Rogue Spotter Collection

by Kimberly A Rogers

  A light touch on my arm drew my attention to Lauren. I dropped my gaze to meet eyes of such dark brown that they looked nearly black, timeless and deep like ebony, and filled with emotion that could only be described as concern mixed with frustration. My fingers itched to brush the wavy equally dark hair back from where it escaped the shelter of her shawl or to touch her soft creamy tan skin. The desire to pull her close and kiss her swept over me, but I resisted. Kissing her on a crowded bus would be foolish and I could not take the risk of . . . distraction.

  Eventually, I realized her lips were moving. I blinked and forced myself to pay attention to the words. Lauren paused, pursing her lips slightly, and then shook her head before leaning in close as she breathed, “Where are we going?”

  “Plateau of Belintash,” I stated coolly. “We’ll be able to find transportation at Stenímachos.” Unable to help myself, I took her right wrist in my hand and ran a thumb up underneath her sleeve to caress where I knew the fox head now marked her skin. Lauren’s breath caught, but I barely noticed. “You shouldn’t have done this. You should have walked away when she gave you the chance.”

  Lauren frowned, her dark eyes solemn and searching, as she gazed up at me. She kept her voice low and calm, however, as she murmured, “You knew I wouldn’t do that. I made up my mind in Aberdeen.” She drew a breath and then added lightly, “Besides, it is clearly too late now. We’ve no choice but to press forward.”

  So it seemed, however, I still intended to stop Lauren before she truly pledged her life to mine. Asking her to be my wife would be too much. This detour served only to further shake Weard from our trail. When Lauren was free of the death mark and the Trials, we would go our separate ways. The thought of leaving her sent spikes of cold despair lancing through me, but I knew I had no other choice. Not if I truly wanted to protect her. Protecting Lauren did not mean making her the bride of a Myrmidon . . . that would only hasten her death.

  * * *

  Lauren

  The winding mountain road emerged into a village filled with higher numbers. As we left the bus in favor of threading our way through the bustling crowds hurrying down one of the central streets running on the east side of the river flowing directly through the center of the village, I could see shops filled with bridal gowns. Stenímachos. Ah, that was where I had heard the name . . . Stenímachos was the wedding dress capital of Eastern Europe. Made all the more famous by the fact that the best and most expensive gowns were those designed and handmade by dryads and sylphs. It would also explain the high number of women with leaves tucked into their uncovered hair and the young faces with silver and white-blonde hair.

  I couldn’t help staring at one wedding shop. A tall, waifishly thin woman with silver hair and dark eyes was pinning gossamer-fine lace to a gown. When the lace caught the light, it seemed to shine in the fading sunlight almost as though someone had managed to weave tiny diamonds into the fabric. Wow. That was probably the most beautiful dress I had ever seen. If that was an example of what having a sylph-made wedding dress meant, I could understand why they were such a commodity that two dragon shifters had summoned Halliman’s my first year there to mediate because they both wanted exclusive rights to a specific sylph designer and were ready to fight over the poor woman.

  Forcing my attention back to our surroundings, I noted the mountains rising around us had a number of stone buildings along the various ridges. Some were partially obscured by evergreens and the budding leaves of a deciduous forest. Rocky clefts jutted out over certain parts of the village while the river flowed past us. Mathias crossed one of the foot bridges and I followed in his wake, leaving the street filled with wedding shops behind.

  As soon as we crossed the river, I noticed a new difference. There were paranormals out, and they weren’t troubling themselves with hiding their nature. Goat from the waist down and with spiraling rams’ horns sprouting from their hair between temple and ear, there would never be any mistaking a satyr. Their cloven hooves tapped a steady rhythm against the streets as they went about their business. Some of them wore coats and caps, others wore vests made out of everything from fine wool to tooled leather, a few wore regular short sleeved cotton shirts or even dress shirts for those manning shops, and naturally there were some who wore nothing.

