Authors: Coreene Callahan
Henrik shook his head even as his chest went tight. He refused to let it happen. Or allow himself such leeway. No matter how painful—or how much his heart yearned for her—he’d collect the moments, soak up every minute he spent with her, then do the honorable thing and let her go.
“Uh-oh.”
A death grip on the need to claim her, he cleared his throat. “What?”
“You’ve that look about you.”
“Which one is that?”
“The remorse-filled one, bu
t . . .
” Stuffing a bar of soap inside, she flipped the satchel closed. Rusty hinges creaked as she swung the lopsided door shut. Soft, yet startling in the silence, the gentle bang made him flinch. Facing him now, she leveled him with a no-nonsense look. “We agreed, Henrik. No regrets, remember?”
“I remember,” he said, regrets already circlin
g . . .
the kind that whispered:
take a chance
,
stay for once, tell her how you feel
.
“All right, then,” she said, tone quiet yet somehow all business. Slinging the strap over her shoulder, she stepped around the edge of the table and stopped in front of him. Unable to stop himself, his hands found her waist. Her mouth curved a second before she popped onto her tiptoes and kissed him. “Let’s go.”
“Cosmin
a . . .
” he murmured, drawing her closer, his mouth brushing hers. “You are the most extraordinary person I’ve ever met.”
Pleasure lit in her eyes. She kissed him again, teasing him with her taste. “I’m an even better swimmer, s
o . . .
bring it on. Let’s see what you’ve got.”
His lips twitched. “Way too confident,
iubita
.”
“You won’t think so when I drown you.”
He laughed, the unexpected threat lightening his mood.
Eyes sparkling with mischief, she grabbed his hand and, with a solid tug, drew him toward the door. He went without a fight, allowing her to lead, enjoying the easy banter and the promise of a playful swim. It wouldn’t last long. The moment she shed her clothes, it would be over. He wouldn’t be able to resist her. Would want to be deep inside her again while warm water swirled around him, and she moaned his name.
Over and over. Again and again.
Anticipation picked him up, making his heart thump and his muscles twitch. Not surprising. She had a way about her. Everything she did cranked him tight—her laugh, her imprudence, the way she challenged and amused him. The thing he liked the best, though, was her acceptance. Without even trying, Cosmina made him feel valued, needed, and best of all, wanted. A potent combination when it came to an impertinent redhead with a mind of her own and the skill set to back it up.
“I want you again.”
Glancing over her shoulder, she unlatched the door and raised a brow. “And you call me insatiable?”
“Can’t be helped,” he said as she pulled the door wide. Winter air rolled in on a cold tide, helping to cool his ardor. “You’re irresistible.”
She huffed. “Smooth talker.”
“Beautiful temptress.” Turning his hand, Henrik laced their fingers together.
She drew a quick breath. Her expression shifted, moving from playful t
o . . .
Henrik frowned. He didn’t know exactly. She’d gone from teasing to serious in a heartbeat. And as she stared at him, he read the subtle tension in her frame, felt the air thicken, and something weighty settle between them. He opened his mouth to ask. She shook her head, lightheartedness returning, the strain in her eyes fading so fast Henrik wondered whether he’d imagined i
t . . .
and what it meant. Not giving him a moment to reflect, Cosmina squeezed his hand, pulled him over the threshold and into the open air. Dusk descended, frosting the treetops with silver strokes. Faint, but growing brighter by the moment, stars dotted a cloudless sky as the moon awoke and—
Cosmina stopped short in front of him.
As he bumped into her, her tension registered. Henrik reacted. Shoving her behind him, he palmed one of his daggers and, scanning the clearing in front of the cottage, pulled the blade free.
“No need, H.”
The deep voice slithered through his mind. Magic flared, throbbing between his temples as static washed in, then out, and the connection strengthened.
“’Tis just me.”
Knifepoint raised, Henrik’s focus snapped left. His eyes narrowed.
“Christ, Tareek.”
“Hello to you too.”
Arms crossed, one shoulder propped against the cottage cornerstone, Tareek raised a brow, a look of censure in his eyes.
“Nice of you to finally come up for air.”
“Don’t.”
“What?”
“Disrespect her.”
Tareek snorted.
“’Tis no failing of hers,
fratele
. ’Tis you I’m admonishing. You’ve been in there for nearly two days.”
Henrik frowned.
Two days.
