Chapter 4
Chapter Four
Lark
Two months later…
We pull up at a tavern in a small village on the outskirts of Hydornia. Violet heads inside to settle into our quarters for the night. Rafe and I head for the stable to bed the horses down.
Sometime in the next few days, we’ll cross the border, leaving our homelands behind. This is the farthest I’ve ever traveled in my life—and I consider myself a reasonably well-traveled man.
But it’s not our current location, nor our destination, that troubles me right now. It’s the fucking scent coming off of Violet that has lodged at the back of my throat… and other places.
We are hired soldiers, nothing more, and I need to shut these lusty thoughts down.
“Is it me, or does she smell really fucking good?”
I regret the words the moment they slip out of my mouth.
But also… I don’t.
Rafe straightens slowly from where he’s just stowed the saddle. “I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that.” He gives me a hard look like I’ve already tried to lift the lass’s skirt, which is fucking insulting now that I think about it.
We’ve been traveling for a couple of months now. A small party. Exactly three people. Close. You learn a lot about a person when you’re in each other’s business every day.
Still… sometimes I need to get things off my chest when the lass is out of earshot.
“I’ve not drained my balls in a while,” I say. “No fucking opportunity to find a lass when we’re always on the fucking road.”
He pauses, the bridle in his hand, halfway to the hook.
“What?” I mutter.
“I hadn’t noticed anything,” he says, shoving the bridle onto the waiting hook. “About the scent.”
“Aye, nothing at all?”
He cuts me a glare.
“Ha!” I stab a finger at him. “You’re not immune to strawberry-blonde curls and a nice plump ass. You got your hands on it the other day, under the pretense of helping her into the saddle.”
His face turns a deep shade of crimson. Fine, that was out of order. The lass is a calamity getting into the saddle even after two months. He either had to put his hand on her ass or watch her hit the dirt… I realize I’ve pushed it too far when he punches me in the jaw.
“Gods!” At least the punch woke me up from whatever madness had me in its hold. “Thanks,” I add. “Needed that.”
“She pays us to protect her,” he snaps. “Not to ogle her. Nor wonder how good she smells.”
“So you have noticed it then.” I’m going there again.
His expression says punching me is back on the table. Unfortunately for Rafe, I’ve never been particularly good at following social cues. “Go on,” I press because I can’t fucking help myself. “Thought it was my wolf blood.”
He raises both brows. “Wolf blood?”
“My father was a shifter. Not something I talk about much, given I’m a mute who cannot shift. Common among those of mixed race, from what I’ve heard,” I say, suddenly feeling self-conscious.
“Do you not have a wolf, then?” He is all fucking interested all of a sudden. “How do you know you’re a shifter?”
“Of course I have a wolf,” I mutter, insulted now.
This is why I don’t talk about it. Folks just assume you’re making it up.
“I can feel that part of me. He just doesn’t have any desire to come out.
” Now I sound like a defensive whelp! “But this is all fucking irrelevant if you can scent her too. Also, she doesn’t have any monthlies. ”
“The fuck?” he mutters, hands clenching into fists like he’s thinking about thumping me again.
“Well, we’re on the road all the time,” I say, matter-of-fact. “It’s not like we wouldn’t notice.”
His cheeks darken once again.
“Maybe she’s one of those lasses with a very light flow,” I add with a shrug. “Would have to be very fucking light… Not once since she stopped and asked for a fresh supply of womanly rags.”
“How the fuck did we get to talking about her monthlies?” he mutters through gritted teeth. “And for all we know, she is upstairs now, asking the tavern lass for some!”
I eyeball him warily. This is one of those occasions when I need to stop talking, but I also need to get it out. “Wondered if she was fertile.” I nod my head meaningfully. “You know. Maybe we are sensing it.”
He grabs me by the throat and shoves me back against the stable wall.
“I don’t care for the thoughts in your head,” he growls. “You don’t notice it. You don’t look at her. If your hands happen to go on her ass—through no fault of your own—you erase the memory from your mind. Erase it. Got it?”
He’s a big bastard. If he decides to pummel me, I’m in trouble.
“And does that work for you?” I say, despite the angry bull vibes he is giving off.
He growls, then releases me, blowing out a breath. “Not at fucking all.”
My lips curve up. “No shame in noticing a lass. Not like we’re going to do anything about it. I mean… unless she—”
“Don’t go there,” he says, pinning me with a hard stare.
I hold up both hands. “I’m not. But you know… I’m just saying. It happens sometimes. If she wanted—”
“She doesn’t.”
