Eversworn: Daughters of Askara, Book 3 (6 page)

The urge to have that last look was a twitch in Phineas’s neck. Instead, he tucked his hands into his pockets and began walking. “Take care, Isabeau.”

He couldn’t see me, but I nodded while rubbing my hands up and down my arms. I consoled myself by saying my plan was working. Once I found the salt, if my plan failed—and it might even though I had consulted the grimoire—I had another that worked well without me even trying.

Dillon leaned over and asked, “Are you scared?”

For reasons he couldn’t begin to fathom. “Yes.”

“Good.” He plucked the fabric of my top. “Remember how that feels the next time you’re tempted to show up half naked at a colony filled with males desperate for a mate to claim them.”

Heat crawled up my neck. “I didn’t mean for this to happen.” Not until I was ready at least.

He snorted. “Yeah, well, the road to hell is paved with good intentions.”

Staring after Phineas, I asked a pointed question. “Do you think I’ll be safe alone tonight?”

Dillon’s mouth opened, but he snapped it shut. His instinct was to reassure me this place was a safe haven, that I was protected here and in no immediate danger. Now he wasn’t so sure.

My fault
. I’d stirred these males’ imaginations, making him doubt his home and neighbors.

He rubbed his face. “How long are you staying?”

“Only for tonight.” A few hours, I hoped. “I’m leaving in the morning.”

“It figures.” He began walking. “You can take my bed. I’ll take the floor.”

I tripped over my feet. Blasted skirt. “What did you say?”

“I said you’re bunking with me.” His brow creased. “Unless you’ve got a better idea.”

“No, I…” I shivered as chills flushed my skin. Dillon was taking me to his home, to his bed, after all. Perhaps not the way I’d intended, but a guilty thrill coursed through me at his grudging invitation.

Glancing over his shoulder, he said, “Don’t get any ideas.”

I almost swallowed my tongue. “I wouldn’t dream of it.” Except I already had.

“No offense, but I’m in charge of keeping the peace. You’re an accident waiting to happen.”

“If I’m a danger to innocent males,” I asked dryly, “aren’t you concerned for yourself?”

“I’m not innocent. Whatever your game is, I’m not playing.”

My steps slowed. “Is that a warning of some kind?”

“You could have dropped your glamour back there.” He stopped and turned. “Sure your little show would have attracted more attention, but it’s not wholly unwanted, is it? I mean, look how you’re dressed. Either you have something to hide, or you’re not what he thought you were.”

I bit my lip to keep excuses from tumbling out. Too much was at stake for Dillon’s harsh words to matter. Yet my vision foolishly blurred and my eyes stung.
I was not this female. She wasn’t me
. I worried my locket for something to occupy my hands, to keep from wiping my face.

He leaned as far away from me as he could without taking a step. “Are you crying?”

“No.” I stared at the twin moons until my sight cleared.

“Damn it.” Something hit my chest. He grunted. “There.”

What was—his handkerchief? “Thank you.” Lifting it to my nose, I inhaled his scent.

His brows drew together. “What are you doing?”

Laughter stopped up my throat. “Are you always so suspicious?” Sobering, I hated to admit after tonight his worst suspicions about me would be confirmed. When I wiped my eyes, I noticed a tiny spot of blood stained one corner. I despised myself for asking, “May I keep this?”

“It’s dirty.” He reached for it. “I cut my hand earlier. I shouldn’t have—”

“Thank you.” I made a production of blowing my nose before offering it to him.

“No.” He waved it aside. “Keep it. I’ll get you a clean one when we get home.” He tensed and rephrased. “I mean, from my tent.” He scratched his scalp. “Did you want to walk or what?”

Considering how little I had accomplished, I said, “If you don’t mind.”

He scanned me from head to toe, and then glanced toward the aisle cutting through the densest section of tents. “Here.” He pulled his shirt overhead and tossed it to me. “Put that on.”

I did as I was told. The long sleeves hung past my fingertips. The tail of his shirt hit below my knees. The worn fabric smelled of mint and male, of Dillon, and I flushed with pleasure.

