Chapter Fourteen
At the gate, the Urchin and Reginald argued.
“You can’t take her through the forest with that cart.”
“I can’t accompany her on the road.”
Alora lay draped over George's neck, running her fingers through his hair. She wouldn't leave him here. She couldn’t. A long-suffering sigh reached her, a loss of some sort.
“Fine. I’ll come back for the cart.”
A splutter from Reginald. “And how do I explain it in the meantime?”
“Leave that to me.”
When the Urchin turned back toward her, the shadow of his gaze drifting over her form, Alora thought she might catch fire. He shifted his head and clicked, and a horse the color of midnight emerged from the trees. “You’ll ride with me. The donkey can follow.”
Alora couldn’t hide her sly smile as she approached the towering blue-black creature. Nor did she try. She moved slowly, her shoulder shrugging one strap free while her other hand lifted to the horse’s nose. He snorted into her palm.
She thought she heard a hissed curse leave the Urchin’s mouth at her behavior, but she couldn’t be sure.
Instead, she moaned as those sinful, gloved hands reached around her waist, gripping her firm.
She tried to press back, but he lifted her behind the saddle, leaving her to dig her fingers into the hard leather rather than him.
She heard Reginald cough somewhere behind her.
The Urchin swung up in front, and she wasted no time wrapping her arms around his strong torso, burying her face in his coat.
She breathed deep. He smelled familiar, she thought.
Leather along with a faint woodsy scent, and his tensing didn’t faze her in the slightest. She breathed deep again, her lips parting.
Her senses were so very heightened in this state, and she couldn’t get enough.
“If you’ve finished,” he said. “Hold onto the donkey’s reins. Don’t let go or he’ll be lost to the forest.”
She did as she was told, taking the reins from him, though she also used it as an excuse to move her opposite hand, slipping it beneath his coat. There she stayed unmoved, until his tensing eased beneath her fingers, and with a click, urged his horse forward.
She blew a farewell kiss to the guard, who appeared quite mortified to receive it. “What is your horse’s name?” she asked.
“Necros.”
“Are you serious?”
“Very.”
Alora thought it was terrible, but out of politeness didn’t say so. Instead, she took to rubbing her cheek against the Urchin’s back, sighing at the feel of him. “That’s George. I also have a rabbit. Mrs. Flops.”
“And you question my choice in names.”
“She’s the sweetest thing. When we reach home, you might come up and meet her.” Alora chewed at her lip while she waited.
“That’s not a good idea.”
“Why?” Behind his back, she thought she might cry at the injustice of it.
“Because you cannot be trusted.”
“I cannot!” But then he shifted against her, and she forgot all about it. Carefully, she pressed her body closer, so that he might feel all of her, aligned to all of him. He stiffened. “You’re strong. Stronger than William.”
“Do not speak to me of William. You’d do well to stay away from him.”
“Why should I?” All she could think of were his lips on her neck, on her chest. How much he’d wanted her while the Urchin did not.
“Because he’s a performer, and performers are obsessive types.”
Alora laughed. “How broad. And you are not?”
“I am not prone to it.”
“So you say. But I know you for a liar now.” She shifted her gaze without lifting her head, studying the pale trees as they passed by, the narrow, secret path they followed. “Are these woods as treacherous as they say?” Not an ounce of fear trickled through her, only curiosity.
“It’s exaggerated, but not untrue. Merridon doesn’t dispute anything to keep the mystery alive. And the nonmembers away.”
Alora could hardly stand it, being so close to him and not being able to get closer.
His voice was rough, just as she imagined his hands would be.
Her own was held still to the taut plane of his abdomen, but she adjusted it now, slowly down so as not to alarm him.
When he stayed silent, she eased it farther still.
“What are you doing?”
“Searching for a pen.”
With a grunt of irritation, fingers enclosed around her own, pressing their paired hands tight upon the Urchin’s thigh. She couldn’t move her hand at all, though she didn’t think she wanted to. It was the next best thing. After all, he’d even laced them.
“He should have never done this to you. He will regret it soon.”
