Fear of Fire and Shadow

by S. Young

  “Wolfe,” I murmured in complaint, wishing for more. Then I smirked against his lips, teasing, “Is that the best you can do?”

  He accepted my challenge, loosening his grip on my neck but only to wrap his arms around me. I was pressed flush to him, my breasts crushed against his chest.

  His kiss was hard and persistent and I pushed into it, intoxicated by the feel and scent of him all around me. A strangled sound erupted from the back of my throat at the feel of his tongue against my lips, and he took the opportunity to sweep into my mouth. It drugged me with the unfamiliar dark pull of the kind of kiss Haydyn had told me about but I’d never experienced. I must have stilled, unsure of what to do, letting him kiss me and enjoying it, but afraid to participate in case I did it wrong.

  Wolfe stopped, breaking the kiss. He pulled back to frown at me.

  I blushed, feeling like an idiot. Wolfe was used to experienced women, not twenty-one-year-old virgins.

  “You’ve never been kissed properly before?” he asked, stroking my flushed cheek. I was still wrapped against him and despite my embarrassment, I didn’t want to pull away. I was addicted.

  “No.”

  “But I thought you and Jarek—”

  “Me and Jarek what?” I huffed. What in haven was he insinuating? Or had Jarek said something? Had Jarek spread lies about me? No, he wouldn’t … would he?

  Wolfe arched his eyebrow. “What was I supposed to think? You’re always flirting with him.”

  I pressed my hands against his chest and attempted to push him off me but he only held me tighter and grinned. Smug. Annoying. “You are the most—”

  “I’m glad I was wrong.” He cut me off, his eyes narrowing with lustful intent. “Now kiss me back.”

  With my usual aversion to appearing weak or vulnerable, I stuck out my chin in defiance and declared, “I don’t know how, so we should stop.”

  Wolfe laughed. “Not a chance. Just follow my lead, mimic what I do.” His breathing grew labored as he leaned in toward me.

  My heart pounded, and I hated to admit it, but I didn’t want to stop. I wanted him.

  This time his kiss was gentle, teasing, coaxing me to open my mouth. When his tongue touched mine, I reciprocated. Wolfe groaned and I felt it reverberate through me in delicious waves. I gasped at the feeling. This must be what Haydyn was always talking about.

  The kiss grew more frantic and I freed my arms so I could wrap them around him, my breasts flat to his chest, every inch of my body as close as I could get to the heat of his. We collapsed back against the blankets, Wolfe’s body covering mine, his thigh pushing my legs apart. I shivered at the feel of him against me, my brain no longer able to work against the sparks and explosions shooting off around my body as his intoxicating kisses went on and on. His strong hands slid up and down my waist seeming desperate to touch me but afraid to move higher or lower.

  When I arched into him, Wolfe shook against me. He reluctantly pulled away, both of us gasping for air as he rolled off me. I didn’t know what to do with my body—my nerves were twanging, my hands shaking. I noticed Wolfe’s were, too, as he exhaled heavily, running a hand through his mussed hair.

  “We have to stop. You drive me crazy, Rogan,” he whispered gruffly. “You always have.”

  My heart was struggling to calm down, and I laughed at the strange, awesome but awful turn of events. “Well, you took the perfect revenge.”

  He turned his head to look at me and grinned. Smug.

  I swatted at him. “Very nice.”

  “What?” He laughed, rolling up onto his elbow and reaching out to brush my hair off my face. “After spending the last few years panting after you, it’s nice to know you want me back.”

  My eyebrows rose in surprise. “The last few years?”

  Laughing, Wolfe pulled me into his embrace and tucked my head under his chin. Despite how strange it felt, it was also lovely. I snuggled into his heat. “Let’s stop the questions for now, Rogan. We need to sleep.”

  I was skeptical that after our passionate interlude, I would be able to fall asleep. But surprisingly, with Wolfe keeping me safe, I drifted off quickly into a dreamless slumber.

