Saving Her Destiny (11 page)

Heck, she could probably draw the memory up now, if she wanted to.

But it wasn't that big of a deal. It was just…well…it was one of those things that had happened.

Inside those protective wings.

Right?

Yeah, right.

So why did she have such rumblies in her tummy—that weren't from the scream begging to get out—as she watched him and the others outside discussing the merrow?

It's the exhaustion. That whole “he saved me, my hero” thing
, Cara chided herself. It had to be that.
Nothing more.

It couldn't have anything to do with any feelings she had for Duncan for as long as she knew him.

Nope.

The other two fairies disappeared and Duncan came back inside the tent. Silhouetted in the dark, his shoulders were broad and tapered into his hips. In his navy blue wetsuit, he looked quite dashing. Flickers of light danced over the small knives and other pieces of metal he had strapped to himself.

He started removing the weapons and laid them on a low table in the corner of the little cabana. She watched him move, mesmerized by the way his simple actions were so graceful and purposeful.

And surprisingly erotic.

She blushed at the thought.

Whether he noticed, she didn't know, but he didn't acknowledge her probably red-as-an-apple cheeks.

“They're going to keep us informed about what's happening in the kingdom,” Duncan said as he took a seat next to her.

“And what are you doing?”
Cara asked. Shouldn't he be making himself scarce? This cry could erupt at any time.

If she could figure out how to release it, anyway.

And if it didn't, then, well, there would be this big boom, and he'd be caught up in it. He'd be one more casualty in Norton's sick plan. It was bad enough that she was a victim. Not Duncan too. If she had to die, then so be it.

If this was her destiny, then she'd live with that, but she couldn't allow her friend to be a part of it too. It was weird—she didn't understand why or how, but at some point, in the last few moments, she'd accepted the fact that she was going to…

Well, die.

Okay, so maybe she didn't completely accept it yet, because it made a big lump in her throat. But maybe more that she'd resigned herself to the inevitable?

All the more reason she didn't want Duncan here—she didn't want him to tie up his fate with hers. He deserved more than that.

Unaware of her inner turmoil, he waved his wand and a platter of cheeses, meats, and fresh fruit appeared. “I'm hungry. Aren't you?”

“No. Why are you still here?”
Cara asked.

He held a piece of cheese. “Because I'm not leaving you.”

Chapter Twelve

Cara stared at Duncan, her brow furrowed as he swallowed the piece of cheese.

“Why would you stay?”
Her words echoed in his head, a complete thought, yet he could feel so much more—confusion, anger, frustration. So many of her emotions were laced with the words, he took a breath before answering.

“I have to see this through,” he replied. And how else could he articulate it? Just being here, next to her, in the desert of all places.

Alone with her. Truly alone with her. Not where someone would stumble upon them, not at a café where they were chatting over coffee, or even at her parent's house where her mother or father might come in.

No phone to answer, no nosy neighbors, nothing.

Just the two of them.

For the first time in eternity.

It hit him hard how beautiful she had become, how much she'd matured both physically and mentally. The wetsuit she wore hid nothing from his gaze, and he took in the curves of her sides, of her hips, as the curves moved in one fluid motion, those lines that made the gods stand up and take notice. She truly was a work of art.

He'd realized when he first met her that she'd be attractive—her eyes and face shape already alluded to it, but it wasn't until now that he could truly see how she'd matured into a great beauty, since he'd first met her.

Such a change.

Such growth.

He smirked at how she'd grown up, the differences between her now and the young lady he'd met so long ago.

“Why are you laughing? You heard him, I barely have an hour left,”
Cara said. Tears formed in the corners of her eyes, and she brushed them away.

Seeing her tears sent a shockwave of ache through him. This was the last time he'd ever be around her.

The last time he'd ever get to see her.

“Do you find this satisfying? Watching me die?”
She pulled her knees to her chest again, the wet suit groaning as she moved, and she laid her head on her knees, looking away from him.

He felt like a jerk—who knew what she thought he'd been smirking over. “I'm sorry. I was just remembering.”

She turned and looked at him, her eyes glossy from tears unshed
. “Remembering what?”

“When I first met you.”

“Glad I can still amuse you in my final moments.”
She crossed her arms and looked away.
“You don't have to stay
if you're just going to laugh at me.”

“And I said I'm not leaving. I won't leave you alone to die.” He scooted into her and put his hand on her shoulder.

She twisted back toward him again
. “I don't know if that's the nicest thing I've ever heard, or the most demented.”

“Here,” he said and waved his wand again. This time, he materialized a cup of Fairy Tea and handed it to her.