“She might,” I push. “If she really is fertile.”
He pinches the bridge of his nose like he’s rethinking his life choices, namely the ones that led to him being trapped in this stable with me, my loose lips, and wayward thoughts.
“Just saying, the lass smells nice,” I finish, because, let’s face it, he has all but admitted to finding her scent weirdly enticing and to having lusty thoughts about our pretty mistress.
Rafe
He wants to know if I’ve noticed her.
I’d have to be fucking blind not to. She’s clever. Pretty. I spanked her naked ass the first day we met, and I swear my brain’s been broken ever since.
But I’m a soldier. A man she pays to protect her. She’s a princess—even if she’s not traveling as such. I’m mindful of my place.
Now Lark’s put thoughts in my head that have no business being there.
“We could help her out if she wanted us to,” he says, because this is fucking Lark, and he’s got no fucking filter on his thoughts.
Also, as if she would want us to help her through her fertile period, or whatever the fuck is happening that I can’t get her godsdamned scent off my mind.
I’m not ashamed to admit I’d worship her for the chance. But there are lines you don’t cross. Why the fuck did he have to bring up her scent? Why did my damn face get so hot?
“Best we put this nonsense aside,” I say brusquely. “This discussion never happened.”
Violet
Something strange is happening to me.
I don’t normally leave them quite so abruptly.
Usually I at least attempt to carry my own saddlebags up to the quarters, even though they are both faultless gentlemen and insist on carrying them for me.
Today I flounced off the moment the rooms had been negotiated with the tavern proprietor. Like a damn princess.
I press my fingers to my forehead. Is it hot in here? Am I coming down with something?
The proprietor—a kindly middle-aged woman with a stout bearing and a no-nonsense manner—is listing the tavern’s facilities, including a small bathhouse, which would normally garner my avid attention. I tug ineffectively at the collar of my blouse and press the back of my hand against my throat.
Goddess save me. I’m burning up.
“Is there anything else I can get for you, my lady?”
“No, thank you,” I say, glancing around the serviceable quarters—a day room with a dining table and two adjoining bedrooms. “I’ll wait for my— ” I stumble over the word.
I really don’t like calling them guards but calling them my men suddenly feels far too intimate.
“I’ll wait for my companions to return. And then we’ll see about some supper. ”
“Of course, my lady.” She bobs her head and shows herself out.
We’ve been riding all day and I ought to be hungry, but I don’t think I could eat a morsel if my life depended on it. I walk to the window, open the latch, and throw it wide, letting in a breath of cool air.
The breeze feels wonderful. I arch my back and moan—then catch myself, startled by how high and needy the sound comes out.
The material of my shirt scrapes against my hardened nipples. Before I can think better of it, my hand slides from my throat to cup the swell of my breast. I brush my thumb across the peak.
And moan again.
My eyes snap open.
My hand drops away.
And then I go very still, because the window looks out onto the courtyard at the back of the tavern. The courtyard that leads directly to the stables.
Rafe and Lark are standing in the stable doorway, staring straight back at me.
I step back in a rush and bump into the table.
Did they see?
Did they hear?
My mind races, trying to work out the angles. Maybe the frame was in the way. The low-pitched awning below, blocking the view. Maybe the sound wasn’t as loud as I thought.
Only their expressions…
Goodness. They are on their way up. After I just… after I just touched myself and moaned.
I glance around frantically like there might be somewhere to hide.
I can’t face them.
Not after that.
They’re probably going to think I’m—what? Issuing an invitation?
The urge to flee to my bedroom is strong. But there is no escaping this. I cannot bury my head in the sand. I will have to face them at some point, whether that is today or tomorrow.
A knock sounds on the door. They do not normally knock yet I already know it’s them. And isn’t that telling?
A small squeak escapes me.
“Come in.” I clear my throat. “Come in!”
The door swings open.
Rafe enters first. His scent comes with him, hitting me like a wall of warm, spicy male goodness. Lark is right behind him, and the second wave of pure masculine enticement slams into me.
My nipples peak further.
My hand goes back to my throat. I feel very much like a startled rabbit.
Why does the air in the room suddenly feel parched?
Why have I never noticed quite how broad-shouldered they both are?
Lark, with his bright blue eyes and hair a little unfashionably long.
Rafe, with his sandy hair cropped short, and who is half a head taller than Lark.
I glance between them, only to realize that Lark is staring at my chest.
Rafe thumps him on the shoulder, which snaps him out of it.