“Yes, enough of
this talk. Swan, you will come with us, if only so that I can watch you and
keep you out of more trouble. I should have realized you would have your way
with me no matter what. Fool that I am.”
“I join you as
well, brother.”
Raphael glared at
him, stopping in his tracks. “You know not where we go.”
“It matters not.
I have need of amusement. But if you go to Barakus, I carry warning.”
“And that is...?”
“Barakus is
besieged. The elders resent your denial of women and blood. They feel it is
their due.”
“You do not, of
course...,” he said, his jaw tight.
“I have never
been one to bow to another.”
“This changes
everything, Raphael,” Syrian said, coming up beside them. “We cannot risk a
delay at the borders. The Lysian pool is strongest when the silver moon shines
alone. We have until the red moon wanes. Already it fades. If he comes to
heal and regain his power, it will be then.”
“You journey to
human lands? Because of a woman?” Vachel laughed at Raphael’s fierce glare.
Raphael thought
the matter over a long moment. “If we cannot go around, we will go under.
Vachel knows a hidden way through the range.”
Vachel crossed
his arms over his chest, his black cape cracking like a whip in the wind. “I
could be persuaded ... for a price.” He advanced across the circle, appearing
to glide, watching Swan alone. “Let me ... taste the woman.”
Swan gasped in
outrage, fingered her sword, but Raphael held her back from slicing him in two.
“Touch her and
die,” Raphael said menacingly.
Looking smug, he
chuckled as though Raphael had reacted exactly as he intended. “It is as I
suspected. You are besotted. We run a fool’s errand.”
“No one asked you
to come,” he growled.
Vachel laughed. “I’d
not miss this for a seat on the council. I will show you the way.”
“Fine. You
hinder us, I may forget you are my brother. You,” he pointed at Swan, “I will
deal with later.”
The hard look in
his eyes promised it would be unpleasant, but Swan was too shaken to disagree.
She didn’t trust Vachel, even if he was Raphael’s brother. No man that looked
so ... hungry could be trusted near a woman. That he was now a traveling
companion as well as their guide did not bode well for them.
* * * *
Vachel made no
further contact with her. If anything, he ignored her completely. His
brother’s threat enough to warn him away. She was thankful. Raphael alone was
enough to make the strongest woman faint. His brother’s nearness only
compounded her problems.
The fog Vachel
shrouded them with disappeared at his command, and he leapt into the air,
hovering at a height just above their heads, his cape fluttering in the wind
like wings. They would follow him, not out of want, but for lack of an
alternative choice.
She only prayed
Barakus would not fall before Raphael could return. A pain stabbed her heart
at how much he risked for her.
She glanced
briefly at Syrian as he murmured soft words and a red glow surrounded his body
a short moment. He’d cast a spell that increased his stamina for the journey.
Raphael caught
her attention with his movement, stripping nude to shift. She heated as she
always did seeing him naked, the lean muscles of his body powerful and silvered
in the light, his manhood rampant at her regard.
She touched his
shoulder hesitantly, halted his movement, averting her eyes from his groin with
an effort. Now was no time to allow longing to get in the way. She had to at
least try to beg him from this course. “You should go to your people. They
need you. Syrian can help me face Morvere.”
His eyes were
shielded, amber flecks swallowing the black irises as the change began. “No.
I made a promise. I will keep it. Arion will hold the fortress until I
return.” He exuded confidence like no other, his belief firm when her own esteem
wavered. She sighed, glad he’d not been swayed, but saddened too.
Swan watched,
breathless, as he shifted before he’d even dropped to the ground, fur rippling
over his body like wind. A wolf stood before her, rubbed softly against her
legs in assurance. She climbed atop him, the sack he’d carried slung over her
shoulder.
There would be no
changing his mind, she knew that now. He was as stubborn as she, perhaps
more. Her gut clenched with nervous worry; worry over Morvere, for Raphael’s
people. She dared not look for meaning behind his words and determination. To
hope for something more would be the final crack in her facade.
They traveled
well into the night. Unhindered by human weakness, each used their own gift to
enhance their speed.
Swan squeezed her
eyes shut, terrified at the blur of the land whirling past. Fear and need
hastened them, fear that they would be too late. If Morvere reached the pool
before them, there would be no chance to defeat him. This was her only hope to
return to the life she’d known. To stay a swan maiden would eventually
strangle her will--it was no way to live, trapped by the night. Yet Vachel
did, and many of the hunters. A newfound pity for them stole into her mind.
They were not so unalike.
Swan bent and
buried her face against Raphael’s furry neck, feeling comforted by the soft
warmness of his fur against her cheek. The power of his wolf body was great,
but would he be strong enough to defeat a sorcerer as powerful as they faced?
Even if he was merely a human?
Hours dragged by
as they ran. Her hands cramped from clutching Raphael’s fur, and her legs and
hips ached with the effort to stay upright at the pace they kept. Raphael
slowed, and she opened her eyes. When the Northern mountains loomed into view,
blotting out the stars in the sky, Swan breathed a sigh of relief. They
reached the base of the range as the moons set.
The harrowing
trip seemed to last an eternity. Swan had never been more grateful in her life
than she was when they reached the Northern pass. She thought coming here
would take them directly into the vampire’s midst, but no one else was concerned
of the danger.