“I don’t regret it.”
“You will, trust me.”
Alora laughed. “Trust an Urchin? I could never. Though, really, I’d do anything to have you for awhile. Are you so sure you can’t? I would make it memorable, I swear.”
Again, the Urchin hissed a curse, but it was a bit more strangled than before. Perhaps he was crumbling, just a little. To be sure, she pressed herself against him again, hoping to send him into pieces.
Alora yelped in surprise. One moment she was inhaling the Urchin’s scent, picturing how his broad back must look unclothed.
The next, she found herself draped over his front, her shoulder to his chest and her legs dangling from one side.
He ducked his head before she could so much as blink up at him, lashing the donkey’s reins to his saddle.
Then a mask was against her ear. “Spread your legs.”
Alora, mouth suddenly dry with triumph, did precisely as told.
Only for him to grip her about the thigh and drag it over the horse’s opposite flank.
Her dress rode high up her legs, the saddle horn the only thing protecting her modesty, and it was Alora’s turn to swear then. In utter, defeated disappointment.
“You tricked me.”
One arm pulled free to drape across her chest, pinning her own in place. “You left me little choice.”
Alora, realizing something, grinned. “You were tempted.”
“No,” said the Urchin.
It was the least convincing ‘no’ she’d ever heard.
The Urchin blocked Alora’s advances at every turn onward.
The arch of her back. The tilt of her hips.
Aside from his curses and grumblings, she could tell he was affected.
His breaths were too quick against her neck, his posture too unyielding.
But the journey couldn’t continue forever, and at last they were at the edge of the forest where he could be rid of her.
He slid down from the saddle before turning and doing the same to her.
She gripped his forearms all the while, trying and failing to see what lay beneath his shadowed hood.
She sighed in defeat. “Enver.”
“Yes,” he said. “I'll leave you here. Can I trust you to make it back on your own?”
“You can trust me.” Her lips stuck out in a pout, unbelieving he actually possessed the gall to turn her down. Her hand flexed over George’s reins. “Before you leave, I want to know something.”
His answering sigh seemed to travel from the depths of him. “What?”
“And I want you to tell me the truth.”
“I make no promises.”
That rankled her. Still, she took the time to adjust her dress, focusing on some areas more than others. She raised her eyes to his. “Tell me you’re attracted to me. Or tell me nothing at all.”
Alora watched the Urchin and his unchanging posture.
She tucked a wayward strand of her hair, her eyes fluttering over the feel of it.
She thought she knew his answer, replaying his fingers wiping her neck of blood, holding pressure to her wounded ear.
His assistance with the wallpaper. The firm yet gentle grip of her waist. Hair the color of chestnuts.
Why, if that didn’t describe her coloring perfectly, nothing else could.
The silence ended. “Uncomfortably so.”
Alora stepped toward him. “Ha! I knew—” But where she reached there was only darkness, and when she blinked there wasn’t even that. He was gone.
”Bastard!” she seethed, and taking a firmer hold of George, stomped from the trees.
***
Alora shamelessly rapped on the door of Potions and Peculiarities. When the sign remained Closed, and the door locked, she dragged poor George around to the back and did the same.
The Urchin had been wrong to trust her.
Bash should be here. It was afternoon, and the shop should be open.
At the very least he should be inside, sorting through all his boxes as before.
She found him beautiful, so beautiful she might break the door to get to him.
Surely, he wouldn’t turn her down too. If he did, she thought she might scream.
But no one answered her knocks, and the fire, the ache built up inside her, began to wane. She slumped against the door, sliding down until her knees bent and her bottom hit the stoop. There she began to cry. “No one wants me. A room of love and I am unlovable.”
All the while the fire banked, the embers fizzling to nothing. Where she’d felt ecstasy moments ago, she found only acrid puffs of smoke. But she wanted the ecstasy. She needed it back. Hell, the world might very well end without it.
When George nudged her hair, she pushed him away. “Leave me. Leave me be,” she hiccupped. Curling in on herself, she fell fast asleep.