Knight Awakened (Circle of Seven #1) (39 page)

“One more time, love.”

Pulling back, he plunged forward, his hips driving hers. He wasn’t gentle. He was ruthless, bringing her body back to life one merciless stroke at a time. Then again, he’d warned her. This coupling was about need and lust, about his drive to dominate, not coddle her. But even as he ruled her body he murmured, telling her she was beautiful—how much he needed her, wanted her, couldn’t live without her.

His words and heat and heart awakened her own, and she rose, mind, body, and soul to meet him. She took him all. She took him deep, rocking into each thrust, taking him on a trip of unmitigated delight as she showed how much she loved him.

Xavian’s bed was the nicest she’d ever slept in. Not that it was bigger than the one in the master chamber. The mattress wasn’t thicker. The bedding wasn’t softer. There were no tassels, fluffy pillows, or fur throws. In fact, the bed was just that—a bed with an ordinary patchwork quilt thrown over the whole. Although the posts rising from each corner were undeniably spectacular. Hand carved, the wood gleamed with high polish, each pillar the image of a woman, the uneven stone walls the only frame for her beauty.

Afina’s gaze roamed from one post to the next. Each paid homage to a different season. Winter dressed warmly. Spring held a sprig of new growth. Summer wore little more than a thin robe. And fall’s arms overflowed with the bounty of harvest. But the woman’s face was the same in each, the grace of her features sculpted into every hollow and curve.

Afina frowned. She knew that face, had—

A big hand curled around her breast. Hmm, here was the reason she liked this bed best. Xavian was in it with her. Afina turned toward him, arching into the warmth of his touch. Pushing up onto one elbow, he hummed and lowered his head. His thumb caressed the thrust of her nipple as his mouth paid homage to its mate. He suckled gently and she twisted, more than ready for another bout of lovemaking.

Beautiful man.

He’d loved her so well the second time, slow and sweet, without the urgency. She’d enjoyed him both ways. Dominant and demanding, reverent and gentle...it didn’t matter. She wanted him however he came to her.

Afina slid her hands into his hair. The curling ends played between her fingers, painting her palms with softness. He flicked her with his tongue. She moaned, shifted beneath him, asking for more. He raised his head. His gaze met hers and searched, wandering deep as if to solve some great mystery.

A slight crease between his brows, he broke eye contact to focus on one of the bedposts. “Mother Nature.”

Afina sighed. Drat. He wanted to talk instead of make love. She squashed her sudden burst of frustration. There were worse things than lying abed naked with Xavian...and not many better.

“Goddess of all things,” she murmured, her gaze drifting to spring. “You carved each one?”

Xavian nodded. “I dream of her often...have since my youth.”

The breath stalled in Afina’s chest. “Who...the goddess?”

“Aye.”

Mother Mary. The goddess had visited him. Afina didn’t know whether to be offended or not. Jealousy was a petty reaction, she knew that, but Afina couldn’t help herself. The goddess had made the trip for Xavian while never once bothering with her. She’d spent her youth floundering, vulnerable to her mother’s many attacks. And where had the goddess been when she needed her? Drifting around in Xavian’s dreams.

It was a bitter draught to swallow. Afina swallowed it anyway. None of what had happened to her was Xavian’s fault. He’d been under attack too—fighting to survive—and if the goddess had helped him through those awful years? Good on her.
Afina had always had Bianca, a warm place to sleep, and good food to eat. Xavian had possessed none of that.

Her throat tightened. He’d endured so much with Al Pacii. Henrik hadn’t wanted to tell her at first, but with every conversation she’d pulled more out of her brother...until a river of information had flowed. She knew what Xavian had been—and in some ways still was.

She stroked her hands over the tops of his shoulders. None of that mattered to her. She accepted him for what he was...for what he’d been trained and tortured to become.

With gentle fingers, she traced the arch of his eyebrow. “Does she speak to you?”

He shook his head.

“What, then?”

“Naught.” He shifted, as though uncomfortable with the question. “They were just dreams, Afina. A lad’s imaginings, naught more.”

