Chapter One #2
He pressed a gentle finger to her lips, silencing her. “I would never leave you, shei’tani. Not for any reason. My place is at your side, and has been since the moment you called me from the sky.” His hand brushed through the tangled spirals of her bright, flame-red hair.
“I—it was just a dream.”
“You should not doubt me even in your dreams.”
In hypnotized fascination, she watched him bend his head over hers. Long black hair draped around her, enclosing her in a shadowy veil within which only she and Rain existed.
“Ver reisa ku’chae. Kem surah, shei’tani. Your soul calls out. Mine answers, beloved.” He whispered the vow of shei’tanitsa claiming, first in Feyan, then in Celierian, his voice low and stirring. “Trust in that, Ellysetta. Trust in me.”
Slowly his head dipped down and he claimed her lips. Illusion spun away. Reality took its place, so much better than the weave.
Mercy. Her eyes rolled back and her eyelids fluttered down. Good, sweet Lord of Light, was it possible to die of pleasure from a single kiss? It must be, because she had no doubt that she had just died and gone to the Haven of Light.
Flows of warmth wrapped around her, enclosing her in a snug embrace even as his arms did the same.
His mouth trailed a burning path from her lips to the line of her jaw and below to the sensitive skin of her neck.
She arched her back, baring her throat to his kisses, gasping for breath as sensation threatened to steal all reason.
“Stop. You must stop. My parents . . .” But her hands clutched him far more fiercely than her words tried to drive him away.
She sensed the power gathering strength within him, knew that the tairen—the fierce predator that lived inside him—was preparing to spring, but before she could even think to be afraid, he released her and twisted in one smooth motion to sit on the side of her bed.
With a groan, he hunched his back and buried his face in his hands. She sat up, staring at the long curve of his spine, the broad strength of powerful shoulders, lean muscle, hard bone, sinew, all trembling.
“Rain?” She reached out a hand, but her fingertips scarcely brushed against his back before he sprang to his feet, scooping up the pile of leather and steel by her bed.
“Sieks’ta. You are right, this is not the time, no matter how much I wish it.
Though in my defense, you make me lose all sense of reason.
Dangerous woman.” He shook his head, his expression torn between admiration and dismay as he pulled on his leather tunic and tightened the laces.
“I had not meant to fall asleep.” He glanced out the window at the lightening sky. “Nor stay past dawn.”
“What are you doing here in the first place?”
The hands knotting his laces went still. He turned to face her, his eyes narrowed. “You do not remember?”
Ellysetta gulped down a knot of fear because for a moment her mind was a complete blank.
Then the floodgates opened, and the memories rushed back.
“Of course I remember.” She laughed to hide her relief.
“It’s not every day a woodcarver’s daughter dines with the king and queen and the heads of every noble House in Celieria.
” Last night had been her first official function as the future Queen of the Fading Lands.
“I meant after dinner,” Rain prompted. “Your nightmare, do you remember that?”
Her pulse sped up. She recalled the hazy images of a nightmare more disturbing and horrific than any she’d ever had—and that was no small feat. Ellie saw things in her dreams that would have made battle-scarred veterans quake in their boots.
“It was a bad one.” She looked at him for confirmation. She had a wavering vision of blood, bodies, her room shredded into a shambles. She glanced around. Her room looked as it always had, small but tidy, not a thing out of place. But of course, the Fey would have repaired the damage.
“You were attacked in your sleep,” Rain clarified, “by someone using your dreams as a conduit to your unconscious mind. Someone most likely wielding Azrahn.” Azrahn, the soul magic, forbidden to the Fey but widely used and mastered by their greatest enemies.
“You believe it was a Mage.”
“Aiyah, I do. That seems the most logical answer. Dreams are the place where Azrahn and Mena—Spirit—meet, and night is when the dark powers of Azrahn grow strongest.” He reached for the leather belts filled with dozens of Fey’cha throwing daggers and slipped them on one by one, crisscrossing the straps over his chest.
“I told you about my seizures,” she murmured, “and my childhood exorcism. I’ve never told anyone about that before.”
