Chapter 24
Vorik woke, rain pounding on the roof above and the pre-dawn lighting dim, barely enough to illuminate the arched stone ceiling of the temple room.
The cell. He reminded himself that he’d already secured his freedom and could escape if need be, but something distracted him from that thought.
He grew aware of soft hair fanned out over his bare chest, the weight of Syla’s head on his pectorals.
The afternoon and evening before, she’d spent hours stitching and bandaging his many wounds, including removing and replacing the awkward sutures he’d given himself.
He’d been lucky he hadn’t passed out while trying to tie his innards in.
He had swooned while pulling out the arrowhead, flesh ripping with agonizing intensity, but he would never admit that.
Night had come before Syla had finished to her satisfaction, carefully tending every wound, even the slightest abrasion, and after he’d extracted the recipe for making blackberry cobbler from her, she’d fallen asleep against him, probably still exhausted from the previous days’ horrors.
His body ached in a dozen places, a promise that she had not, as he’d requested, used her magic on him.
He’d monitored her the entire time to ensure she didn’t, but somehow he’d also trusted that, once she’d given her word, she would keep it.
That was a bit of a marvel to him given his previous experiences with gardeners, especially gardeners interacting with his loathed kind.
They had never seemed to feel bound to act honorably with him.
But Syla was different. She was… much more than he’d expected.
Despite her admission that she wasn’t a leader, she was, Vorik believed, more than capable of taking over her mother’s role as queen and ruling her kingdom.
Of course, if his people got their way, there wouldn’t be much of a kingdom left to lead.
A week ago, that thought wouldn’t have disturbed him, but that had been before he met Syla.
Careful not to disturb her, he lifted his left arm experimentally. A twinge came from the now-bandaged spot where he’d removed the arrow. That wound would slow him down for some time.
Maybe he should have let Syla use her magic on him, as it would take a long time for these wounds to heal naturally, and they would impede him on this mission.
But he hadn’t wanted to be bound to her in any way.
He’d dared not allow that. Not when he’d already developed feelings for her that he shouldn’t have allowed.
She’d made him that wonderful cobbler and then…
she’d saved his life. He hadn’t missed that.
She probably shouldn’t have pulled him out of the ocean.
He’d heard Fel and Tibby pointing that out, that he might have drowned if they’d left him out there.
But, for whatever reason, Syla had made them bring him here.
Why had she done that?
More, why hadn’t she used her power on him?
Back at the beach, he wouldn’t have been capable of objecting to magical healing.
She could have taken advantage of him being unconscious.
It wasn’t as if he would have been able to stop her if she’d used her gods-gift to heal him.
But she’d respected his wishes—she’d respected him—even though they were enemies. Even though he was working against her.
Damn it, he didn’t want to betray her. He wanted… her. Especially after that heated kiss the day before by the window.
Perhaps not surprising, given her soft cheek and lush hair touching him, he’d woken with an arousal.
He would have laughed at his silly libido, at how it functioned perfectly well despite the injuries the rest of his body had endured, but his ribs ached, and even soft chuckles would have hurt.
Sex would definitely hurt, though if she woke and offered it, his body might have to suffer for the sake of his cock.
He lifted a hand and stroked her hair, letting his fingers rub her scalp through it.
The memory of their kiss returned, how she’d been stiff at first but then…
Then she’d given in to her instincts. Instincts that wanted him.
He’d had no doubt. He didn’t think she wanted to want him, but bodies often didn’t obey their owners’ wishes.
The general must have envisioned something like this when he’d sent Vorik on this mission, but had he realized Syla would be so drawn to Vorik?
Her spectacles lay on the table beside the bed, so he saw her face clearly in the brightening light coming through the window. Her round cheeks, a cute nose, and full lips that he could easily imagine wrapping around his—
She lifted her head, eyes opening, and he tried to halt his imagination.
Easier said than done. What had been a mild morning erection had grown rock hard at his thoughts and at having her so close.
He had to fight the urge to wrap his fingers around the back of her head and pull her down to his chest, where she might be tempted to run her tongue over his muscles, to bring her soft evocative mouth to his nipples and then lower.