  Mathias didn’t seem to notice that a flood of paranormals now surrounded us as satyrs played escort to dryads and sylphs who always seemed to smile or occasionally laugh at their flirtations. Judging by the smug looks that occurred whenever one managed to make his sylph laugh, it was apparently a rare accomplishment. They were all 5s and 6s, something that still made me a little uneasy although I did my best to simply blend in as I trailed after Mathias. He strode through the crowd without so much as a backward glance and they parted for him with such ease that I often wondered if not being able to see numbers actually blinded one to power. It seemed unlikely though. But it was difficult to tell with Mathias, since I had never gotten the same sense of danger and sheer power from him that higher numbers usually gave off.

  We stopped in front of a small hostel tucked between forest and exposed rock. A satyr with greying hair and wearing a plaid vest was leaning against the wall in front of the door. He took his pipe out of his mouth as he nodded to Mathias.

  Mathias spoke to him in rapid Bulgarian. When the satyr replied, Mathias handed him a wad of cash and then reached back to grab my hand. We stepped inside the cozy building and walked through the front entry to reach the stairs. I heard tapping behind us and the front door shutting before the satyr passed the stairs calling out in Bulgarian to someone in the back. A feminine voice responded as we continued on our way upstairs.

  The wooden floors were covered in woven rugs that testified to the craftsmanship of their maker. The same warm colors flowed into the room down the hall when Mathias opened the door. There was a single bed in the room along with a small dresser and a narrow cushioned bench pushed up against the foot of the bed, possibly to provide extra length when needed. I was even happier with the fact that there was an attached bathroom.

  Dropping my go bag on the bench, I immediately sat down and undid the straps of the walking boot. “So, we are not going to Belintash tonight?”

  “No.”

  I glanced up as I stretched out my leg and carefully rotated my left foot. My ankle wasn’t completely recovered, but it was close. Close enough that I didn’t intend to wear the walking boot again. Mathias had dropped his duffle bag by the wall and now he was simply watching me, his blue-green eyes unreadable. Concern filled me. “Are you certain it’s safe to stay here?”

  “Safe enough. I told him we were on our honeymoon.”

  For some reason the way he said it with his delicious British accent made my cheeks grow warm. The problem with being hopelessly in love with the man you were trying to save definitely lay in the fact that I wanted nothing more than a honeymoon with him. Not to mention a life. I stood up and walked over to him reaching out to touch his arm. “Are you all right, Mathias?” I hesitated trying to find the words to describe my concern over what I had been seeing. “You’ve been . . . lost today. Not yourself.”

  Mathias’ gaze flickered down to where my hand rested on his arm before he looked back at me. There was a sudden intensity in his gaze that stole my breath away. Then he reached up and traced a finger over my cheek sending a thrill of awareness shooting through me. “Not lost. Not with you.”

  I couldn’t speak. Trapped by his blue-green eyes as they seemed to lighten to a lovely pale shade of blue, I could barely think as Mathias slid his finger in a gentle caress across my cheek to push the shawl back so it fell exposing my hair. Mathias’ other hand came up to grasp my hair, running his fingers through it, at the same time his trailing touch slid over my skin to cup my neck. His thumb brushed over the edge of my jaw as I instinctively tilted my head back.

  Mathias seized the unspoken invitation as he bent down to kiss me. My hands came up to rest against his chest, fingers curling in his sh
irt, as I closed my eyes. Losing myself in the kiss, I barely noticed that Mathias’ hands were moving again. His fingers brushed against my collarbone and then he slid his hands between my coat and my shirt, pushing the coat off my shoulders.

  I didn’t want to let go of him as one kiss melded into another, but eventually my arms came down. The weight of my coat vanished as I vaguely heard it fall to the floor. I opened my eyes when Mathias eased the kiss only to place another against my jaw. My heart was pounding as one of his hands splayed against the center of my back and the other traced over my bare arm sending tingling thrills shooting through me. It would take nothing at all to . . .

  I blinked, forcing the thought away. Mathias was still kissing along my jaw, leaving a trail of burning warmth in his wake. “Mathias.”

