Crystal Moon

by Elysa Hendricks

  the dark depths of her eyes, he surrendered to her power and

  levered his body over hers.

  At the slight nudge of his knee, her legs slid apart to accept

  him. Like sun-warmed silk her inner thighs brushed his hair-

  rough skin. He clenched his teeth against the urge to drive

  himself into her body without first seeing to her pleasure. His

  need to stroke and satisfy her went beyond enhancing his own

  enjoyment in their physical coupling.

  “Love me.”

  He swallowed her husky whisper and plunged his tongue

  into the hot, wet cavern of her willing mouth. Arms winding

  around his neck, she arched into him, her soft curves filling his

  hard hollows.

  His hand closed over her warm, damp woman’s mound,

  and he felt a corresponding pressure over his own groin. Her

  whimper of need echoed his moan of demand. Against her

  belly his arousal throbbed in time with the rapid beat of her

  heart. Eager hands stroked over trembling flesh. Kyne couldn’t

  tell who stroked and who trembled. It didn’t matter. They were

  one, both reaching, straining for a distant summit.

  Parting the downy softness of her nether curls, he found

  the tiny nub hidden in her folds and began a rhythmic massage.

  With each stroke of his fingers her body grew taut and her

  breath short. Lost to rational thought, she twisted compulsively

  beneath him, legs twitching, body undulating, fingers clenching

  the bed sheets. Concentrating on bringing her to completion,

  Kyne tried to ignore the shafts of pleasure darting through him

  with each stroke.

  “Please, Kyne. Please,” she pleaded. “I can’t...I didn’t....”

  Glazed now with passion nearly met, her eyes fluttered

  shut and her mouth formed a soundless “O” as her body arched

  into his hand and went rigid. Pink tinged her throat and chest,

  and her nipples turned hard and red. For long moments she

  hung there, suspended by the ecstasy coursing through her.

  Echoes of her pleasure speared through Kyne, then moisture

  streamed over his fingers.

  With a ragged exhalation, she sank back to the bed. “I

  didn’t know it could be like this.”

  Her bemused confession confused him. Had Aubin left her

  wanting? “There’s more.”

  She shook her head slowly in denial, her sated lethargy

  stealing over him. “More?”

  “Much more.” With hands and mouth he bent to fan the

  glowing embers of her desire. When the inferno raged again,

  he positioned himself above her trembling form and plunged

  into the heated blaze.

  A fragile barrier blocked his thrust.

  At her shocked cry and the brief piercing pain in his groin,

  the connection between them ended. Though they remained

  physically joined, their minds were no longer as one. He was

  alone. Frozen, he fought his body’s demand to move, his arousal

  throbbing insistently inside her hot, tight sheath.

  A virgin? She was a virgin.

  The thought had barely formed when she shifted beneath

  him, and her long, slender legs wrapped around his hips. The

  movement snapped his brittle control. Nothing mattered except

  he purge himself in Sianna’s fire. Groaning in defeat, he let

  instinct take charge and, regardless of the consequences,

  embedded himself to the hilt in her body.

  Again and again he withdrew and thrust. Though virgin,

  she matched him thrust for thrust until sweat slicked both their

  bodies and the tempo of their breathing grew hoarse and ragged.

  Suddenly she shuddered, and her internal muscles milked him.

  With a harsh moan he surrendered to his own climax and gave

  her his seed. Though more intense than any coupling he’d yet

  experienced, Kyne sensed that the sensation was only a fraction

  of what could have been if they had maintained their link.

  Drained and confused, he sagged against her limp form.

  Questions hammered at his mind.

  Virgin? Who was she? Laila, daughter of DiSanti? Sianna,

  Daughter of Light? What of her relationship with Aubin? This

  woman would bear no child of Aubin’s. Grief for the loss of

  Aubin’s child faded before primitive male elation—she had lain

  with no other man. She was his.

  Determined to confront her and demand answers, Kyne

  lifted his head. Words died on his lips.

  Framing her porcelain features like a scarf of midnight silk,

  her long hair spread across the white sheet. A dark lock curled

  around her breast and teased a dusty-pink nipple. Moisture

  pooled in his mouth at the thought of tasting that soft little bud.

  Through parted lips, her warm breath brushed his cheek, and

  deep inside her his body throbbed to life. Even in sleep she held

  him.

  “Moon madness!” As he uttered the curse, he jerked away.

  Cool air swirled between them, drying the sweat on his skin.

  Sianna shivered and murmured a protest, but didn’t wake.

  She curled onto her side, her tangled hair draping over her body

  like a misty black veil.

  Easing himself from the bed, Kyne stared down at her.

  “Sleep for now, little liar. Soon enough I will know the truth.”

  Eleven

  When Sianna awoke later that evening, the setting sun cast

  the room in blue-green shadows. Bemused by her strange

  languor, she forced herself to rise to see to Graham’s care. Her

  muscles protested the movement, and a sticky dampness trickled

  down between her thighs. Flecks of red stained rumpled white

  sheets. Her tunic lying on the floor stirred her awareness and

  brought heat to her cheeks. She pushed the memories aside.