  Chapter 18

  I couldn’t see her in the crowds. Where was she? This was her night. Smiling benignly at a Raphizyan baron and his insipidly vapid wife, I made my way out of the noisy ballroom and into the foyer. I had already asked Vikomt Matai, her newest bodyguard, if he had seen her. He had turned his back for one minute and she was gone. I knew the man felt terrible, losing the princezna in a crowded ballroom two weeks into his new post. I tried to reassure him. Haydyn could be a minx, and he’d have to get to know her to understand her better. Once he had, looking after her wouldn’t be a problem.

  Two footmen stood guard at the entrance. “Have you seen the princezna?” I asked, before reminding myself to stop anxiously twisting my hands in case they thought something was amiss.

  One of the footmen stepped forward. “Her Majesty left the ballroom a few minutes ago, my lady. She was headed in the direction of the orangery.”

  I nodded my thanks and lifted my gown, my steps picking up pace as I followed the luxuriously gilded hallways of the palace to the large glasshouse in the east wing with views of the Silver Sea in the distance. Not that you could really see the views past the exotic plants and citruses Stena, the gardener, had populated it with.

  Briefly, I closed my eyes, wondering what on Phaedra I’d find when I got there. This was supposed to be Haydyn’s proper debut as Princezna; she was eighteen now, no longer a child. But something had been plaguing her all day.

  I stepped inside the humid air of the orangery, the scents somewhat overwhelming. But Haydyn liked it here. She said it made her feel like she was somewhere else. I relaxed a little upon finding her on a bench at the back of the room. She glanced up at my appearance.

  “Haydyn,” I whispered, moving toward her, the rustling of my skirts sounding overly loud in the quiet space. With a deep exhalation, I sat beside her, our elbows bumping. “Why aren’t you at the ball enjoying your debut?”

  She huffed, “It’s not as if they haven’t seen me at a ball before.”

  “True,” I muttered, desperately trying to keep the laughter out of my voice. “But this is a special evening, and you really should return to your guests.”

  Haydyn shrugged.

  I frowned. “I know you aren’t blind to the superficiality of some of your court, but you’ve never treated them with disdain. You’ve always been so friendly and polite to everyone. Tonight, I’d be surprised if you had stretched your lips once into a smile. I even thought I misheard you telling Lady Viskt that if the people of Alvernia were half as well-fed as her cat, Phaedra would have no tribulations. Now I think I didn’t mishear it at all.”

  She laughed lightly. “No, you didn’t. But, Rogan, she’s awful. All she talks about is that bloody cat of hers. As if the princezna wants to discuss an overfed spoiled brat of a cat that scratched me last time she brought it to court, over her donating money to the charity I wanted to start for the mountain people of Alvernia.”

  A wave of fondness made me smile. “Dear, not everyone is as open-minded about the Alvernian mountain people as you.”

  She snorted. “Including you.”

  I shrugged, unabashed. “They’re under the same evocation as the rest of us. If they wanted to be civilized, they could be.”

  “But—”

  “You know I’d be more positively inclined toward this rapidly failing philanthropic idea of yours if I thought for one second it had been your idea.”

  Blushing, Haydyn shrugged. “Darren is very passionate about these issues.”

  Now I did snort. “Darren is an arrogant troubadour with an inflated sense of importance. He’s never even been to Alvernia! The farthest he’s been is Ryl. Not exactly the best troubadour if you ask me … traveling minstrel, my left butt cheek!”

  Haydyn burst into raucous laughter, shaking her head. Once she
’d controlled her giggles, she stared up me with love shining bright in her eyes. “Perhaps you’re right. He did write me the most awful poetry the other morning. Something about hair the color of the moon and a sweet lady granting him a boon. I think he may have been trying to get me to kiss him.”

  I narrowed my eyes. “You didn’t, did you?”

  Pinching her lips together, she gave a sharp jerk of her head. “No. I did think about it, but he’s not really what I expected. None of this is.” She swept the room with a dainty hand.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I don’t think I can do this,” she confessed hollowly. “Decisions and choices and pandering to the court. It’s all so much responsibility. The coronation ceremony is only five years away, and then I’ll be crowned kralovna. Somehow that makes it sound all that much more frightening.

  “Why don’t we go away?” She clutched my arm, her emerald eyes pleading. “We’ll jump on a boat and sail the coast to Alvernia. See for ourselves what the people are really like.”

