Vision of Light [The Renegades 1] (8 page)

Sitting next to her, he pressed his palms against the center of his chest, one on top of the other, and focused on regaining his strength and restoring his power. Once he recovered his energy, he would heal his open wounds.

The day passed by slowly. By late noon, Aislan stirred. Lucien could not open his eyes immediately. He calmed his raging energy until he could interrupt safely. He looked at her, but he could do nothing beyond that. If she awoke, she could do whatever she wanted, and he would not be able to lift a finger to stop her.

Lucien waited until he had recovered enough before he checked on her. Feeling along her slender throat, he pinched a few of her nerves, but when he applied energy strategically to calm her down, her inner force grasped his hungrily. He pulled his fingers free, cutting the energy flow from being absorbed by the suction force inside her. She continued to sleep, but because he had not been able to apply enough pressure on her, she stirred several times, as if dreaming. Disconcerted with her restless energy, he tried to understand the kind of sorcery she possessed.

Aislan had a rare ability he had never encountered before, one much feared but highly coveted in the Circle. She might be a predator based on how quickly she had absorbed his sorcery power. Lucien had to struggle to free himself from the intensity of the menacing hunger.

Aislan dreamed, a dream with a familiar presence, but this time it took on another dimension. She ran on foot through the forest from an ominous, all-powerful phantom, but she could not run fast enough. Looking behind her, she expected the Dark Lord, but a faceless old man with long gray hair and dark voids for eyes chased her. He looked as old as time and as solid as a boulder. Aislan had never seen him before, and yet she sensed he had always been there, waiting, watching.

The old man overtook her easily on his huge black horse. He jumped off his horse. Despite his size, he moved as agile as a pouncing tiger as he flew at her with his long sword in hand. She tried to fend off his fierce strength and powerful sorcery. Aislan held in her hand a familiar one-foot silver dagger, which danced with life and obeyed her every thought. Fire sparked with each impact of his sword against her dagger. As the man raised his sword for the final strike, a figure dove out of the darkness and deflected the long blade with another sword.

As her defender parried every downward blow and vicious thrust aimed her way, the old man appeared even more infuriated. Then her rescuer grabbed her hand and they both ran, running as fast as the wind, leaving the enraged old man far behind. They dropped into a void together. As they fell, Aislan held fast onto her dagger with one hand while she kept a tight hold onto her savior with her other hand. He turned, his dark hair flying back from around his head, and she saw his face.

"Lucien.” She reached for him.

Aislan woke to the faint morning light that made its way into the cave. She lay barely a few feet from Lucien, his profile turned to her in the semi-darkness, his eyes closed. He sat in a cross-legged position, his hands one on top of the other over his chest, not reacting to her. Despite his unmoving posture that made him appear to be sleeping, she felt energy shifting within him.

She remembered faintly him carrying her, running fast. Something had exchanged between them. Even now, she could feel his touch, his warm fingers gentle against her throat, her temples, her shoulder blades. Her body felt different. Reaching over, Aislan touched his knee. He stiffened as her fingers pressed into the solid, muscular thigh. She felt wetness, his blood. His clothes were torn, and she saw open wounds on his leg and arm. As she sat up, everything came back in full force. Aislan felt the hilt of the dagger in her hand.

Scooting away from him, Aislan stared at him in the semi-darkness. She could barely make out his features, but she saw his eyelids flicker. Even while inactive, he remained dynamically vibrant. She knew then he could not break his concentration. Her pulse raced in nervous uncertainty as she got to her feet. He remained unmoving, but she sensed his tenseness and just a tinge of anger.

Aislan looked at the dagger on the ground. Even though it could protect her on her journey, she knew it would also provide a means for him to track her. He had protected her, but when it came down to it, she was his prisoner. Aislan had no other choice because staying meant the inevitability. She had to take the opportunity to escape, to maintain the last shred of dignity. Her nature dictated that she run for freedom. She would no longer allow any man to own her. Aislan headed for the entrance of the cave and began walking as fast as she could, heading for Victania, the only place she belonged. Her vision had told her so.

When Aislan was about eleven, she had learned about Victania, an all-female sorcery clan, from one of the troubadours. Her father had not wanted to talk about her abduction by Narisse, so Aislan had painted Victania as a school for girls. She begged and pleaded with him to pay for her education with them, but he had balked at the suggestion, refusing to spend his limited coffers on the education of any of his five daughters.

Aislan had run away many times in search of Victania, and her father caught her every single time before she got very far, beating her for her constant defiance, and eventually, locking her up for fearing she would succeed. Soon, she found out why he would not let her go. A few months before she turned sixteen, he had sold her to Hayton Temple, who had been waiting for her to grow old enough to wed. At every opportunity, she would run away, causing Hayton to lock her up in a tower or keep her under guard. Confined since she was twelve by her father, Aislan continued her life as a virtual prisoner at Templeton Castle these past four years. It took Hayton's death to gain her freedom, but she did not feel responsible. Aislan absolved herself of all responsibility and guilt because his activities leading to his execution had nothing to do with her.

As she walked, Aislan sensed a change within herself. Something was different, but she could not determine what. She felt more energetic and alert. Her vision had always been good but now had become sharper. Her senses had heightened. It had rained slightly, and she smelled the dew on the passing leaves and saw sprinkles of water dripping from tree limbs. If she stopped to look, she could see each drop.

