Unforgettable Lover (7 page)

A warm smile lit up his eyes, and he winked at her. His hands were covered in an array of colors from his work. A few splatters marred the fine hairs of his beard. “Remember me? My name’s Wren.”

“Oh, yes.” He’d been here once or twice before. She studied his painting. “Looks like you’ve made progress.” 

The outline of trees took shape. A small waterfall cascaded over a cliff, landing on the rocks below. She admired his ability to blend the light with the shadows. “Your painting is beautiful.”

A shy smile pulled at his lips. He nodded toward her canvas. “I wondered when you’d be back. I admire the way you paint. You pour all your emotions into each stroke.”

“Thank you—”

He glanced over her shoulder and stiffened. His eyes widened. “Look who’s here.”

She turned. No, that couldn’t be him, but sure enough, the male Wren had pointed out was none other than Prince Nicholai. With a quick turnabout, she faced Wren. Her heartbeat picked up speed. “What’s he doing?” 

Wren leaned over his canvas and gaped. “Checking out Trenden’s work. Huh? Wonder why.” 

Her tight shoulders ached, reminding her of all she’d done with the prince two nights ago. She bit her lip. 

“Everyone’s staring at him. Uhhh…he’s coming this way.” Wren hid behind his easel.

She reached for a paintbrush, eager to appear busy. Blood pumped through her veins.

Crash.

Brushes and painting utensils scattered across the floor.
Oh, no!
She bent down to pick them up.

“Wait. He stopped at the next painter. He’s scoping out his work, too. Oh, now he’s looking around the room.”

Murmurs from the crowd picked up. Titters of ‘Prince’ and ‘Nicholai’ were clear, even above the din.

She picked up brush after brush, trying to contain her mess. With her one good hand, she scooped as many as she could back into her container.

“He’s moving faster, coming our way.”

Two more brushes and she put the cup back on her short table. Her rapid breaths fueled the adrenaline that surged through her body. 

“Very nice. Is this yours?” Nicholai’s deep voice resonated into her chest.

As she tried to calm herself, his unique scent of cloves and rain filled her lungs. Melting on the inside, she remembered all that he was, all that he’d done to her. She refused to look at him for fear he’d recognize her.

“Y…Yes.” She managed to get the words out, but they were husky, strained. 

“You have a nice eye for detail. Have you other paintings?” He stepped closer to inspect her canvas. She caught a glimpse of his profile. His high cheekbones and aquiline nose exemplified his handsome features. He turned toward her. 

She caught her breath. Those deep blue eyes were the ones she remembered, the ones she’d imagined in her dreams the past couple of nights. His brow furrowed, and she realized she hadn’t answered his question.

“I do. Have more paintings.” She turned toward her stack of completed pictures, but knocked the cup of brushes off the table.

Like twigs upon the rocks, they bounced and jogged before coming to rest on the stone floor. “I’m…sorry.” She bent down to pick them up—again. 

He lowered himself on one knee and picked up a handful of brushes. Just as she reached for one, he did as well. His finger ran along hers, lighting up the skin along their connection. Her scent of honey filled the air, released by her reaction to him.

He tensed. His nostrils flared. “Do I know you? You smell…familiar, like honey.”

Still clutching a handful of brushes, she brought her left hand to her chest. “My family runs the honey cart. Maybe you’ve been there.” She swallowed.

He leaned back, his scrutiny more than she could bear. As he glanced at the gold chain around her wrist, his jaw clenched, the movement clear in the skin on his cheek. 

She stood and placed the brushes into the cup. 

He stood as well. His brow furrowed once again when he glanced at her right hand, and the missing digits. Placing the brushes he’d collected into the bowl, he nodded. “My apologies. I must have mistaken you for someone else.”

She breathed a quick sigh, and a nervous laugh escaped her lips. “Thank you for helping me with the brushes.”

“Are those your other paintings?” He motioned to the stack behind her. “I’d like to see them, if you don’t mind.”

“Y…yes, of course.” She stared at Wren. His eyes widened, and he gave her a quick nod.

Nicholai inspected each painting, flipping through them at a leisurely pace. “Do you take orders for your paintings?”

She couldn’t respond around the lump in her throat. She’d never had an offer before. 

He looked at her. “I’d like to commission you to paint a picture for me.”

