Swan felt heat rise
from her chest to her hairline and dressed with Ashanti’s assistance. Once she
left Ashanti’s chamber, Raphael took her arm and silently guided her through
the darkened passages back to the great hall.
She couldn’t help
but wonder why they would be summoned so late--the witching hour if the sky
could be trusted--but she appreciated being included in any discussions that
concerned her. It was great evidence they began to respect her.
Raphael led Swan
up the center walkway, guided only by the watered light of the moons shining
through the skylight. He took her past the dais, to a chamber cloaked by an
indistinct tapestry. Drawing the fabric aside, he pushed the oaken door open,
releasing a flood of amber light into the darkness.
Inside, a fire
warmed the close room, flaming braziers lined the walls, and padded chairs hugged
the space nearest the blaze. A man sat in one of the leopardesque chairs. He
stood at their entrance, facing them.
Crossing the
threshold, they stepped into the room. Half blinded by the brilliance so sharp
against the darkness, Swan’s eyes widened as her vision adjusted to the light,
halting before the man. Raphael and he each exchanged greetings and still she
looked on, amazed. What she thought to be only a trick of the light was
not--his skin was the color of gold, his hair a cerulean wave around his
shoulders.
“I’m am called
Syrian, Lady Swan,” the strange man introduced himself, his sapphire eyes
flashing as he took her lax hand and pressed soft metallic lips to its back.
“I’m pleased to
make your acquaintance. But ... how do you know me?” she asked, withdrawing
her hand and glancing at Raphael. She hadn’t thought he’d been away from her
long enough to speak to more than the lord of Ravenel.
“Lord Blasien
spoke of your predicament. I am sorcerer and adviser to him while I choose to
stay.”
Of course he’d
done so. It made sense that her presence be made known. Her thinking was
clouded from her encounter with Raphael. Syrian beckoned they sit, and Swan
smiled and complied, Raphael sitting in a leisurely manner beside her.
“Pray tell, why
have you asked to see me this night, Raphael? Looking to the flame is
wearying.”
“My apologies,
Syrian, but I did not think the matter could wait. Swan, tell him how you came
to be here.”
At her
hesitation, Raphael took her hand and cradled it in his callused palms,
offering silent support. Her fingers tingled from the contact. Swan took a
deep breath, and slowly related Morvere’s betrayal, his spell, her suspicions
of continued machinations.
Syrian’s eyes
darkened as she finished. He rubbed his jaw line in contemplation. “Such a
spell is easily laid, for even the amateur mage can curse when weaned from
their master. When your finger is returned, the spell will be broken. His
death will most likely break the enchantment. What disturbs me is this spell
that transported you to Shadowmere. Such as that requires a great swell of
power ... a sign the humans are advancing in their abilities, though it is not
easily recovered. It takes time to heal from a spell of this magnitude. If he
aims to take Avonleigh, he must replenish it soon.”
“I’d not known
sorcerers had need of recovery,” Swan said.
“Humans have not
the ability to regenerate as we do. Expelling energy is much the same as
receiving a mortal blow, though more akin to a strike on the spirit.”
It made sense.
Power did not come without great cost.
“It is risky
striking in Avonleigh. His forces would cut us down, not to mention an attack
would signal the beginning of war.” Raphael leaned forward, releasing her
hand. “What think you, Syrian? I sense your thoughts echo mine.”
Syrian smiled
grimly, steepled his forefingers beneath his chin. “In the Skarlothian
mountain range, there lies a secret, hidden from mortals save but a precious
few. It is a pool of water unlike any known, liquid like molten silver.”
“One of the seven
pools of Lysia,” Raphael murmured.
“One of two now,
unless there are others across the Rycarthian straights. The rest were
destroyed with the collapse of great mountains atop them, never to be dug free
and used again. The only other Lysian pool is in Shadowmere. It takes a coven’s
power to destroy one, my skill is not enough, but if the Skarlothian pool is
disabled--”
“He will be
forced to come to Shadowmere.” Raphael smiled darkly. “How soon can you be
ready to make the journey, Syrian?”
“Balian’s call
drained me. I will likely sleep through the day.”
Raphael nodded,
thoughtful. “I had not considered the disturbance in the land was his doing.”
“The ocean of
lost souls churns as never before.”
“It explains
much. I fear our journey to human lands will only worsen the situation. It is
good the Skarlothian pool cannot be destroyed. I’d not give the humans more
reason to invade.”
They may as well
have been speaking Lizzarian for all that she understood their doom and gloom
predictions. What irked more was the distinct feeling that Raphael planned to
go to the pool with Syrian--alone.
“Where do I fit
in with your plans?” she asked, crossing her arms over her chest.
Raphael slid her
a glance. Syrian fell silent--wise man that he was. “You will stay here,
under Ravenel’s protection.”
Swan had been
patient during their exchange, but the thought of being abandoned was too
much. “This is my fight. I go too, where ever you may roam.”
He gave her a
long, measuring look. “You would only hinder us.” He appeared to regret his
words, yet she was not fooled by his facade.
She seethed
inside, unable to believe he’d uttered such nonsense. She was a ruler as much
as he, a person of responsibility. Never had she been accused of hindrance to
another. “You have no knowledge of my skills. On human soil, I can hold my
own. Give me a blade and I will prove my worth.”
“I respect your
courage, Swan, but it is misplaced. I’ll not have your life placed in
Morvere’s path again.”