Her lips parted as she met his gaze, and he tried to straighten his face, to wipe the lust from his eyes.
“Are you… all right, Captain?” Syla glanced at his chest.
Was it his imagination that her gaze lingered on the swell of his muscles before she averted it?
“I’ve been better,” he said, then cleared his throat.
Damn, his voice was husky with need. She couldn’t miss it.
He swallowed and added, “But I appreciate that you obeyed my wishes and didn’t use your magic.
Didn’t bind me with your magic.” He checked her face to see if she would deny that her power could do that.
“I always obey the wishes of my patients on that matter.” Syla shrugged, as if she hadn’t been tempted in the least. The movement shifted the fabric of the simple robe she wore, the flap tied loosely, flesh visible below her neck.
“Unless it’s an emergency, and I deem they might die if I don’t use my power.
Then it’s a more difficult decision. But you’re healthy and fit—very fit…
” Her gaze strayed to the broken shackle on the floor beside the bed, and then the window. “I figured you would recover.”
“Yes.” Vorik shifted into a sitting position, which happened to bring them closer together, and lifted a hand to her face. “Though I wouldn’t have if I’d drowned in the ocean. I know you fished me out.”
Her cheeks grew pink, and she looked away, though she didn’t pull away from his touch.
“I know your allies didn’t want you to,” he added. “They wanted you to let me die.”
Vorik didn’t feel malice toward them. They were, after all, enemies.
Those two sensed it, despite all his efforts to prove himself a loyal ally.
Syla… She wasn’t the naive innocent that his brother must have imagined, and she didn’t trust Vorik either, but she was more conflicted about it.
She knew, he believed, that it would be better if she had let him die, and yet…
“It’s not my nature as a healer to abandon people to their death,” she said.
“That’s fortunate for me. I could have easily drowned out there.”
He let his fingers trace her jaw as he admired her profile, the soft appeal of her lips. He wanted to pull her into his lap and kiss her. More than kiss her.
“You would not have. You’re harder than that to get rid of.” Those lips he’d been admiring twisted wryly.
“Probably true. I am determined to fulfill my mission.” That was a truth, alas.
“The one to protect me.” Her eyebrows twitched. “For the sake of the rebel faction.”
He smiled and traced her throat to her collarbone, his fingers longing to wander lower.
That simple flap would be so easy to shift aside, the knot to untie.
Then, he could touch more than her face, her throat.
His groin tightened with eagerness as he imagined cupping one of her full breasts, of bringing his lips to it and tasting her.
“If you’d bound me,” he murmured, “you could have forced me to tell you if that’s the truth or not.”
“My magic isn’t that powerful.”
“You might not have needed that much to sway me to speak the truth. After all, you saved my life. As I said, I’m grateful.”
He was more than grateful. It bothered him that they were at cross purposes.
He wanted to reward her for respecting him as much as he wanted to sate his own desire.
Well, maybe not as much, but he would like to thank her.
But, bound by his oath and his orders, he couldn’t thank her by leaving her to fulfill her quest without his involvement.
That was, he had no doubt, what she truly wanted.
Her eyes closed, however, as if she was enjoying his touch too much to think about her mission. Good. He wanted her to enjoy it. Just as she had by the window.
What would have happened if that guard hadn’t returned?
He let his hand wander lower, brushing the outline of her breast through the robe as his fingers strayed toward the knot.
A soft sound escaped her lips, almost a gasp, and she shifted toward him.
He smiled, glad his touch pleased her. Perhaps he could reward her that way.
“Don’t make me regret making an honorable choice,” Syla whispered. Almost a plea.
Honorable. That was his word. What he always wanted to be. And yet, in this situation, he did not feel honorable. She deserved better. She deserved…
More than him. But what more did he have that he could give? His oath was to the Sixteen Talons, his heart and soul to his people. He couldn’t betray them. Physical pleasure was all he could give her, but he vowed to make it something she would remember. Always.
With that thought, he leaned forward and kissed her. By now, it didn’t surprise him that she returned the kiss without hesitation, but it pleased him. He wanted her to enjoy this.