She sniffed it, and a bit of a grin spread over her face.
“You sure you want to give me this?”

“You remember the last time, then?” He would never forget saving her that day.

Cara hesitantly took the cup.
“I remember not being able to sleep for almost a day, I was so wired.”
Yet as she thought that, something else made her cheeks turn several shades of pink.

A thought he couldn't hear.

Intriguing…
He'd always been able to hear most anyone's thoughts whenever it suited him. To see that Cara's learned to shield things from him—that was very impressive.

Her warm cheeks, along with the bit of her dimple from whatever that secret thought was kicked him hard in the gut. And lower places.

Stars, she was beautiful. Her black hair was almost dry and it fluttered around her face as the desert air flickered through the two open walls of the cabana.

He tried to keep his own wandering thoughts under control and pressed the cup into her hands.

“It might make you feel better.”

Cara took a sip. He watched her throat move as she swallowed—which made him feel like a heel, because he wanted to taste that bare skin.

Again.

He'd tasted her once—a long time ago. It had been impulsive at the time—fun that turned intimate. He hadn't meant to let his guard down around her like that—to show her how he felt, but when the chance came, he'd taken it.

In the moment, he'd felt a connection, a need for her, something he'd not felt for anyone in a very long time.

Yet after, she shifted—her attitude was almost blasé about the kiss.

It must not have affected her as much as it had him, because kissing her had turned him into a confused mess.

She hadn't been a charge of his, or in any way under his protection, so there truly was no reason why he couldn't be attracted to her, yet he felt so strange about it. She'd only been twenty at the time—very young compared to his almost three-hundred years.

The emotions had been so strong he hadn't known what to do. So he'd avoided Cara for nearly a year. When they finally saw each other again, whatever it was that had left him so flummoxed obviously had not affected her, because she'd greeted him with her usual enthusiasm.

Like nothing had happened.

Unfortunately, it wasn't that way with him. Even now, knowing what was likely going to happen to her in the next hour, the urges came back—his wanting as strong as ever.

Not to mention his desire not to leave her. He would not let her die by herself.

“Do you remember that day?”
Cara asked.

“Which day?” he asked, jarred from his warring thoughts.

“That day, when you read my palm?”

He nodded. “Yes.” The same day they'd kissed, he'd read her palm, in hopes to find something to cheer her up, make her more excited about the prospect of the future so she wouldn't dwell on her ex-boyfriend and his infidelity.

“It said it would be eight years until I was with the person I'm supposed to be with.”

“Yes,” he whispered again and mentally started counting backwards to when that was. He had a sneaking suspicion the anniversary wasn't that long ago.

“That was eight years ago, last week.”
Cara confirmed his mental math.

Duncan's stomach dropped. Had someone new come into her life? Was there a boyfriend he knew nothing about? Someone who would miss her when she was gone?

Duncan would. Their friendship was so special to him—he had nothing to compare it to. No one he'd dated in the last fifty years had as much of a connection to him as Cara. When he woke, he wanted to talk to her over his morning cup of tea. Every day.

More than that, he wanted his own Happily Ever After. Like his brother Ewan and his sister-in-law Christy had.

Yet the one person he felt closer to than anyone in the Realm was this banshee who was about to explode. And here she was, having found someone that he'd predicted would come to her. Her own Happily Ever After.

He should be happy for her. He knew that. Nonetheless, a pain built in his chest that felt like it would rip him apart. One that grew worse when he thought about her with someone else than losing her all together.

He coughed down the pain. “Is there… Do I need to, uh, contact someone for you?”

Her shoulders slumped and she shook her head.
“That isn't why I bring that up.”

“So why?” If she didn't have a new boyfriend, why would she mention that palm reading?

“You said I would find my destiny in eight years. That I would be with the person I was supposed to spend my days with in eight years.”
She met his gaze, her eyes dark, her lashes lowered as she clenched the cup.

“I'm sorry I was wrong, Cara.”

“I don't think you were.”
She nested the cup in a crook between two of the pillows and tilted her chin down. The wafting aroma of the tea wrapped around them—both sweet and tart at the same time, distinct and unique, like this moment between them.

It clicked in his head where she was going with her train of thoughts. Who she meant.

He put his hand on her chin and brought her head up so he could look in her eyes—eyes that sparkled so beautifully.

She meant him
.

His gut roiled, because there was nothing more that he wanted than to be with her. Yet, she wasn't immortal like him. She was a banshee with a mostly mortal life span. He still had a good fifty or sixty years on his FID contract.

How could they—

“Duncan?”

“Yeah,” he answered.