“And your life is
less valuable than mine own? My sister is in danger. I cannot sit idly by. I
will go mad with worry.” His jaw remained stubbornly set, his will as hard as
stone. “I can’t stay here! Th-they want to eat me!”
Raphael gave her
a pitying look. “You’ll find that everywhere in Shadowmere. It is the spell
you are under--they smell prey beneath the surface. Until it is removed,
you’ll not be safe. Blasien controls Ravenel. No harm will come to you here.”
“If that is so,
then why the marking?”
His jaw
twitched. She’d discovered a flaw in his thinking.
“No. My word is
final,” he said tightly.
Pig-headed,
stubborn, mule of a man! It mattered not that he wished to protect her. She
was not some jewel to be hidden away, nor was she his possession to control.
She’d sought help, not a master.
We shall see
whose word is final, she fumed mentally.
CHAPTER EIGHT
The distance
between them was immeasurable. As long as she was human and he a beast, it
would always stand as a barrier. He couldn’t see her as anything but helpless
and vulnerable to attack. She’d had no chance to prove otherwise.
Swan listened to
the soft click as Raphael closed the bed chamber’s door. “Dawn approaches.
You’ve but a few hours to rest as you are now.”
She hadn’t
realized so much time had passed. “How can you know?”
“Those with the
bond of vampires, their blood and lusts, know the rise and fall of the sun
without looking. Few hunters venture into the daylight. Most are not strong
enough to withstand its power.” He moved behind her, too near for comfort.
Placing his hands on her bare shoulders, he nuzzled her hair, breathing deeply
of her scent.
Swan resisted the
temptation to pull away, still angered over his refusal to listen to reason.
He stood there, just holding her until her agitation dissipated. Slowly, she
realized such hostility was futile. It would not help her achieve her goals.
“You walk about
in the sun,” she finally said. Or else, she assumed he did. Daylight was beyond
her ken as long as she remained under the enchantment.
He chuckled
against her hair, smoothing his hands up and down her dark arms as if he
couldn’t touch her enough. “I am not as most hunters. I rule my appetites.
They do not rule me.”
But it was not
true. She’d seen his loss of control. If she could affect him that way,
surely she could entice him enough to take her with him when he left? Honey
lured when vinegar would not.
He pulled away
and walked to the bed, removing his kurt with a jerk of his hand, dropping the
heavy black material to the floor with a soft thud. Swan averted her eyes from
his nakedness, not wishing to encourage him to carnal pursuits with her
interest.
He smiled as noticed
her embarrassment. “You have seen me before, Swan. Why so shy now?”
“I do not believe
I will ever adjust to it.”
“Nor do I wish
it. I enjoy your reaction to my body.” He chuckled, climbing into bed, leaving
the covers folded back.
Patting the
mattress, he said, “Come to me, Swan. I would hold you in my arms while you
sleep.”
Swan took a deep
breath, firing her courage. Slowly, holding his gaze, she pushed the neck of
her gown off her shoulders and let it drop to the floor, shielded only by the
thick length of her honey brown tresses. His eyes flashed with heat, raked
down her body in a heady caress she felt straight to her toes. Her breasts
felt the cool air, allowing her small dark nipples to pucker with the freedom
from clothing.
“You are lovely,
Swan, full deserving the elegance of your namesake. Would that I had time to
devote myself to worshipping you as long as I willed it this night.”
He held his hand
out to her and she accepted. The bed dipped slightly beneath her weight, and
he pulled her, smoothly rolling until she lay beneath him. He twined a lock of
her thick hair around two fingers, looking deep in her eyes, his black gaze
unfathomable.
His gaze lowered
to the peaks of her breasts. “At times, I cannot help even myself,” he
murmured huskily, drawing a lazy palm around the soft curve of one breast.
Her nipples
pebbled. A sharp stab of pleasure spiked from the hardened buds as he grazed a
thumb across one tip. Torturous heat flooded her womb, and she felt the
gathering moisture there in answer to his touch. Almost she could hate how he
evoked such lust within her … if he did not also give her such exquisite
pleasure to satisfy her most carnal longings.
She stopped
breathing a moment, waiting in suspense of his next action.
He cupped her
breast fully, leaning nearer. His exotic scent teased her, searing her senses,
intoxicating. “Your heart beats wild for me, Swan.”
She swallowed,
managed to find her voice. “From fear.”
“From desire.”
With but one
simple caress, he distracted her from her purpose, stirred desire best abandoned.
His power over her was frightening. Struggling to regain control, she took a
deep breath, willing her heart to calm its crashing tattoo.
“There are other
ways to garner my grace, my lord,” she whispered, recovered enough for coherent
thought.
He removed his
hand, used the backs of his fingers to push the frame of her hair from her
face. Stroking a lone finger down her cheek, along her jaw, he said, “I know
what you wish. Much as I desire to fulfill your wants, I dare not risk it.
With the vampires roaming the night, if I were killed, you’d be helpless.”
Her blood chilled
with his words, heat lost in the tide of fear. They wanted him. He’d hinted
of the bond between hunter and vampire before. Leaving with no guard but
Syrian at his back was suicide.
“I would have a
kiss ere I die,” he murmured.
“Do not jest of
such things.”
“I implore in all
seriousness,” he murmured, his voice husky, his eyes heavy lidded. He
descended for a kiss. She turned her head at the last moment, felt the soft graze
of his lips on her cheek, hating the sudden tension of his arms.