24. Bastian
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
BASTIAN
T he next night, Bastian sat atop a rented gelding, holding the reins of both his own horse and of the bay mare intended for Isolde. Isolde herself was standing some distance away, arms folded over her chest and a scowl peeking out from the red-lined hood of her cloak.
“Would you get on the damn horse, please?” he snapped.
“No, I will not,” Isolde kept glaring, her arms folded over her chest. “I’m perfectly content to walk.”
“Is it strictly necessary for you to be a complete pain in my ass at every turn?”
“Not necessary, but I do get a kick out of it.”
Things between them felt particularly tense tonight.
Bastian didn’t know if he’d caused it with his reaction to Isolde’s announcement that she was going off to feed, or if he was imagining it because, for some reason, the knowledge that she’d been with another man made his skin crawl.
The other possibility was that Isolde had had some time to think about what they’d done yesterday morning—how she’d gone back on her assertion that nothing would ever happen between them again—and realized she regretted it.
Neither of them had said a word to one another about that particular subject.
Bastian had expected Isolde to spout some more bullshit about how what they’d done was purely physical , and he simply didn’t want to hear it.
If she wanted things to be only physical, that was fine by him. There was no reason to discuss it.
Just as long as she didn’t regret it. Hell, he really hoped that wasn’t the case.
If she’d let him, he would be returning the mind-blowing orgasm she’d given him at his next possible convenience. He couldn’t stand the fact that she’d gotten him off so spectacularly, and he hadn’t so much as laid a finger on her.
It didn’t matter if she’d fed on some other man last night. She needed her sustenance, and if she’d gotten anything else out of it… well, that was none of Bastian’s damn business, was it?
“You won’t be content to walk come daybreak,” Bastian said, grappling for patience, “when the sun rises and you’re caught outside, only halfway between here and Wolf territory.”
Isolde looked a bit startled. “It’s that far?”
“Yes, it’s that far,” Bastian said exasperatedly. “Two days’ journey on foot, one day—or in this case, night—on horseback. Now get. On. The. Horse.”
Selene hadn’t arrived yet, and Bastian could only pray she’d be more cooperative than Isolde. If he had to coax two Vampires onto their horses like this, it might be the death of him.
“Horses don’t like me,” Isolde said, and if her tone hadn’t suddenly turned so shy, Bastian might have thought she was just making another excuse. “They’re not fond of Vampires in general, but especially not me.”
“This one is very calm and gentle, Isolde. She’s sweet. Come over here and talk to her a little. Pet her nose, and I’ll give you an apple to feed her.”
“Fine,” she grumbled. “But if I get my teeth kicked in trying to demonstrate this to you, I’m going to be angry.”
Bastian watched her edge her way around the fence, her expression wary as she came toward the horse. She approached slowly, her hand raised with the palm up, murmuring to the creature in words he couldn’t make out.
Between one step and the next, the mare flattened her ears, snorting as she shied away from Isolde. Isolde flinched, retreating a few steps.
“Give it a moment and try again,” Bastian said, holding the mare steady.
Isolde shot him a glare, but did as he said. She waited until the horse settled, then edged closer once more. Muttering to the horse, she raised her hand for the mare to sniff?—
The horse reared, letting out a panicked whinny. Isolde darted out of the way with preternatural speed, a curse on her lips. When the mare’s hooves landed back on the ground, she tried to bolt, but Bastian held her still.
“Steady,” Bastian murmured to the horse, leaning down to stroke along her neck as Isolde retreated back toward the fence, her eyes wide and her gloved hands raised. “It’s alright, girl.”
“I told you,” Isolde said, staring warily at the horse as she stomped her hooves. “Horses can’t stand me, Bastian. They can sense that I’m a predator. Besides…”
Isolde broke off, frowning. She turned aside, staring off into the shadows beyond the stable yard.
“Besides what?” he prompted.
She glanced at him for barely a second, then down at her boots. “I never learned to ride astride.”
“No?” Bastian blinked, surprised. He’d only ever seen Isolde wear a dress once—that distracting velvet thing she’d worn on Burning Night. The rest of the time she wore those fitted trousers, which were unfortunately even more distracting than the dress, and he’d assumed…
“I never wore pants as human,” she said, confirming what had only just occurred to Bastian.
“Just gowns, and then once I was a Vampire, I couldn’t even get a horse to let me on its back, so I never had an opportunity.
” She drew her cloak more tightly around herself, still not meeting Bastian’s eye—like it was some horrible embarrassment to admit all this to him.
“Now, is there some other way we can get there?”
“Sure.”
Her eyes snapped up to his, familiar anger igniting in the blue. “Well then why didn’t you say?—”
“You can ride with me.”
Isolde’s jaw dropped. For a moment, all she did was stare at him in disbelief, and then the anger in those eyes intensified until they were practically glowing.
“Not a fucking chance,” she spat. “I am not getting on that horse with you.”
“In that case, you’re not coming with us,” Bastian replied calmly.
He gave a sharp whistle, and the stable boy came trotting out into the yard.