Really? The time span seemed a stretch but, wel
l . . .
hell, ’twas possible. The cottage was well supplied—lots of food, an ample water supply, two long stacks of wood against the long wall—and honestly, he’d been so wrapped up in Cosmina, the sky could’ve fallen and he might not have noticed.
“Jesus.”
Tareek’s mouth curved.
“Lost track of time, did you?”
“I’m not apologizing.”
“Did I ask you to?”
Nay. But then, Tareek never did. He accepted his faults instead, supporting him unconditionally, backing him up, hammering some sense into him when necessary. An excellent friend in every way, even if it meant enduring the occasional scolding. This time, though, Henrik was hard-pressed to feel bad about leaving his friend out in the cold.
“She needed me.”
Amusement sparked in his friend’s eyes.
“I’m sure.”
Henrik sighed.
Cosmina nudged him from behind. “Henrik, is everything all right?”
He wanted to say no. Not far from the truth considering Tareek was a meddlesome prick. Henrik glanced over his shoulder instead. His chest went tight as he met her gaze. Worry swam in its depths, the kind he didn’t like and wanted to shield her from. An absurd reaction considering he wouldn’t be around much longer. But the compulsion refused to leave him alone. So forget denial. For as long as he was around, he would protect her. From worry. From fear. From idiot dragon-shifters who enjoyed teasing and never let anything go.
“All good, Cosmina.” Sheathing his blade, he tugged her out from behind him. “’Tis just Tareek.”
“Just?”
Tareek scoffed, the sound of derision echoing through mind-speak. Slapping a hand over his heart, his friend went the dramatic route.
“You wound me.”
“Not yet.”
Flexing his fists, Henrik glared at his friend.
“But it’s coming to that.”
Grinning like an idiot, Tareek pushed away from his perch. Boots rasping over the frozen turf, he focused on Cosmina and tipped his chin. “My lady.”
“Nay, pleas
e . . .
call me Cosmina,” she said, shifting closer to Henrik as Tareek approached. Eying his friend, she tilted her head. The soft strands of her hair brushed against Henrik’s upper arm. Goose bumps rose on his skin as something unexpected moved behind her eyes. Henrik tensed, recognizing her expression. ’Twas a look he’d seen before, one that heralded insight and spoke of premonition. She blinked, thick lashes flickering before her focus sharpened on Tareek once more. “You’re the dragon.”
Tareek’s mouth curved. “Guilty as charged.”
“Well then, thank you,” she said, tone soft, words sure.
“For what?” his friend asked.
She glanced at Henrik, then back at Tareek. “For getting us out of the cemetery alive.”
The gratitude threw Tareek. Henrik could see it in his eyes, which—God help him—was fun to watch. Not much surprised his friend, never mind made him squirm. But as Cosmina held Tareek’s gaze, pulling information about him out of the ether, the dragon-shifter flinched, unease rising like a cloud around him.
“Hristos, H,”
Tareek said, switching to mind-speak. As though unable to handle her intensity, he rolled his shoulders and broke eye contact, dragging his gaze from Cosmina. Expression shuttered, he drilled Henrik with a look.
“She’s powerful.”
“I know.”
Brows furrowed, Tareek cleared his throat. “Henrik, a word?”
Quick to comprehend, Cosmina took the cue. Adjusting the satchel on her shoulder, she bumped his shoulder, and stepping around him, pointed to a trail across the clearing. “Meet you at the hot spring?”
He nodded. “Meet you there.”
With a good-bye to Tareek, she skirted him and started across the clearing. Tree limbs creaked as silence swelled in her wake. She didn’t look back. Didn’t slow one iota in the hopes of eavesdropping either. Pace steady, she hopped over a fallen log halfway across the dell. Her feet landed with a crunch. The satchel flapped against her back. The soft slap echoed, drifting through the quiet as she stepped onto the trailhead. The second she disappeared from view, Henrik scanned the open space, picking up details he’d neglected earlier. Embers aglow in the round pit in the center of the clearing, fire banked beneath a roasting spit. Bedrolls piled to the right of the fire pit. Horses tethered and half-asleep in a small pen to the right of the cottage.
No one in sight. No movement anywhere near the dell.
His attention drifted back to Tareek. “Where are the others?”
“Hunting. We’ve no wish to deplete Cosmina’s winter stores.”
Good plan. Particularly since he couldn’t stand the thought of Cosmina suffering. He wanted her hale and whole, with enough to eat after he left, not hungry in the dead of winter. “And Thea?”