  When he only responded with an indiscernible murmur and a kiss to my throat, I shoved against his chest. “Mathias, stop!” I shoved him again and then pulled away, nearly tripping over my jacket as I did so.

  Stumbling back until the back of my legs hit the bench, I tried to gather my scattered thoughts and ignore what my hormones were saying. Panting slightly, I could feel myself blushing as I met Mathias’ gaze. He hadn’t moved from where we had been standing, his expression now unreadable although he was also breathing a little faster. I resisted the urge to touch my lips and instead gasped, “We can’t. You know we can’t.”

  Sleeping together was the last complication we needed. I pressed the backs of my hands against my hot cheeks trying to cool my blush. Mathias wasn’t actually himself right now. I had already seen that much today. I wasn’t certain how Myrmidon society rules worked on this but in most of the older paranormal species, once you began a quest to earn the right to be bound mates, you lost the right to intimacy until your worth was proven satisfactory.

  I already had a death curse tying me to the Trials. I didn’t really want to risk breaking an unspoken rule. I heard steps and lowered my hands to my lap as I looked up to see Mathias setting my coat on top of his go bag. He ran a hand over the back of his neck and cleared his throat. “Stay here, Lauren. I will . . . I need to arrange for us to get to Belintash tomorrow.”

  My reply was ridiculously faint as I nodded. “All right.”

  He walked to the door, then paused with his hand on the knob. “Don’t wait up for me if I’m not back later tonight. I’ll tell Petar that we want to dine in our room tonight and he’ll send something up.”

  “Okay.”

  Mathias nodded. Then he added in a hoarse whisper, “I’m sorry, Lauren.” He quickly existed the room, closing the door behind him, before I even had a chance to think of a response.

  I stared at the closed door. My mind went back to the kiss, well, kisses. I let out a shuddering breath, as my cheeks grew warm once more. How in the world were we going to survive travelling by ourselves through Bulgaria and wherever else we had to go without having a misstep? Especially when we had barely started and were already getting too close to the fire.

  I had no idea.

  * * *

  Lauren

  Mathias didn’t return that evening. I avoided actually seeing Petar or any of the satyr’s other staff by waiting to fetch the tray of food until after they had knocked at the door and left. My thoughts still spun in circles as I tried to recall the stories about the Golden Hind only to have the memory of the kiss intrude over and over again. Even sleep was disturbed by the memory . . . and the feelings. When I finally gave up attempting to sleep, it was still far too early in the morning to go anywhere and Mathias had yet to return.

  Quickly forcing my thoughts away from the dangerous territory of all things Mathias, I turned my attention to eating the cold leftovers from dinner. Fortunately, everything was still palatable and it allowed me to maintain the pretense that two people had eaten dinner. After setting the tray in the hall, I quietly closed the door again. My mind was still filled with disquiet so I decided to get ready for the day and worry about the Hind later.

  The shower was perfectly hot, and my thoughts finally started to unwind along with the knots plaguing my neck and shoulders. As I washed my hair, I remembered what little I knew about the Golden Hind. They were a rare kind of deer with antlers that looked like gold and an almost golden tan hide. They used to be sacred to Artemis . . . and wounding them was strictly forbidden, even today.

  By the time I finished showering and changed into black jeans and a loose green shirt, thoughts of Mathias distracted me again. If this was what a kiss did to me, I definitely couldn’t afford the distraction of further intimacy. A low sigh escaped me as I padded barefoot across the woven rug to sit on the bed once more. It was barely six in the morning, and I was feeling every minute of lost sleep. I lay down and closed my eyes intending to rest for only a few minutes.

  “Lauren.”

  I turned my face away from the whisper, then something touched my shoulder as the whisper came again more insistently, “Lauren. Wake up.”

  Opening my eyes, I stared into icy blue ones. I blinked. Mathias was leaning over me. The warmth of his hand against my bare arm withdrew as soon as I focused on him and he straightened. I bit the inside of my cheek to keep from protesting. It didn’t make any sense to protest the loss of the touch anyway. “Mathias.” Sitting up, I ran a hand through my hair trying to tame the unruly curling. “When did you get back?”