“We won’t be needing the mare after all,” Bastian told him, handing off the second set of reigns.
“Keep the extra coin for now, and I’ll settle things up when we return. ”
The stable boy nodded and led the mare away.
“There has to be another way,” Isolde insisted. “One that doesn’t involve us being so close together for the entire journey.”
“What’s the matter, Isolde? You’re really afraid of a little physical contact between us?
” Bastian guided his gelding toward her, holding the horse steady when he began to snort at Isolde’s proximity.
Leaning down so his face was level with Isolde’s, he dropped his voice to barely above a whisper.
“You had no problem touching me yesterday morning, or the other night. You’ve been between my thighs before, moonbeam.
I think you can handle being there again. ”
Isolde’s mouth tightened with anger, but Bastian didn’t miss the way her gaze flicked down his body—to the thighs in question. “I am not getting on that horse,” she vowed.
“Yes, you are.” Bastian straightened back up and offered her his hand. “If you want to come, you’re getting on one horse or the other.”
The clopping of a second set of hooves sounded from behind Bastian, but he didn’t take his eyes off Isolde to check who it was.
“Stop acting childish, Isolde,” Selene called, trotting up on her own horse. A stallion, no less. Bastian shouldn’t have been surprised. “Get on his horse. You’re wasting time.”
The look Isolde shot Bastian was positively venomous.
She stood rooted to the spot for a long moment, tense from her shoulders to her toes.
Then, finally, she stalked toward him. His horse gave a nervous snort as she neared, but didn’t try to bolt or rear.
First she slung up her pack, which Bastian fastened to the saddle alongside his own.
Then she extended her arm, and Bastian hauled her into the saddle before him.
“That’s not so bad, now, is it?” Bastian muttered against her ear as she settled between his thighs, and?—
Oh, hell. He hadn’t really thought this through, had he?
Her scent overwhelmed him in an instant, her silvery hair blowing across his face in the breeze, and in this position… her ass was wedged tightly against his crotch.
“It’s fucking horrible,” Isolde snapped.
And then she shifted, trying to get more comfortable, and ground that perfect ass of hers right into his cock.
Bastian forced a breath in through his mouth, trying not to inhale her scent as he willed himself with everything he was worth not to go rock hard in his pants.
He tried to remind himself that she wasn’t his, that she’d been with another man last night, anything to settle himself down, but he was starting to think that knowledge might just be making things worse.
All it did was fill him with the insatiable urge to…
to claim her, or some ridiculous thing like that.
To rid her of the touch and the scent and the memory of every human man who had come before him.
It was a damn good thing human scents didn’t carry the way Vampire’s scents did, because if Bastian had been able to smell whatever human bloke she’d fed from…
He wasn’t sure he’d be able to contain himself.
Bastian nudged the horse into a walk, guiding them out of the stable yard. He could do this. He could ride with her like this until dawn.
He tsked against her ear. “Not the best time to be using that particular word, do you think?” Oh, what the fuck did he think he was doing, saying things like that right now?
His mouth kept moving, though, spouting words he should not have been saying.
“Not when you know what it does to me to hear you curse. And especially not when I know you were with another man last night.”
Isolde went completely, utterly still against him—just for an instant. And then she relaxed back against his chest, turned her head, and looked up at him. When she spoke, her mouth was only inches from his.
“Are you jealous, or something?” she crooned.
Well, fuck .
“Absolutely not.” Bastian turned away, busying himself with his pack. He had to pull himself together immediately. He took his time fishing out the thing he was looking for, and when he turned back to Isolde, she had—mercifully—faced forward once more. “Lift up your leg.”
Her head jerked to the side at the command, but she didn’t turn fully this time. “What?”
“Lift it up.”
This time, she obeyed. She hoisted her right leg up, holding it with her hand beneath her knee as Bastian wrapped the leather strap of a sheath around it.
He slipped the end through the buckle, then drew it tight until it was snug against her thigh.
When he tapped the other leg, she lifted it so he could fasten a sheath there, too.
As he cinched the strap, a fresh gust of icy wind blew Isolde’s scent right into Bastian’s face, and he had to bite down on his tongue— hard —to keep from groaning at the sweetness of it. At the arousal he detected in it .
Evidently he wasn’t the only one affected by their compromising position in the saddle.
With shaking hands, Bastian drew the daggers from their sheaths and offered them to Isolde.
“They’re not likely to be exactly the right size for you.
” Bastian didn’t know how he made his voice come out so smooth as he fought to keep himself—and his cock—under control.
Strapping the sheaths to her thighs was almost more torturous than having her between his legs.
“But they’ll do for now. I’ll make you a pair that’s tailored to your size and grip when we get back. ”
“You don’t need to do that.” Isolde took the blades from him, curling her fingers around the hilts and turning them over in her hands. “These are perfect.”
Bastian made a noncommittal noise in response. He’d spent all of the previous night designing the knives in question—in a desperate attempt to distract himself from the image of Isolde feeding on some human bastard instead of him.
They rode out of Bloodhaven, and for a long time after that, in silence.