many times over the years.”
Bile rose in my throat as I remembered the agony Kir endured when I witnessed it happening to him.
To do that to your own wife. My goodness.
“And that scar … the horseshoe?”
A bitter, twisted little chuckle escaped Wolfe, and he shook his head. “I made the mistake of attacking my father a time he took the whip to my mother. Kir helped me because my mother was kind to him. My father beat Kir … but me … he took a hot horseshoe and branded me with it. He told me I was his son, not hers. Like horseflesh, I belonged solely to him and as such, he expected me to obey him as my master.”
I couldn’t comprehend what he was confiding. My chest flared with sharp, needling pain. Hot tears stung my eyes and I couldn’t speak. My throat closed with the enormity of emotions I felt for him. Including my remorse. All these years I had been horrible to him, painting him with the same brush as I’d painted his father. I had been so sure he would want to hurt me for what I did to Syracen.
“I got my revenge, though. I helped Kir escape,” Wolfe continued.
So that explained their camaraderie.
Kir knew Wolfe better than I.
Why did that bother me so much? I wrapped my arms across my stomach.
Wolfe must loathe me for the way I’ve treated him. The thought made me so ill, I could barely breathe with it.
“I’m so sorry,” I choked out as a tear escaped. I brushed at it impatiently and was surprised when Wolfe caught my hand.
He stared, seeming amazed, watching as I lost my fight with another tear and another. His thumb caught one and he smoothed it gently into my cheek.
My breath caught at his nearness.
“Are you crying for me, Rogan?”
I nodded. “I’m sorry.”
“Why are you sorry?”
“Because he hurt you. Because I’ve treated you terribly because of him.” I trembled as my feelings became almost too much contain. There was a part of me that never wanted to leave the hayloft but another that wanted to run as far from Wolfe as possible in the hope of shedding the weight of my emotions. “I thought you detested me, that you were planning to take some kind of vengeance for my part in Syracen’s death.”
He furrowed his brow. “That is why you’re snotty with me?”
Snotty? How dare he—
I caught myself before I could castigate him. It was amazing how quickly my feelings turned to irritation around him. But to be fair, he was not wrong in this instance. I sniffed a little haughtily, but it was in acknowledgment that he spoke the truth.
Wolfe’s lips curled at the corner. I could tell he was dying to laugh. He smothered it with his hand, rubbing it across his mouth. And then he nodded. “I think I understand. But you should know I felt nothing but relief when he was killed. My mother and I were free. Our lives changed that day, for the better.”
I wanted to reach out and offer some kind of comfort, some kind of apology that would make up for the last ten years of disdain. Haydyn would be pleased to know she had been right about him all along.
When Wolfe tensed, I understood why when he asked, “What exactly did my father do to your family?”
The rage burst open across my chest like a tidal wave after a landshake, and I drew in deep breaths to calm myself. “Are you sure you want to hear about that?”
“Only if you’re up to telling it.”
So I told him. About a perfect summer’s day ending in tears and bloodshed, of my subsequent grief and impotent anger. His golden skin grew pale as my story wound on. I even told him about Valena and how Syracen had ordered her family killed even after they willingly gave her up. I didn’t even realize I was crying again until Wolfe, eyes bright with sorrow, handed me a handkerchief. I wiped at my tears as thick silence descended over us.
For a while, all I could hear was our soft breathing and the blood rushing in my ears.
“No wonder you hate me.” Wolfe’s voice was hoarse.
With his shoulders slumped in dejection, he looked younger than his years … and so lost. I disliked seeing him so vulnerable. Wolfe was always so strong and sure of himself. It made my heart hurt to see him take his father’s crimes upon his shoulders.
And that was not the way a person reacted to someone they hated.
“I don’t hate you,” I whispered. My pulse throbbed hard, racing harder as our eyes collided.
His eyes widened ever so slightly and the color returned to his cheeks. His gaze was searching and fierce. “You don’t?”
My cheeks burned hot. “No, I don’t. I’ve been willfully blind, Captain. I’m sorry I didn’t treat you the way you deserved.”
He smirked. “I wasn’t exactly charming to you either.”
I laughed. “You were just reacting in kind.”
“Yes, I suppose I was. It was galling, you know. You’re so sweet to everyone else.”
I wrinkled my nose. “Sweet? I’m not sweet.”
“You can be.”
I waved off his compliment, uncharacteristically nervous and embarrassed.
“Rogan?
I lifted my gaze to his and admitted, “You’re a good man, Wolfe.”
Those beautiful aquamarine eyes rounded at my praise. Then he smil
ed, a boyishly wicked smile that caused a riot of butterflies to awaken in my belly. “You think so?” he murmured.
I flushed but nodded.
Then abruptly, his smile dropped, his expression growing dull with sadness.
“What?”
Wolfe shook his head. “I’m still the man whose father killed yours.”
I didn’t know how to respond. My emotions were overwhelmed.
Because I was attracted to him. Deeply so.
And yet I felt I owed my family better than that, even if Wolfe was not to blame for his father’s crimes. Surely caring for the son of the man who killed them was still a betrayal of their memory?
Turning his body toward mine, Wolfe shifted a little closer. Unconsciously, in spite of the turmoil raging inside me, I moved into him. It was as though we were two magnets, inevitably drawn together.
“I wanted to kill him, you know.”
I frowned. “Who?”
“Kir.” Wolfe gave a rueful shake of his head. “I wanted to kill him … and all he did was kiss you.”
I recognized the intensity in Wolfe’s gaze, the flicker of something I saw sometimes when he looked at me, that I’d never understood.
Until now.
He wanted me.
Wolfe, who caused women all over to swoon if he smiled at them. For goodness’ sake, according to palace gossip, he’d had a love affair with Vojvodkyna Winter Rada, the woman whose court we were heading to. She was an incredibly beautiful, sophisticated, wealthy young widow.
And yet he wanted me?
“I—”
Wolfe suddenly clasped my nape in his large hand, cutting off whatever banal thing I might have said to fill the heavy silence.
I swallowed hard, feeling so hot I thought I might combust. The way he looked at me …
No one had ever looked at me like that before. Like I was the most—
“You’re so beautiful,” Wolfe said hoarsely.
Maybe I was naive, but I believed he really thought so.
And then I wasn’t really thinking about anything but the fact that his mouth hovered inches from mine. A gasp escaped from between my lips as Wolfe leaned in and brushed his across mine in soft, feathery, butterfly kisses. They were all at once excruciatingly wonderful and frustrating.