I kept my tone light. “I did bring clothes better suited for travel.”

Of course, my belongings were in my saddlebags, and I had no clue where they had gone.

When he didn’t answer, I glanced up and found his mismatched eyes flickering over me. I loved how their colors contradicted one another. They befitted the male who owned them. One was bluer than any sky had the right to be. The other was the green of forests far north of Askara. Both stirred hotly as his slow perusal heated my skin. Crossing my arms over my chest hid my most obvious reaction to him. He swiped a hand down his face and swore before approaching me.

Jerking my arms down, he rolled the cuffs of his shirt over my wrists. I held perfectly still and let him tend me. Even the simplest words failed me. How could he be so cruel, yet so kind? I stopped myself before adding
so perfect
, knowing the sum of his flaws had attracted me to him.

And attracted to him I was. My mind blanked at the sight of his bare chest and sinewy arms. Even as his healer, I’d seen no more of him than from the knee down during his time in my care. He was very private, and I respected his wishes. His presence was enough to make guilt churn in my stomach. Desire had flirted with my ethics, but he was no longer my patient. He was a male I craved, and he had kissed me first and kissed me thoroughly. Perhaps seduction was the answer.

As I thought it, the embers his touch stoked in my lower belly cooled. I was not the whore Roland had named me. I was once, but no more. I had already tarnished Dillon’s memory with deceit. This one moment, I wanted pure. Staring up into his wary eyes, I said, “Kiss me again.”

Self-preservation rocked Dillon back on his heels. “What part of mistake didn’t you get?”

After a hushed moment rife with disappointment, his, Isabeau bit her bottom lip and nodded.

Damn if her teeth sinking into that soft mouth didn’t make his water. His hand lifted, fingers outstretched. He snapped his arm back to his side and made it stick. Comforting her kicked open a door best left shut and locked tight. One kiss he could forgive himself. Two kisses… He checked the perimeter, almost wishing Phineas was back so he had an excuse for taking up her invitation.

“Are we going to walk, or should I find your tent on my own?” she asked his boots.

He had been quick to offer his bed to her, another mistake. He grimaced. How long had it been since the sight of a female had stirred his blood? He couldn’t remember if anyone ever had. “Come on. I have one more stop to make.” When the silence stretched for too long, he said, “There’s a market run scheduled for the day after tomorrow, but I guess you knew that already.”

Her head popped up as she stammered, “Why would I?”

“You mean besides the fact Emma authorized our city passes weeks ago?” He was tempted to tap her mouth shut with his finger. “I thought you handled all her paperwork—my mistake.”

“Oh.” Her tone held an odd note of relief.

Turning with a sigh, he paused long enough to check for her muted footfalls behind him.

“Yeah. Oh.” Her run-in with Phineas must have spooked her worse than he’d realized.
Kiss me again
. Her request began to make more sense. She was scared and he was here. She trusted him. She shouldn’t. He didn’t trust her. She wanted comfort. He didn’t. He wanted her. “
Stupid
.”

“Excuse me?” She caught his arm. He obliged her by twisting until her palms braced on his chest. Her hands on his bare skin derailed all higher brain function. Her sharp nails bit into his pectorals, the sting a sweet counterpoint that flipped some internal switch. “What did you say?”

His memory sputtered. His lips parted. Nothing intelligible passed through them.

She shoved him for all the good it did her. “I asked you a question.”

The best he could manage was a strangled, “What?”

Her brow creased, all signs of anger draining. “Are you feeling all right? You’re limping. You weren’t when you left the consulate. How long has this been going on? Only today or longer?” Her tone said his answer better be
not long
. She tested his forehead with the inside of her wrist. “You don’t feel feverish.” Her lips pursed. “How’s your leg? Any signs of infection?”

Blood rushed to stuff his ears as she snagged his belt. “What?” Had he said that already?

With her finger, she led him from the beaten path into deeper shadows cast by the nearest tent. Gripping his hips firmly, she angled him toward her. “Hold still.” Then she knelt at his feet.

“What are you doing?” Damn, he sounded breathless.