Suspecting they
knew more of their land than she did, she trusted them.
Apparently, the
vampires were set on conquering Morvere and had set their numbers in that
direction. It boded ill for Raphael’s people and his seat of power, but there
was little she could do to sway his mind. She only hoped he did not return to
the death and destruction of all he’d ever known.
Rock skidded and
bounced down the foothills, the footing dangerous for the unwary.
Old warnings told
that the mountains were impassable to foes, cupping Shadowmere like a hand
shielding a flame. Only the vampires knew the passages, having long lived
underground in hibernation.
Vachel guided
them to a sheer face, seemingly unscalable. The black rock stretched above, dark
clouds gathered around its peaks.
Raphael shifted
form, touching the stone as he looked up at Vachel. Nodding, Vachel grasped
Syrian under the arms and soared high above their heads, disappearing over a
lip. He returned a moment later, landing lightly on the ground.
“It is your turn,
my lady,” Vachel spoke softly, walking near.
Swan pulled back,
looking at Raphael for reassurance. “Is there no other way?” Heights had
never before terrified her, but the thought of leaving the ground in the arms of
a questionable man would make even the most stalwart quail with fear. Flying
was unnatural. She did not even do so as a bird.
“There is not.
Does my touch repel you?” He grinned as if pleased.
“Enough taunting
her, Vachel,” Raphael growled warningly.
Vachel shrugged.
“I only wish to see if she deserves you.”
“I’ve no need of
a mother hen.”
He laughed and
scooped her into his arms before she could protest, rising into the air. “I
will go slowly with you, fair Swan.”
She refused to
look at the ground, could only watch his pale face. He smiled at her, the
derisiveness gone from his eyes, replaced by an earnest quality that both
intrigued and astonished her.
His voice low and
serious, he said, “Only the most extraordinary woman could hope to capture
Raphael. Never has a mate claimed his heart and many have tried.”
And with that
nugget piquing her curiosity, he set her down on solid ground once more and
went below for Raphael.
Vachel returned a
few minutes later, landing on the stone lip with ease. Raphael stood distant
from her once above, giving her a long, measuring look. He walked past her
into the yawning maw of the cavern behind Vachel without uttering a word to
her. Swan followed, if only in want of anything else to do. With only a little
over an hour before dawn and her changing, her nerves were wound tight. Vachel
went deep into the cavern, away from possible sunlight to rest, while Syrian
remained outside to keep watch, preferring the fresh air to the staleness of
the mountain. She suspected they had only departed to allow Raphael an
opportunity to vent his spleen.
She was alone
with Raphael, for the first time in hours, and she suddenly dreaded it,
remembering his warning earlier. A depression in the rock held the ash and
charcoal remains of an old fire, enough wood that Raphael easily lit a blaze
for her comfort. The weak flames flickered with the air sucked through the
space. Shadows danced on the wall and Raphael’s back, his tension clearly
illuminated.
A storm brewed
within him. His silence and that long look should have warned her his foul
mood had returned. She expected any minute to be struck dead by a
thunderbolt. Waiting, her patience ran thin when his silence continued. She
couldn’t take it anymore, the thick unease and discomfort. It would be best to
air his feelings than go on this way.
“Are you going to
pout all night?” she asked him.
He didn’t turn
around, a sign that he was very, very upset with her. Her hope that he’d
forgotten his promise dashed away--if she’d learned nothing else, she knew
Raphael always kept his word.
“Why did you
disobey me, Swan? I had my reasons for telling you to stay.”
Why had she? Her
excuses seemed shallow now, foolish. Her damnable pride had always gotten her
into trouble--that and the urge to show him he couldn’t control her. But deep
inside, she knew such reasons were only smoke covering the truth. She’d been
terrified she might never see him again--furious that he would dare risk his
life for her. She could not tell him, however. He wouldn’t understand, and it
infuriated her to have such weakness, to need another person as she needed
him. She turned anger with herself on to him.
“You don’t own
me. You can’t tell me what to do.”
“I thought I had
made myself clear,” he bit out in a quiet voice.
He’d made it
perfectly obvious she was more trouble than she was worth. And now his
holdings were being attacked. He would blame her. He was like every other
man, attacking when they thought they’d been wronged. It mattered not that
she’d told him to go back. “You did, with perfect clarity,” she said tightly.
“I told you to
stay for your protection.”
“You are not my
father,” she said, biting each word off as if pained.
His hands
clenched into fists, relaxed, and clenched again. “No, I am not.”
“I-I don’t need
your protection. I don’t need you.” She repeated the words mentally, a mantra
to keep her whole, uninjured.
Raphael turned
then, his eyes blazing, his muscles bunched with power. He was on her in an
instant, his arms wrapped tightly as he crushed her fully against his body.
Her curves molded to his hard planes, the chain mail heating from contact,
searing her senses as though nothing stood between their melding as one but
skin.
She tilted her
head up in her fury, foolishly, unable to believe his intent. His mouth
descended, his lips crushed against her own, his arousal digging hard against
her mail clad belly. She gasped in shock, energy coursing through her body
like a lightning strike. He took advantage of her weakness and open mouth,
thrust his tongue into her mouth, possessive, sweeping aside her protests. He
utterly dominated her, his kiss ravenous and consuming as he tasted her dark
crevices and the sweetness of her tongue.