Chapter Ten #3
Freya’s magic was a wolf prowling under her skin, teeth ripping, claws slashing.
Her witch knot now burned as if she had picked up a hot coal.
The crows came closer, beaks clacking as they called to her.
The bells swung harder on their braids of red string, no longer tinkling. They clashed and clanged.
A paper bird drifted between the branches and the bell. Sorcha was the one in distress this time, and it had found her. It got too close and disintegrated into ashes.
Curses always fought back.
Pain racked her body. Tendrils caught in her skull. She choked.
Aidan swore softly before closing his hand gently around her throat, his fingers curving.
The moment he touched the mark, the pain evaporated.
No, not evaporated, exactly. It seemed to flow out of her where his fingers pressed.
His jaw clenched and his eyes glittered and she realized he was taking her pain into himself. She gasped. “Don’t.”
He tightened his hold when she tried to pull away. “I marked you,” he said. “Your pain is mine.”
She grasped his wrist. “Aidan.” Elderberry flew from her to perch on his shoulder, making small cooing sounds. His feathers looked ragged, the light flickering. She felt just as worn out.
But Aidan stood tall and strong, his hand gentle around her throat even as pain lashed at him. His eyes burned gold again, searing.
“How long is this going to take?” Sorcha asked desperately, watching the tendons in his neck tighten. This wasn’t fair, even if she knew curses did not care about such things. “Freya?”
“It takes as long as it takes.”
“That’s not good enough,” Sorcha muttered. “We’ll share this, Aidan Carnahan.”
“No.”
He was so stubborn.
But she was more stubborn.
There was a connection between them, and he was using it to take the pain from her as the magic did its work. Touching the mark of his teeth on her skin was effective for him, but Sorcha touching his wrist, his arm, even his cheek, was not easing his pain. She could hardly bite him.
Well, she could. But as she wasn’t a wolf, it was unlikely to have the effect she wanted.
She might not be able to bite him…but she could kiss him.
Kisses broke curses all the time, according to the fairy stories.
Not that this was that kind of fairy story.
Still. She could see the toll the pain was taking on him despite the fact that he had not made a sound, not even one of those growls. Just the muscles seizing in his arms and neck and torso. The crack of a bone breaking as his wolf decided whether or not to make an appearance.
“No wolf,” Freya warned. “Not for this curse. It will only make it worse.”
Tell that to the wolf. A growl rumbled in Aidan’s chest. His canines lengthened. Veins of brackish green crawled from his witch knot.
Not an improvement.
Kissing it was, then.
She rose on her tiptoes and touched her mouth to his.
A heartbeat. Just when she thought he would not kiss her back and this would not work at all, he used his hold on her throat to press her against the nearest tree.
Long willow branches swayed, a curtain of green surrounding them.
The light sparkled through the leaves, dappling them as the kiss deepened.
Pain shivered at the edge of pleasure. She gave a gasp that Aidan swallowed like it was water and he was parched.
The circumstances might not be ideal, but her body did not seem to care.
The kiss took over, filling the spaces of the curses, chasing away the teeth and the claws and the prowling shadows.
There was only soft rain on a sunbaked field. Ice breaking in a spring river.
And Aidan’s mouth, his tongue stroking against hers.
Tasting. Igniting fires inside her body, further chasing away any lingering pain.
She kissed him back, nipping gently at his lower lip until his fingers moved from her throat to dig into her hair, until his body pressed against hers, until the kiss was a kiss and the curse had nowhere else to dig in its poisoned roots.
It faded away.
Aidan pulled back as they stared at each other. He swept his thumb over her cheekbone. “It’s gone.”
Sorcha could only lick her tingling lips, catching her breath.
Aidan released her abruptly. Then he ducked under the willow branches and stalked back to Freya, who waited, looking deeply unperturbed. Almost bored. Sorcha followed him, more slowly. The kiss still rampaged through her body, stealing all sense.
“You hurt her,” Aidan accused Freya. There were duels waiting to be fought in his voice.
Freya shrugged. “Magic is magic.”
“You won’t do that again,” he said roughly.
Freya smiled, but it was sharp. “Interesting.”
“Not interesting,” Aidan corrected her. “Fact.”
Her eyes narrowed, no longer bored. “Careful, Coventry.”
Aidan did not look as though he intended to take that advice. He did not look polite or restrained. He looked positively feral.
Sorcha touched his arm. Her witch knot felt burned and bruised. “Aidan.”
He turned toward her. He might not be wearing the wolf, but the wolf was wearing him. It called to her. Drew her in. She could not look away. Especially not when she could still feel his mouth on hers.
“I’m fine,” she said. “A kelpie bite hurts far more.”
“When did a damn kelpie bite you?” he demanded. He was distracted, if not exactly the way she had planned. His brows lowered.
Freya listened as though they were the most fascinating play on Drury Lane. And then abruptly she waved her hand. “Go on,” she said. “I have things to attend to. And so do you.”
Sorcha wondered if all wolves practiced that grim and forbidding tone.
Because it was very effective. But still not quite enough to stop the yawn that pulled at her.
She suddenly felt as if all of her bones had turned to rusted iron and cathedral stone.
She could as easily move a mountain as move her legs.
The kiss had burned everything away, the curse, the pain, but now she was a field after harvest. She was dry soil, aching backs, blistered hands.
Aidan watched her carefully. “I should warn you.”
She closed her eyes. “There’s more?”
“I’m afraid so.”
“What is it?” She was weaving on her feet. She’d never been so tired in all of her life.
“My mark protects you among the wolves.”
“Oh. All right.”
“But it’s not enough. They have to know you’re mine, no matter what magic touches you. Not just wolves, but witches too.”
“So what does that mean?”
His voice went deep, soft. “It means we’re betrothed now, songbird.”
Sorcha blinked owlishly. Had he just said betrothed? That couldn’t be right. The Earl of Coventry would never marry her. Even if he kissed like he might like to.
“It’s the only way to safeguard your secret if you’re going to meddle.”
“Oh.” She yawned again, even though this seemed important. “Congratulations?”
He sighed, nearly smiling. Then he turned to Freya. “Freya?” he said sharply.
She sighed and flicked her hand toward Sorcha.
Sorcha’s eyes rolled into the back of her head and she dropped. The last thing she felt was Aidan catching her in his arms before she hit the ground.
Aidan woke drenched in sweat, as always.
A village tormented by a wolf. Claw marks in a broken door. Blood on sharp teeth. A woman weeping.