“Stop wiggling.” She grabbed his knees and held him still.

Dillon almost swallowed his tongue. Forget fever. Arousal left him lightheaded and weak on his feet. He fisted his hands to keep from sinking them into her hair. She wasn’t—she couldn’t be. He scrubbed his face while his imagination ran wild. His skin was tight. His head throbbed as images of her kneeling clashed with those of Eliya, turning his desire into horrified fascination.

Isabeau frowned in concentration.
Eliya smiled
. Isabeau patted his thigh.
Eliya’s claws sank deep
. He couldn’t see or tell. “Isabeau.”
Please let her be here.
Let them be now
. “Answer me.”

“No signs of infection.” She began a slow massage of his calf. “Your leg looks fine.” Hypersensitive as his skin was, he hadn’t felt her roll up his pant leg. He hadn’t seen through the past to notice the present. Her thumbs rubbed deep. “Your muscle mass is returning.” She paused long enough to glance up at him. “It would help if you’d lower your glamour. I need to see skin.”

“You show me yours and I’ll show you mine.” His voice cracked.

A small smile. “You’ve taken good care of yourself.”

“I did what you told me to.” He left out how Harper had forced him into physical therapy.

“You did well.” Her approval twisted something in his chest. “I suppose you were right to leave when you did.” She readjusted his pant leg and stood. “You didn’t need my help after all.”

Oh, he needed help all right. Two seconds longer and he’d have said damn the consequences and let her inspect every inch of him. He would have dropped his glamour, taken that kiss, let her see what lay beneath and discovered if she was an Evanti.
Show her mine
, he wanted to see hers.

If she saw him free of illusion, what would she do?
Claim him
. From which there was no escape. Males might be allowed shows of possessive intent meant to deter competition, but females claimed their mates. Males were victims of feminine whims. They had no choice in the matter. Females saw, wanted and acquired. Being mated was another form of slavery. Choice ripped from his hands, freedom stolen from his grasp. He would be chained to her because of what he was, because of what she must be, because his biology demanded he cave to her desires.

The brief glimpse he allowed her during his surgery wasn’t enough to rouse her suspicions of his true nature. He’d made sure to only lower his glamour over one leg. Yeah, it meant he’d been conscious during the procedure, but the alternative had terrified him. Turned out pain was a worthwhile exchange to have Isabeau play nurse. Even now the things he’d wanted to do to her made his gut knot. All that time spent asleep on her shoulder, soothed by the sound of her voice. Some nights he still heard her reading Gobillard and felt her cheek, smooth against his forehead.

On some level, he’d assumed the reason he responded to Isabeau from that first time he saw her at the consulate was because she was what rumor hinted she must be—a female of his breed. If she had found herself alone with an unconscious, unmated prime, he could guess the outcome.

When a species teetered on the brink of extinction, it was the duty of the remaining purebloods to help repopulate the race. Hadn’t Eliya told him as much? Only she was Askaran. What she had wanted… He shifted his weight onto his left leg and swallowed his grunt of pain.

“Come on.” His voice was tight. “We should get going.”

He resumed his clipped pace and made a beeline for the hush tent. Mason had given the tent its name, because its contents were secret. Lame, yes, but it stuck. So he’d check the sled and the shipment, tuck the female into bed,
alone
, and then call it a night. Isabeau was leaving tomorrow. By the time they met up again… The more he considered it, the more he knew he couldn’t risk it.

Her touch clouded his brain. For an ex-
sthudai
, he’d been about to embarrass himself. He could just imagine explaining why he’d grabbed her by the hair and ground her face in his groin.

Somehow he didn’t think “oops” would have covered it.

If Mason were here, once he’d stopped laughing, he would have offered the same sage advice Dillon had spoon-fed him when he learned the guy was celibate and had no plans for a change in his status.
You need to get laid
. Granted, Dillon had been regurgitating the same crap well-meaning humans in the Dempsey colony had spewed whenever he got too pissy, but Mason had shrugged him off. Apparently his other friends had failed to sway him with the same argument.