  “Hay—”

  “Or we could take off on Midnight and Sundown, head for your old family home in Vasterya. We could run through the fields and play by that stream you always talk about. It sounds like paradise.”

  I smiled sadly at her and drew her into a hug. “Haydyn, you know we can’t.”

  “Why not? You’re the only one I care about and the only one who cares about me. We’ll have a grand adventure.”

  “You know you care about the people here, Haydyn. You’re just overwhelmed, and that is to be expected.” I turned so I was facing her. “Phaedra needs your magic, Haydyn. And it needs your goodness. I know it’s a lot to ask of a young woman, but we’ve all had to sacrifice something for our land.”

  Her eyes welled with tears. “Oh, Rogan, you must think me terribly selfish and childish.”

  “No. I think you’re young. I think you’re scared. But I know how smart and kind and good you are. And like you said, you have me. I’ll help you through. I’ll always be there for you. You’re all that matters, and nothing will get in the way of that. Nothing …”

  A strip of heat tingled across my face, slowly bringing me out of sleep. I peeled my eyes open, blinking against the stream of sunlight coming in from a crack in the rafters.

  Where was I?

  It took me a moment but then it all flooded back and I stiffened, my head whipping to my side. The place where Wolfe had slept was empty. He was gone. My heart raced. No, he was probably just in the house, I reassured myself. I groaned and sat up. Despite feeling less exhausted, I still ached all over. All over. Why, oh why, had I kissed Wolfe last night? I groaned, burying my face in my hands. It was such a silly, stupid thing to do!

  You were exhausted.

  Yes. I was exhausted. I wasn’t thinking clearly … clearly.

  I was in the middle of rescuing my best friend, my sister, the one person in the entire land of Phaedra who meant anything to me. I couldn’t be distracted by kisses from the most inappropriate man imaginable. His father killed my family. He was a vikomt and I was a farm girl. He would marry and I … definitely would not!

  But what to do now? When I went into the house, how should I act? My stomach churned. I dreaded an actual conversation with him about it. Oh, surely Wolfe would know it was a mistake. A bleary-eyed, adrenaline-rushed error in judgment. I should just act like nothing happened. I bet that was exactly what he would want.

  Nodding, happy with my decision, I scrambled down out of the hayloft, nearly falling on my bottom I trembled with nerves so badly. The sun was bright and hot outside, and I winced at the thought of riding to Caera in this heat. Heaving a huge sigh, I braced my shoulders as if readying for battle, and headed into the widow’s house. Wolfe was nowhere to be seen; the widow bustled around the kitchen, the smell of breakfast heady and thick in the air. My stomach grumbled a plea.

  “There you are.” The old widow smiled at me. “I hope you slept well.”

  I nodded, confused. Where was Wolfe?

  “Your man is out back getting washed up at the trough.”

  I glowered. “He’s not my man. He’s my …” I realized I didn’t know how to finish that sentence.

  Chuckling, the widow lay out the breakfast for us. “I’m just going out to feed my pig. Be back in a minute.”

  “Thank you.” I gestured to the food and sat down, answering her cheery smile with a half-hearted one of my own. I never knew confusion could be so physically disorienting. Shrugging it off, I dug into the delicious food, salivating as it melted on my tongue. Perhaps we should take the old widow back with us, employ her in the palace kitchens. My lips twitched at the thought. Cook wouldn’t be amused by that turn of events. Ah, Cook. I missed her. And Valena. And Haydyn … but that went without saying.

  At the sound of a creak behind me, my ears perked up, and then his familiar scent hit me. I sensed Wolfe behind me. The press of his lips against my neck was startling, and I flinched back from him, staring at him incredulously. Wolfe took a step back, a wary aspect flickering across his gaze. Whatever he saw in my expression made him sigh heavily as he took the seat beside me to tuck into the breakfast.

  “Last night was a dream, then?” he asked with a definite edge to his voice.