“You did, and you can put your fears of demon possession to rest. I believe someone has been hunting you all your life—the Shadow Man, you called him—and that your nightmares and seizures are the result of his attempts to access your mind.”
“Those afflictions began long before I called you from the sky,” she pointed out. “When I was just a woodcarver’s daughter. No one worth a Mage’s notice.”
He pinned her with a hard look. “Ellysetta, I am the Tairen Soul, the most powerful Fey alive, and you are my truemate, my equal in every way. Even though you have spent a lifetime denying it, your magic is beyond powerful. It always has been. Some part of that power must have attracted the Mages’ attention even though they obviously didn’t know who you were or how to find you.
” He picked up his wide leather sword belt and strapped it around his waist.
She watched him fasten the belt buckle and adjust the two curved meicha scimitars hanging in their sheaths at his hips.
A curl of pleasure tightened low in her belly.
There was something incredibly intimate about watching Rain dress and don his weapons.
The sight roused fresh memories: watching Rain through a dreamy, sensual haze, the feel of his arms around her, the dizzying whirl of stars, a burning, endless emptiness.
Other sensations followed the first: Rain’s bare skin beneath her hand; the rich scent of cinnabar oil, magic, and Rain washing over her; the slow, relentless burn of his body filling hers, completing her, immersing her in exquisite sensations like nothing she’d ever known before.
“Rain,” she said in a low, choked voice, “did you . . . did I . . .” Her face flamed. “Did you . . . mate with me last night?”
He went still. His head lifted, his gaze locking on hers.
Then he took a step towards her and cupped her face in his hands.
His thumbs brushed slowly across her lips, outlining the shape of her mouth.
“Aiyah, shei’tani, I did indeed.” Her womb clenched in melting response to the purring satisfaction in his voice and the light, stroking caress of his thumb.
“And if I thanked the gods every chime for the next ten thousand years, it would not be enough to honor such a wondrous gift.” Then he frowned.
“Though perhaps our mating was a greater gift to me than you, if you do not remember it.”
“I remember.” Her voice came out as a strangled whisper. Everything was coming back to her now. Especially that. “Vividly.” The sudden blaze in his eyes sent fresh waves of heat rolling up and down her body. She scooted back out of range of his enthralling hands.
“Our bodies joined in Spirit only, shei’tani. I did not break my oath to your father. And, believe me, keeping my honor intact has never been so difficult.”
Her brows drew together in consternation as she realized she couldn’t recall the end of last night’s dinner or how she’d gotten home.
The memories were clear up to a point, then grew disturbingly hazy, as if parts of the night were wrapped in a fog.
She remembered sweet blue wine that packed a surprising punch and being warm, so very, very warm.
Oh, gods, what had she done? What sort of fool had she made of herself?
She swallowed. “How did I get home?”
His gaze fell away from hers. He stepped back to retrieve the two seyani longswords propped against the window and slid his arms into the harness straps. “I carried you.”
“Because I was ill?” Please let her dim memories be wrong.
“You were not ill.” He settled the two swords in place on his back and bent his head to focus with suspicious concentration on the task of buckling the straps.
“If I wasn’t ill, then why did you carry me?” she persisted. He was Fey, and though he could and would dance around truth and evade questions with far more skill than he was displaying now, the Fey did not lie. When pressed for an answer, he would give her the truth.
He sighed and met her gaze. “You had too much pinalle.”
“I was drunk.” Her stomach lurched at the thought. Now she felt ill. Oh, gods, what sort of fool had she made of herself before the nobles whose support Rain was so desperate to win?
“Not exactly.”
“What does that mean? What did I do?”
“You’d had too much pinalle.”
“You already said that!”
He gave her a look that made her bite her lip and subside into unhappy silence. “You’d had too much pinalle,” he repeated in a deliberate tone, “and then you had a cup of keflee.” He stopped, a wry look entering his eyes. “Let me just suggest that you not combine the two in the future.”
Ellie covered her hot cheeks with her hands. “What did I do?” He didn’t answer immediately, and she could see him weighing what to tell her. “Just give me the truth, whatever it is. If you don’t, I’ll drive myself mad conjuring up all manner of awful possibilities.”