Afina’s fingertips slowed then stilled, coming to rest on his biceps. He was hiding something...and lying to her. Oh, no. Xavian—the one who insisted on honesty—was skirting the truth.

A prickle of unease ghosted beneath her skin. “Xavian...look at me.”

His brows contracted so hard a ridge pushed up between them.

“Please.”

Muscle rippled, responding to his tension as his shoulders bunched up hard.

Afina chewed on the inside of her cheek. What tack should she take with him? He was shutting down, resetting his shields, and Lord knew, that was the last thing she needed from him. The
bond she sensed growing between them wasn’t strong enough yet to survive his retreat. If he left now, before they’d settled the rest, he would go and never come back.

His hand slid from her breast, leaving her cold. Her heart responded, kicked into a gallop, urging her to wrap her arms around him and hold on tight. She stilled the need. That wouldn’t work. Not with Xavian. The harder she held on, the faster he’d slip away. The trick was to move slowly, to draw him in with soft words until his vulnerability gave way to trust.

She raised her hand and cupped his cheek. He flinched but remained with her, allowing the caress. With a murmur, she smoothed her hand along his jaw, taking in the sharp prickle of whiskers and the deep furrow between his brows. Gentle but sure, she turned his face toward her own. His throat worked and he refused to meet her gaze.

“Xavian?” Her tone was soft, undemanding, more entreaty than question.

“’Tis insane.”

“No,” she whispered, understanding a loud echo in her mind. He was embarrassed over some imagined weakness. And like all warriors, weakness of any kind was never welcome. “She visits me too.”

His gaze shot to hers. Surprise shimmered in the light blue depths.

“I heard her voice after...ah, when we made love in the stable,” she said in a rush. He was so close to leaving her. Afina sensed it, saw it in his face. “Then she came to me at the burn...when you gave me the trews...and...I spoke with her. She warned me of the dragons and promised to visit me.”

“Here?” Both his brows rose. “At Drachaven?”

Afina nodded.

“Have you spoken to her before?”

“No, but I’ve always known she exists...my mother told me so.” Even though she told herself not to, her hands tightened on his arms. She couldn’t let him go, not now, not ever. “She is real, Xavian. You did not imagine her.”

He glanced away. His chest rose and fell. Afina breathed with him. In. Out. Mimicking his movements. The sound of the smithy’s hammer echoed, clanging as the fire crackled, interrupting the silence. Uncertainty burned in the center of her chest. She felt like the ash beneath the flame, grey and useless, without the strength to influence the blaze above.

The logs shifted on the grate and a cracking pop burst into the chamber. Xavian stared at the embers, expression set, eyes serious.

“As a lad I needed her.”

His voice was low and full of gravel, but his hand returned, sliding along her thigh. His palm in the hollow, he curled his fingers around her hip, anchoring himself, pleasing her. Thank the Gods. His shields were coming back down. He was going to talk to her. Afina murmured, encouraging him to continue.

Xavian cleared his throat. “I’d close my eyes, go to sleep, and she would...”

“What?”

His gaze flicked to hers then away. “Hold me. Keep me safe in my dreams, away from Halál and the horrors of the day.”

She brushed the hair away from his forehead. “I am glad.”

“She never comes anymore.”

“You are a grown man now. Strong enough to protect yourself and others. And mayhap...”

“Mayhap?”

“She no longer visits because you no longer need her...” Afina took a deep breath, setting her courage. “Because you have left Al Pacii.”

Xavian went rigid. His hand flexed then bit into her hip.

She stayed perfectly still. Mentioning the group of assassins was a risk, but she needed him to know that she knew. Henrik had told her everything. She understood where Xavian had grown up; what Halál had done to him and her brother. The bastard had hurt them so badly. Xavian needed to know she would never judge him for his past. He didn’t need to hide it from her...there was no shame in what he’d been made to do. The fact he’d survived—been able to walk away with his soul intact—was a miracle.

“Henrik,” he growled, murder in his voice.