She pressed her palm against the shell necklace that lay against her chest, hidden underneath her blouse. “Sure, I can do that, I guess. What would you like?” 

“A portrait of me, for my father. He’s often said he’d like my picture, but I’ve avoided having one made. Now is the time.”

Her mouth fell open, and she licked her lips. His intense focus riveted there, then drew up to her eyes. Flecks of gold swirled amongst the blue. His beast remembered, even if his human side didn’t recognize her. A warmth spread through her body. 

“It may take a few weeks—”

“Timing is of vital importance. You have seven days. Can you do it, or should I move on?”

His challenge should’ve frightened her, made her refuse his offer. Instead, she took his bait. “I can’t paint during the day. You’ll have to come here every night, after the carts close for the evening.”

“Very well, we start tomorrow.” His gaze roamed her face one last time before he turned and headed back down the row of painters.

A small thrill ran down her back. She’d get to spend time with him. A smile tugged at her mouth, but soon faded. She’d made a commitment to both her father and Blaine—one she’d honor. Her heart shattered at the reality.

Chapter Eleven

Nicholai headed down the corridor. The sunstones in the walls brightened as he approached each doorway. Laughter, a babe in tears, strained conversations, each room contained the sounds of life in the Keep. He cared not. His mind was still fixated on the lovely female painter. 

Craya.
He hadn’t even asked her name. 

He’d thought for sure he’d found the female from the Betram ritual. Her honey scent and her pale blue eyes seemed to fit. Even his beast responded, as if she’d marked him, not the other way around. When their skin touched, the sensation racing up his arms reminded him of their lovemaking. 

He shook his head. She’s not the one. This female is qithan. Besides, her hand—

Something metal hit the stone floor, bringing him out of his musing. 

Argh.
“Stop! Put it down.” 

The smell of blood permeated Nicholai’s nose.

“Hey, watch it!”

A few doors down, a brightness coming from a doorway lit up the hall. He’d ended up at the infirmary. His heart skipped a beat.
Gaetan.

With the speed of his kind, he raced into the room. The scene before him was not what he expected. 

Three warriors pinned a fourth to one of the beds. Blood pooled from the injured male’s cuts and open wounds. White bone protruded from a large gash across his leg. The soldier screamed and flailed, his eyes wide, crazed. A medical tray upended. Tools scattered across the floor like miniature weapons.

Gaetan leaned against the counter, bowls and containers strewn across the surface. He picked up a large syringe filled with a green liquid.

Nicholai ran to the warriors’ aid. He grabbed the wounded soldier’s ankle, preventing the male from kicking out and injuring himself further.

Gaetan hobbled over, his cane resting against the wall. His gait was even more pronounced, and his face and arms still bore the red welts from the Gossum stinger. 

He should’ve healed by now.
Nicholai didn’t have time to contemplate that thought for the warrior lurched from the table. 

“
Craya.
Vinter! Stop.” Quentin, a soldier with a red bandana tied around his bicep, spoke with a strained voice. The muscles in his arm bulged from holding down his friend.

Gaetan plunged the needle into Vinter’s thigh, just above the bone break. The injured male fought for a few more seconds, then relaxed. His body jerked a few times before he closed his eyes.

Nicholai caught Quentin’s gaze. “What happened?” 

“Gossum ambushed us along the stream, near the giant boulder. We’d tracked a stray, but he led us upwind. Didn’t see the other five until they attacked.” Quentin shook his head. He made a fist, and the bandana tightened around his bicep. “They nearly killed Vinter. We managed to battle our way back to the portal, but not before he’d sustained injuries.”

The Haelen glanced at his patient. “He needs his rest, and I need time alone to fix his leg before it heals this way.” Gaetan furrowed his eyebrows and glared at each of the males. “The rest of you don’t look too bad, you’ll heal on your own.” He raised his hand and shooed the warriors out of the room.

Nicholai refused to leave. Now that he was here, he needed to apologize to his friend. 

Gaetan raised an eyebrow. “That includes you.”

Nicholai sighed and shook his head. What did he expect, a warm hug? “Seems to me, you could use the help.” 