  Later, she would deal with what had passed between her

  and Kyne and how it would change things. Work would take

  her mind from the dangerous path it sought to wander. For

  now, she ignored her aching body and heart, snatched up the

  wrinkled tunic and yanked it over her head. With shaking fingers,

  she combed the worst of the tangles from her hair and quickly

  braided the long mass. Warda rose from his place by the hearth,

  stretched, and followed as she made her way out into the hall.

  Like an unexpected wind, heartbreak made Sianna stagger

  just before Katya barreled around a corner and into her. In a

  tangle of arms, legs and fur, they went down to the hard stone

  floor, Sianna on the bottom. Warda yelped and scrambled to his

  feet, his nails scraping Sianna’s belly and thighs as he did so.

  Pain distracted her for a moment.

  Over her, Katya pushed herself to a kneeling position. “I’m

  sorry,” she sniffed. Tears trickled down her cheeks.

  Stunned by both the impact and Katya’s lack of animosity

  toward her, Sianna lay still.

  “Let me help you.”

  Warily, for physical contact heightened the flow of emotions,

  Sianna accepted Katya’s outstretched hand. As their fingers

  touched, Sianna sensed Katya’s deep sorrow, but her rage had

  burned away. Katya pulled Sianna to her feet.

  Fingers entwined, Sianna felt the young woman’s newfound

  mat
urity. “You no longer hate me?”

  Surprise flashed in Katya’s eyes. She snatched her hand

  away. “Hating you is useless. It will not bring back Aubin. It

  doesn’t punish you nor your father for your crimes. It only

  tears apart my soul. And whatever else you’ve done, your skill

  has saved Graham’s life. For that, you have my gratitude.”

  Sianna could both see and feel the effort it took Katya to

  keep her voice steady, but it broke on Graham’s name. Without

  hesitation she sought to reassure Katya.

  “Graham is a proud, stubborn man. Right now he can’t see

  beyond his injuries, and he would not burden those he cares

  for.” She didn’t speak of Graham’s love for Katya. It was for

  him to tell her. “Let him heal some before you offer him your

  love.”

  “Love!” Katya’s eyes snapped denial. “I’d as soon wake a

  hibernating sardak than approach Graham again. Only a fool

  would try to love that overgrown, obstinate, exasperating bear

  of a man.”

  Hiding her grin of understanding, Sianna said, “But then

  love makes fools of us all, doesn’t it? Be patient with him as he

  has been patient with you.”

  A reluctant smile tugged at Katya’s lips. “Perhaps.”

  “I must see to Graham’s care, but I find myself weak. Will

  you help me down the stairs?”

  “I will not beg at his door!”

  “No one asks you to. Merely lend me your arm for a

  moment.”

  When Katya offered her arm, Sianna leaned on it heavily,

  grateful for the support as they headed down the stairs to the

  great hall. Weariness tugged at her and hunger burned at her

  innards. Could she take a moment to eat?

  “You are different from any healer I’ve known,” Katya

  mused. “They treat only the body, but your touch goes deeper,

  to a person’s heart, doesn’t it? Are you a witch?”

  Sianna both heard and felt Katya’s sudden awe and niggle

  of fear. “I’m but a skilled healer. Unless you would see me

  dead, be careful what you say. Your people would burn me as

  quickly for being a witch as they would for being DiSanti’s

  daughter.”

  “You are right. I should not bandy the name witch about. I

  would not see you dead for what is naught but a silly superstition.

  There are no witches, only that which we’ve yet to understand.”

  Her tone hardened as she continued, “If you die, it will be for

  Aubin’s foul murder.” At the foot of the stairs, Katya halted

  abruptly and turned to face Sianna. “Then again, the lessening

  of my hatred toward you smacks of spells and witchery, and

  the emptiness I felt at Aubin’s death is no longer so deep or

  dark. Have you touched my ka with your magic?”

  “No magic. Love.” Love surely played a part in Katya’s

  maturation. But while Sianna disclaimed the title of witch, she

  often wondered about the source of her healing skills. The good

  Sisters didn’t possess her talent, and they were the most learned

  of healers. Was she blessed or cursed? And what of Kyne?

  Katya snorted. “Love, indeed. I am naught but fond of

  Graham. Why, he’s old enough to be my father.” She seemed

  to have forgotten her tearful confessions of love when Graham

  was carried into the castle. Sianna refrained from reminding

  her. Soon enough, Katya and Graham would have to sort out

  their relationship.

  “You can try, but in the end love will not be denied. Older

  he may be, but not quite so old as to be your father.”

  At the door to Althea’s chamber, Katya stopped and stepped

  back. “Can you manage?”

  “Yes.” She touched Katya’s arm. “One last favor.”

  Suspicion darkened Katya’s eyes. “What?” How quickly

  the fragile truce between them ended.

  “Ask Betha to prepare a tray of food for Graham and me.