“Yes. I have spent a lot of time—”

“Rahat!”

A muscle jumped in his jaw as he rolled away from her. Afina clung to him, following the explosion. Wrapping her arms around his shoulders, she threw her leg over his thighs and straddled his hips. He sat up on the edge of the bed and, spanning her waist, prepared to toss her aside.

She hung on, her grip desperate, her heart galloping like a runaway horse. “Don’t!”

“Jesu, you do not know me—”

“Yes, I do.”

“—or what I am capable of. You shouldn’t—”

Afina slapped her fingers over his mouth. “Be quiet...be quiet and listen.”

His jaw tightened beneath her hand, but merciful goddess, he stayed silent.

“I do know you...better than I know myself.” He tried to protest. She pressed against his lips. If she was going to win, she must have her say...without him interrupting. “I know you think it’s important...your past, all of the things you’ve done. But I don’t care about any of that. I want you regardless and need you more.”

“Afina...” His hands flexed on her waist. Afina dug in, arms firm around his shoulders, knees pressed to the mattress. “I am not the man you think I am.”

“True. You are much more.”

“Christ, you have no idea wh—”

“Why do you think the goddess visited you all these years?” Looking him square in the eye, she pushed him past his doubts and into the truth. “Why, Xavian?”

He shook his head, shifting a little beneath her.

“She was keeping you safe until you held the skills you needed...to protect me. The goddess doesn’t do random, my love. She chose you for me.”

Xavian stared at her, open-mouthed.

“I am sorry for what you endured with that mad man. If I could, I would take it all away, but I need you as you are. Strong, skilled, smart...sometimes brutal like you were with the slavers. Who else can protect me but you?” She kept her tone soft, but without a hint of remorse. The instant he detected pity, he’d throw her off and disappear. “I am not ordinary. Much as I wish otherwise, I have accepted it. I cannot have an ordinary mate...I need
you
.”

“
Draga
,” he whispered, the pain in his eyes almost more than she could bear. “I am damaged goods. You do not know what you are asking.”

“Yes, I do.” Holding his face in her palms, she leaned in to kiss him softly. He allowed the caress, but didn’t kiss her back.
“You are mine as much as I am yours. We are bonded and I...I love you. I cannot survive without you now.”

“You love me?” He whispered the words slowly, as though he spoke a foreign language, one he didn’t understand.

She nodded. “And you love me too.”

As she pulled away, Afina saw the truth. The love he’d tried to hide was there for her to see, but so too were regret and guilt. She murmured, the sound pleading. Xavian closed his eyes. On a rough exhale he bowed his head. Afina tilted her chin, making space as he nestled his face against the curve of her throat. She cupped his nape with one hand and stroked his spine with the other, willing him to relax, wanting him to accept.

“Be with me, just...
be
with me. We will face the future together.”

His arms slid around her, brought her closer as a shudder racked him. “I am no good for you.”

“Not true.”

“Jesu, I had it all planned, but I never expected...”

Holding him tight, Afina waited.

Finally he said, “You. I never expected you.”

“Too bad,” she said, rocking him in her arms. “I am here to stay.”

He huffed, the laugh half-amusement, half-despair, and Afina knew she had won. Whatever the future—however soon her enemies attacked, uncertain or not—he would stay and fight by her side.

Shay crouched behind a large rock, close enough to see, far enough to stay out of view. Damnation, Vladimir Barbu was smart. The bastard wasn’t approaching Drachaven from the usual paths. He was making his own, cutting through heavy brush to reach the great fortress undetected. Most of his men remained five leagues away, tucked away in the forest. With only a handful of men he approached on silent feet, looking for weaknesses, weighing his options, calculating the odds.

From his position thirty feet away, Shay watched Barbu motion to his men. He spread them out, keeping ten paces between each man. Canny. The distance kept the sound of their boots in the underbrush to a minimum. Not as quiet as his, but effective nonetheless. Christ, the bastard was dangerous. Not good for Ram. Even worse for the woman Barbu was after.