“So besotted with Kazim, she’s allowed us free reign.” Henrik snorted in amusement. Tareek’s lips twitched. “The Persian is handy to have around. I’ve no wish to be held prisoner by the Limwoods again.”
The tidbit tweaked his curiosity. Henrik raised a brow. “Again?”
“Long story. Not important.” With a shrug, Tareek waved a hand in dismissal, then frowned, and glanced toward the trailhead. “’Tis a dangerous game you are playing,
fratele
.”
No question. Without a doubt. “I know what I am doing.”
“Be sure, Henrik. The Blessed is not your usual fare. You like he
r . . .
”
Henrik snorted. Right.
Like
. ’Twas too mild a word for what he felt for Cosmina. Obsessive. Possessive. Consumed. Neck-deep in trouble without the necessary tools to pull himself free. Pick one. Apply them all. No matter how hard he fought, the truth couldn’t be denied. He craved her to the point of witlessness.
“She has her claws in you. You enjoy her company too much.” Tareek palmed his shoulder and squeezed. The gentle pump put him on edge. He didn’t want to talk about it, but resistance always proved futile when Tareek latched on. His friend loved him. Wanted to protect him and, like it or nay, Henrik returned the sentiment. So forget telling Tareek to shut his mouth and mind his own business. It wouldn’t happen. “’Twill be hard for you to leave her when ’tis time to go.”
“Not even a little,” he said, lying through his teeth.
His friend treated him to a sharp look. “Cosmina knows she cannot come with us, aye?”
“She knows.”
“Good.” Nodding in approval, Tareek shifted gears, changing the subject. “Any progress with the Goddess of All Things?”
Henrik shook his head. “She is not answering my summons.”
“Huh.” Tareek pursed his lips. A thoughtful look in his eyes, he glanced across the clearing. His gaze narrowed on the trail to the hot spring. “Mayhap you’ve no need of the goddess.”
His thoughtful tone got Henrik’s attention. Tareek was always full of ways to get around a problem. “Lay it out.”
“Who told you the bastards are called the Druinguari?”
“Cosmina, after the attack in High Temple.”
“S
o . . .
”
“Shit,” he muttered, following his friend’s train of thought. “You think Cosmina knows how to kill them.”
“Stands to reason. She is an oracle,
H . . .
a Seer of unprecedented power.”
“She would have told me, Tareek. Cosmina isn’t the sort to hold back. She knows I need that information. She wouldn’
t . . .
” He trailed off as an idea sparked to life. Tareek raised a brow. Henrik exhaled in a rush, the epiphany hitting him like a lightning bolt. “Unless she has no idea that she knows.”
“Exactly.”
Made sense. On so many levels.
He understood Cosmina’s struggle. Her frustration too. She didn’t receive all the information at once. That, however, didn’t mean she didn’t possess all the pieces. It simply meant she couldn’t fit enough of them together at any one time, which made it difficult for her to interpret the whole.
And that left him with no ou
t . . .
and only one option. “Goddamn it.”
“You were given the gift of Thrall for a reason, Henrik. ’Tis time to put your talent to good use.” Tareek slapped his shoulder, his palm cracked against his leather tunic, shredding the quiet, echoing across the clearing. “Read her mind, my friend. Control the mental scope to find the truth, and we will—”
“Discover the bastards’ weakness,” he said, finishing his friend’s sentence while hating the implications.
The last thing he wanted to do was to use Thrall and invade Cosmina’s mind. ’Twas the worse sort of betrayal, a terrible breach of trust. But as he shrugged off Tareek’s hold, Henrik knew his friend was right. He couldn’t obtain the information he needed any other way. The goddess refused to answer. Cosmina didn’t know that she knew, s
o . . .
no way around, through, or over it. He must face reality head-on and come to terms with necessity.
No matter how much he disliked it.
His comrades were counting on him. Life or death. Love and loyalty. His mission’s success or failure depended on his ability to discover the enemy’s weakness. Which left him nowhere to hide and even less room to run. It needed to be done, and he must be the one to do it. But as Tareek left his side and retreated to the middle of the dell, Henrik’s sense of fair play squawked. Goddamn the goddess and her selfish ways. Her neglect had brought him her
e . . .
to the point of no return, a place that made his heart ache and his soul burn. And yet he stood still and silent, without a counterargument as he watched Tareek shift into dragon form and take to the sky—wings spread wide, red scales flashing in the gloom, snowflakes awhirl in his wake.