  He is sure to be hungry and so am I.” At that moment Sianna’s

  stomach grumbled, and humor eased some of the tension from

  Katya’s body. She nodded and headed toward the kitchen.

  Feeling Graham’s bitterness, Sianna faced the closed door

  with misgiving. He didn’t believe he would walk, and without

  that belief he wouldn’t.

  “Will Graham live?”

  Zoa’s tearful voice drew Sianna from her worried thoughts.

  She turned to look down at the child standing next to her. Tears

  made pale tracks down the girl’s dirty cheeks. Where had the

  child been? Judging by her crumpled, dirt-stained clothing, with

  the hounds. Apparently, in the confusion of the caravan’s arrival

  and Graham’s injury, Zoa had slipped away from her nurse’s

  care.

  “Etam says Graham will be a cripple. I called him a liar and

  hit him! He tried to hit me back, but I ran and hid. Grenna

  called and called, but I didn’t come out until I saw you.” She

  threw her arms around Sianna’s waist.

  The impact of Zoa’s small body and her tangled emotions

  of fear, hope, anger and trust staggered Sianna. In an instinctive

  response to Zoa’s cry for comfort, she knelt and wrapped her

  arms around the child.

  “Don’t let him die.” Sobs punctuated Zoa’s words.

  “There now, Graham isn’t dying.” Knowing she lacked the

  strength, she resisted the urge to offer more than a physical

  soothing and merely stroked Zoa’s back.

  “Make him walk again,” Zoa demanded and pulled away.

  “You healed me. Make him better.”

  “How do you know I healed you?” Shocked, Sianna didn’t

  deny Zoa’s pronouncement. Other than Kyne, no one was ever

  aware of her when she touched their emotions or performed a

  healing.

  Zoa shrugged. “I tingled funny when you touched me, and

  then I breathed better.”

  With the simple logic of a child, Zoa easily made the

  connection between her own restored health and Sianna’s touch.

  Could she show Graham the same? If she revealed her skill,

  would he believe and welcome her touch, or cringe in fear of

  what he didn’t understand and denounce her as a witch?

  Not for the first time, she bemoaned the fact that her

  connection with people’s emotions did not give her insight into

  their thought processes or knowledge of how they would react.

  Like a fallen leaf on the water, she merely rode the stream of

  their emotions, unable to change or direct the flow. Only when

  she attempted a spiritual healing could she channel a person’s

  emotional energy, but such healing took a psychic toll greater

  than for healing the body, and even then she couldn’t read the

  thoughts behind the emotions.

  “Zoa, you little scamp.” Grenna threaded her way around

  the infirmary’s pallets to their side. “I’ve been looking

  everywhere for you.” She tsked and shook her head. “Just

  look at you. Have you been rolling in the mud with the shoats?

  Come along now. It’s time you were bathed and put to bed,

  young lady.”

  “Don’t wanna.” Zoa’s lower lip pouted out, and she clung

  to Sianna. �
�Wanna see Graham.”

  Sianna gently eased the child away and raised her face.

  “You can’t see Graham just yet. He’s still very sick, but I

  promise he’ll get better.” Another promise made. One only

  Graham could keep. “Go along now with Grenna. Maybe

  tomorrow you can visit Graham.”

  Hope sparked in Zoa’s dark eyes. “Really?” Without

  waiting for an answer, she slid from Sianna’s embrace and

  grabbed Grenna’s hand.

  Arms empty, Sianna watched the child skip away.

  “Really?”

  At Kyne’s voice from behind her, Sianna rose slowly to

  turn and face him. From a face carved of crystal, without a hint

  of warmth or compassion, his eyes stared at her as if their

  connection had never been—as if they had never made love.

  She reached out to him empathetically, but felt nothing. Pain

  staggered her as unacknowledged dreams died in her heart.

  “What are you doing here?” he demanded.

  “I’ve come to see my patient. His dressings need changing,

  and I would check for fever and infection.” Struggling against

  her need to flee from Kyne’s icy composure, she took a step

  toward the door. He barred her way with an outstretched arm.

  Unable to read his emotions, she couldn’t interpret the stiff set

  of his broad shoulders or the rigid press of his lips. Did he hate

  her for being her father’s daughter, or for the lies he now knew

  she told?

  “Graham has no further need of you. Althea can see to the

  rest of his care.”

  “You’re wrong. Graham needs me even more now. Haven’t

  I proven myself to you? Please let me see to him.” She couldn’t

  keep the pleading note from her voice.

  “Your actions do not change the fact you are DiSanti’s

  daughter.” His expressionless gaze settled on her face then

  moved lower and studied her. “Or are you?”

  Memories of his hands and mouth on the same flesh that

  his eyes now touched flooded through her. Her nipples beaded

  against her soft shift material, and moisture gathered at the

  juncture of her thighs. A wave of heat brought the pungent

  scent of sex to her nostrils. Warmth blossomed in her belly

  while her tongue froze in her mouth.

  She hadn’t considered what her virginity would mean to

  Kyne. His belief that Laila had lain with Aubin and might carry