  I took a moment, shaking off the delicious tingling on my neck where he had kissed me, desperately trying to ignore the way my stomach flipped at the sight of his aquamarine eyes and wicked mouth. Finally, when I was sure my feelings wouldn’t betray me, I replied, “Not a dream. Just a mistake.”

  Somehow Wolfe managed to glare at me out of the corner of his eye, and it wasn’t hard to fall back into the way of things, bristling at the condescending expression he slid on and off his face as easy as a mask. “A mistake?” He shook his head. “I should have known you’d wake up as skittish as a mouse. I shouldn’t have left.”

  “It’s got nothing to do with that. And I am not skittish! I never skitter.”

  “You are being skittish. But I’m willing to forgive your less than pleasant reaction and give you some time to think about things.”

  Whatever else I had been feeling, whatever doubts, whatever confusion, rushed out of the window at his patronizing. “You arrogant, condescending, arrogant—”

  “You said that already.” He flicked his fork at me, amusement playing on his lips.

  He thought I was kidding. He thought we were having a disagreement. I took in a deep breath, willing my nerves to calm. “I’m completely serious, Captain,” I told him, hating how he flinched as I reverted to calling him Captain. “I’m sorry to have misled you in any way … but what happened last night will not happen again.”

  Wolfe studied me, perhaps trying to discern how earnest I was. Then he shook his head, angry confusion in his beautiful eyes. “Rogan, don’t. I know this is … difficult … but we can figure—”

  “Don’t.” I stood quickly, my plate rattling on the table. “I’m going to wash up.” Before he could argue any more, I hurried out of the kitchen, brushing past the bewildered old widow.

  The trough was right out back, hidden in the shade of the house so the water was still chilled. It was delicious, shocking, and refreshing as I splashed my face, rubbing water droplets into my neck and behind my ears. It wasn’t perfect, but it would do.

  For a while, I just stood by the trough, staring at the open land around the old widow’s home. The land here wasn’t as lush and green as Vasterya. There was a brown-bronze tinge to everything that suggested the land existed in a state of near autumn all year round, contrary to the heat of the sun. There was more rainfall in Daeronia during the summer months than anywhere else bar Alvernia. It was colder, too, the farther north you crept.

  However, I decided I liked the air in Daeronia. Not only were we still close enough to breweries to smell the sweetness in the air but it was joined by a crisp freshness that could not be found in the other provinces during the summer. It was always so humid everywhere else.

  I had prol
onged my visit to the trough as long as I could, so I headed back into the kitchen, dreading what was awaiting me. Wolfe stood watching for me, his expression carefully blank.

  “There you are,” he said gruffly. “I have the horses waiting.”

  The old widow bustled back into the kitchen, a pack clutched in her hands. “Here.” She thrust it at me. “Here are some provisions just in case, but you should reach Caera before nightfall.”

  I thanked the widow, as did Wolfe before he gestured to the doorway. His eyes had hardened. “Ladies first.”

  My instinct (call it years of disliking him) was to be peeved, but I realized that I had been the one to wrong him when I allowed his kisses. So I pinched my mouth closed and headed past him.

  “Be patient,” I heard the old woman say, and Wolfe grunted. I glanced back with a little furrow between my brows as the two shared a look—hers amused, his exasperated. Curious, I threw him a questioning look and then quickly whipped back around at his ferocious glare.

  It was going to be a long ride to Caera.

  We rode the horses hard. With the two of us angry at me, I was emotionally and physically exhausted when we reached the city. I almost wept with relief when we crossed the beautifully sculpted bridge over the River Cael and into the gates of Caera. I had never been to Caera before, but I’d heard about the bridge. It was wide enough for horses and carts to pass one another and was made of thick, sturdy stone, polished to brilliance. On either side were walls made of the same stone that reached Wolfe’s shoulders.

  Massive stone statues stood guard at either entrance—two ethereal female mages at the entrance and two powerful male mages at the exit. Some say it was Vojvodkyna Winter’s sense of humor: Caera was a woman’s world, and the rest of Phaedra belonged to men. Statues of winged creatures beckoned from the walls of the bridge, and I stared wide-eyed. How much money had Winter spent on this bridge? It was beautiful … but wasn’t it wasteful? I was sure Jarvis would think so.