The healer shrugged and hobbled over to his cane. Gripping the handle, he leaned on the stick for support. His back to Nicholai, the male shoulder’s slumped forward, but he was only a few years older than Nicholai. He picked up a tray with bandages, an assortment of medical instruments, and a large orange sunstone. As he walked back to Vinter, the tray wobbled in his hand. The rock shimmied against the carved stone tray, and the sound reminded Nicholai of chattering teeth.

“Let me get that for you.” Nicholai scooped up the platter and placed it next to Vinter. 

The injured male let out a loud snore.

Gaetan stood next to Vinter’s damaged leg and scrutinized the damage. “He’s lucky he didn’t rupture his femoral artery.” Gaetan ran his hand over the torn flesh. A fresh trickle of blood oozed from the injury. 

“Well, if you’re going to stay, you can help.” Gaetan held out his hand. “Scissors.”

Nicholai handed the Haelen a long pair of clippers. The pointed ends glimmered in the light. A wave of guilt crashed over Nicholai and his stomach hardened. He should’ve helped Gaetan. What could he possibly say to the male? He thought an apology would be easy, but he’d thought wrong.

The material surrounding the wound fell to the side under the shears’ sharp blades. Gaetan scooted to the end of the table and gripped the male’s foot in his hand. With a quick jerk, the bone disappeared beneath the skin.

“Rock.” Once again, Gaetan held out his hand, but he wouldn’t look at Nicholai.

Nicholai handed the orange crystal to his friend. The stone’s heavy weight matched the lump in his gut.

Gaetan held the stone over the break. A glow emanated from the sunstone, casting a strange shadow over Gaetan’s face. The Haelen’s features appeared gaunt in the faint light.

The radiance from the stone went out as quickly as it had started. Red, mottled flesh replaced the gaping wound. A scab formed and would fall off in a matter of hours. The skin would scar then heal completely in a few days as if the injury had never occurred. The warrior would fight again soon.

Nicholai swallowed. “Gaetan—” 

“Bandage.” Gaetan held out his hand, but this time he met Nicholai’s gaze.

“I’m sorry. I…” Nicholai’s chest constricted, cutting off any further words. He didn’t know what else to say. 

Gaetan focused on his work. “I trusted you.” His eyes bore into Nicholai’s soul. “I—” 

“I know. I froze. I’m sorry.” The memories of the Gossum’s tongue connecting with Gaetan’s arms, legs, face—the weight of Nicholai’s weakness bore down on him.

Gaetan returned his attention to his task. “We’ve talked about this before. I thought you’d beaten those demons.” Gaetan paused. His hands rested against the male’s legs, the remaining bunch of dressing still in his palm. He glanced at Nicholai.

“I did, too.” Nicholai could barely get the words out. “If I could trade places with you…absorb those injuries, I would.”

Gaetan clipped the bandage in place then grabbed his cane. He came closer, his pale blue eyes carrying a hint of forgiveness. “No need. I’m fine, but you need to figure this out before someone who really matters to you gets hurt.”

Gaetan’s words hit home. A fleeting image crossed Nicholai’s mind—that of a female with blue eyes hiding behind a mask. His gut clenched like he’d been punched. Maybe he was better off not knowing her identity. Correction, maybe she was. 

Chapter Twelve

Leonna tucked the sheet under the mattress and fluffed her pillow. As she pulled the warm quilt over her bed, she relished in the feel of the soft fabric. Despite its comfort, she hadn’t slept well. Visions of Nicholai and the intensity of his gaze had kept her awake for hours. His beast had recognized her, both by sight and smell. 

She stroked the remaining finger on her right hand. Her black gloves had hidden the missing digits well during the Betram ritual. Tonight, she’d wanted to admit to Nicholai that she was the one, but what good would come of it? She glanced at the bracelet around her left wrist. The gold chain was a constant reminder of her upcoming commitment. Her vision blurred as tears gathered, and the red and blue pattern of her bedspread melded into an odd purple. She bit her lip, unwilling to give in.

Her stomach rumbled—time for the morning repast. She slipped on her well-worn shoes and grabbed a ribbon from her dresser. The sunstones in her room dimmed as she entered her family’s main chamber. 

Papa sat at the small wooden table. He dipped his spoon into a cut grapefruit, and juice squirted onto his clothes. He chuckled, wiping away the liquid with his palm. Leonna slid into a chair next to him. The pictures of her and Corbin she’d painted a few years ago hung against the stone wall. She’d grown up a lot since then, both of them had.