  “Just a few minutes ago.” Mathias glanced away from me as he nodded at the window. The sun was shining brightly down, but the shadows were in the wrong position. I checked my watch, dismayed to see the little hands indicating that it was almost an hour past noon. Mathias was talking again. “It took longer than I anticipated.”

  “What did?”

  “Finding a guide.”

  I frowned at him as I slid off the bed. “Guide? I thought you were only looking for transportation.”

  “We need a guide,” came the quiet, almost cool response.

  Remembering what had happened and almost happened between us, my cheeks grew warm as I offered a slight nod. “Agreed. Having a local with us will no doubt help a great deal.” With everything, I added silently. I glanced at Mathias as I pulled on my hikers. He had changed into dark jeans, a dark grey shirt, and exchanged his wool coat for a black leather jacket. It only added to the fact that with his long lean frame, Mathias reminded me of a lean predator like a cheetah or a sphinx. There was also an air of weariness about him today.

  I opened my mouth, wanting to offer him reassurance that he wasn’t alone in this, but stopped with those three little words poised on my lips. I knew I was in love with him, but finding the right time to tell him seemed far more difficult than I had ever expected. As much as I wanted to say the words now, I knew I couldn’t. Not when he might think it was because I was still caught up in the heat of the moment that lingered after our kiss. Stress and pressure could drive people together after all, and I didn’t want to need to fight against that presumption . . . So, I kept quiet.

  By the time I had made myself presentable and rejoined Mathias, he already had both go bags sitting on the cushioned bench and my coat was resting on the made-up bed. When he turned his head toward me, a frown appeared. “Are you sure about taking the walking boot off?”

  “The doctor said I only needed to wear it for one to two weeks,” I reminded him as I pulled out a dark forest green shawl and went to stand in front of the mirror. Settling the cloth on top of my head, I wrapped the long ends around my neck and shoulders so the folds of the fabric fell in a loose frame around my face. I reached up to adjust the folds, but hesitated when my eyes caught on the gold tattoo. I gave myself a shake and continued ensuring the shawl fell just so as I resumed the conversation. “In any case, how am I supposed to chase a Golden Hind if I’m still wearing a walking boot? Not to mention, the fact that people are much more likely to notice an injury than anything else.”

  Mathias offered no comment, however. When I turned around, he was watching me with an expression that I couldn’t quite
interpret. I opened my mouth to question him, but he stirred from where he had been leaning against the wall. “Are you ready then?”

  I picked up my coat and slipped it on, the leather settling heavily on my shoulders and bringing to mind the memory of Mathias sliding it off. Oh, this was going to be a long trip. I shook away the thoughts even as I offered Mathias a slight smile and nod. “Yes.”

  The hostel was quiet save for the low murmurs of voices in the back of the ground floor, but no one came out to talk to us as we left. I didn’t know if that was a good thing or not. As soon as we stepped outside, I was caught off guard by the sight of two of the most gorgeous horses I had ever seen, even counting the Fae ponies in the Scottish Highlands. They stood tall and elegant despite the clear muscling in their broad chests and legs, which were also long and clean. Their long, thick necks arched beautifully as they turned intelligent dark eyes on us despite the thick, full forelocks flowing down their foreheads. They reminded me very much of Andalusians but they were just enough different, I knew it was impossible. Their coats were also gorgeous. The closest one had a coat the color of burnished gold with a white mane and tail, a single white stocking marking the left rear leg, and a blaze running down from beneath her fluffy forelock. The far horse was equally stunning, if the first’s complete opposite. His body was a bluish-grey but his head, legs, and mane and tail were black. All the signs of a blue roan.

  A new voice spoke in somewhat accented English, each word pronounced with slow care and flavored with cheerfulness. “As I said, friend, no one can deny the beauty of the Nisean horses.”