“Will you do something for me?”

“Anything you want,” Duncan replied as he pushed away his thoughts—obsessing about futures was a moot point. He wouldn't live past today anyway—if her scream erupted, it would take him right along with her.

And he wouldn't be able to live with himself if he left her now. He'd lived a very long life, if he was going to die, so be it. At least he'd be with Cara.

Her hands trembled as she took another sip of the tea. He guessed she was only pretending to be calm. She sat the cup back in the little nest of pillows.

“Kiss me?”

He blinked. “What?” Had he heard that right? Had she just asked him to kiss her?

“Will. You. Kiss. Me?”

She had asked him what he thought she'd asked him.

She shook her head.
“It's okay, forget I asked. I'm sorry. I just… It seemed so likely, that maybe…yeah. The whole
about to die
thing is making me think crazy stuff. Never mind. Just, forget it, okay? I thought maybe, since, well. Yeah. I don't know what I was thinking. I'm sorry.”
She scooted away from him.

And it hit him. Hard.

Exactly what she meant. Exactly. And he felt like a bonehead for not realizing it immediately, bringing up the palm reading, the eight years, all of it.

Her.

And him.

He
was her destiny.

“Yes,” he whispered. “I would be honored to.”

She faced him, her mouth open in a little ‘O', her eyes wide as she stared at him.

He stroked her fingers with his and leaned in closer to her. Their hands laced as he brushed her cheek with the back of his other palm, and then he cupped her face. Her skin was so soft, so smooth—it felt more wonderful than the finest silks.

He ran his thumb over her dimple.

“I always loved this dimple,” he whispered.

She raised her eyebrow.
“My dimple? That's kinda weird, fairy.”

“I'm a weird guy.”

She smiled.
“But you're my weird guy.”

“Yes,” he whispered as his thumb slid over her jaw, then across her lips. “I am yours, Cara. I think I always have been.”

She inhaled a breath.

He felt the slight bit of moisture as he stroked her lower lip. His chest pounded, and every part of himself filled with need.

How long had he wanted to do this? Longer than he could remember.

After all, they were friends.

But he loved her. He loved her so much, he would never leave her. If he couldn't save her, then he'd spend his dying moments with her, because he would not let her die alone.

He leaned closer, reminding himself to be chaste and gentlemanly. She didn't need to know what a heathen he could be when his carnal desires came to the surface. And those desires boiled under his skin—having nothing to do with the warm desert, either.

“Are you sure?”
His telepathy nudged her.

A tiny smile quirked over her lips, and she wrapped her arms around his neck. One of her hands slid into his hair and pulled him to her.

And as soon as their lips touched, he was certain too.

Oh yes. She was sure.

Carnal desire surged through him, and he had his hand on the back of her neck, pulling her more into the kiss. Warm and sweet—remnants of the Fairy Tea still on her lips—but more than that. This tasted like heaven.

Like pure, tactile joy.

In a moment, their lips parted—who opened their lips first, he didn't know, but his tongue stole the opening to taste her.

He
had
to taste her
.

There was no holding back the desire thundering through his veins. Strong and powerful, this need inside beat against his skin, desperate for release.

They parted, and a smile spread over Cara's face. She opened her mouth, as if to sigh or speak, or even moan, but no sound came out. She didn't let go of him; instead met his eyes with her own piercing stare.

“You are an amazing kisser.”

He smirked. “You're not too bad yourself.”

She pulled herself toward him again.
“I think we need to do this again.”

“Yes,” Duncan whispered. This time, there wasn't any hesitation. They both attacked each other with a fevered passion. Cara clawed at his shoulders, and he tangled his fingers in her hair. They tumbled back on the bed of pillows, and their kiss broke.

At least, from each other's lips.

Instead, Duncan kissed her on her neck, to taste that flesh he'd so wanted to feel just minutes before.

And it was exquisite. He ran his lips down her throat, and her body shook against him, her hips pressing into his stomach. His hands glided over the heavy fabric of the wetsuit covering her from top to bottom.

She pushed against him.
“Get off…”

Duncan jerked, suddenly afraid he'd pushed too far, that his need had overpowered his common sense. “I'm sorry, I—”

She shook her head and touched his cheek.
“No. Get this off.”
She pulled at the back of her neck where the suit was slightly unzipped.

“Let me help you,” Duncan said.

She twisted around, and he eased the long tether on the zipper down. The fabric spread open, revealing her skin, like a private strip show. She rolled it off her shoulder, and glanced at him. He leaned in and pressed a kiss on the back of her neck. Then across her shoulders and down to the partially opened zipper.