What had happened? She could not recall much of anything after the wolf bit her. Bit her! Aislan looked at her hands and rubbed the flaky, dry blood off her skin. Her hands felt tender, but no broken skin, no pain. Lucien had healed her. She knew that without a doubt and faltered for one moment. He had saved her, and she had walked away.

No, she was his prisoner, and she must not forget. Why had he saved her—because he wanted her? She had no need for any man's attention. She could not bear the thought of being bound to another man.

Aislan stopped by the river for a drink of water. Starving, she dug around for roots to eat, staying hidden in the forest to keep out of sight. She did not even know how to find Victania. Given time, she would go into town and ask questions. Meanwhile, she had to put distance between Lucien and herself. By early evening, Aislan began to tire because she had walked nearly the entire day. She ventured back to the river, knowing the risk of being in the open, but she was thirsty. After drinking her fill, Aislan sat on the riverbank and took off her cloth boots, then walked into the river to wash. After this, she planned to head towards the cliff to figure out where she needed to go to find the nearest town.

The boy's braes had gotten quite filthy, so she tried to wash some of the mud off. Having no monetary means to purchase new clothes, she would have to take better care of her clothes. Splashing water over her face and her body the best she could, Aislan rubbed off the dry blood and sweat until she ended up with her clothes all wet. She hesitated, then shrugged and waded further in until she could wash herself more thoroughly while still fully clothed. Used to be on the run, it would be foolish to be caught bathing in the nude.

Once satisfied, Aislan waded back onto the bank, wringing the water out of her clothes. She debated taking off her clothes and wearing only the cloak until she could find a way to dry her clothes. A few years back, she had gotten sick for staying in wet clothes too long. She did not want to lie in another cold cave running a fever.

Picking up her boots, she shook out the small stones, and her attention strayed to her left hand and the marriage band she wore. She had thrown the first few bands out the window into the moat, to Hayton's rage. Because nearly half a dozen priests blessed the latest band, Aislan had dared not risk their wrath when one of them came by to visit, mainly to reprimand her for her unrelenting demeanor towards her long-suffering husband. No priest could lecture her now.

Aislan tossed her boots aside and pulled at the ring. Hayton had deliberately made the band too small. She had to spit to loosen it and had to use grunt force to pry it off her finger. Once free, she pitched it into the river with the same consideration she had given the filigree discarded earlier. The ring landed further than she expected.

"Good riddance,” she whispered and turned to pick up her boots. She stopped abruptly.

Lucien leaned against a tree, watching her.

Aislan knew he would find her. She had run out of sheer habit, always running away from anyone or anything trying to hold onto her. Yet, during her journey, she had expected Lucien to find her. She had hoped he would find her and had stopped often to let him catch up.

Looking at him made her nipples tingle and her body quiver to life. She knew lust for what it was. It consumed her with the intense desire to mate with him. She did not have to answer to anyone, no husband, no priests, and she hurt no one with what she wanted. Victania could wait a few more days. Aislan had to know why this man was so familiar to her before she even met him.

There was no escaping fate, and at this moment, Aislan did not want to anymore.

Lucien's anger faded as soon as he saw Aislan.

He had been sick with fear when she walked out of the cave, and he had to force himself to finish regenerating another day. The hell she put him through almost meant nothing once he saw her splashing in the water. Anger would not solve anything. Having seen him kill twice, she did only what he expected of someone who considered herself a captive, associating him with bloodshed, violence, and death. She only rebelled against captivity even though what she did was pure foolishness, putting both of them in great jeopardy.

Any form of rebellion and defiance had always been dealt with harshly in his life. Like all humans, anyone could be broken. Lucien's sorcery master had broken him when he was a boy, which effectively altered some of his basic beliefs, but he had no interest in breaking Aislan. He had to adjust to her peculiar behavior because they had to exist harmoniously for an extended time.

Aislan stood there before him. Damn it all, the way her gaze locked on his face with an absorbing intensity matched the raging fire that churned in him. Lucien strode towards her. She took the final few steps to meet him until they stood barely an arm's length from each other. He stared at her uplifted face.

"You should not have run away, Aislan. Had they found you, they would have killed you.” He tried not to scold her too hard. If he frightened her further, she would only run again. She had to understand he was on her side. “You must stay with me, like it or not. You are fortunate I found you first. Do you understand the danger you are in?"

She threw him completely off kilter by touching his cheek, her unexpected caress making him hot, then cold, then hot again. Catching her fingers, he brushed his mouth across her soft palm. Lucien did not believe in any good in the afterlife, so he would have to make the best of what he now had with her. He lusted for her, and he would not deny himself if she were willing.

"I am sorry.” He apologized because he had shown her nothing but violence. He wondered if his fervent assault of her with their first kiss compounded to drive her to run.
No more blood. No more violence. And no more roughness.
He had to take it easy, go at her pace, on her terms.

Lucien slid his arm about her back, gently pulling her into his embrace. Her wet clothes clung to her slender body, but he would take care and warm her up.
Go easy. Go slow.
He had never been an easy or a slow man. He had to take his mind off his cock, temper the animal in him, and take the care needed to calm and soothe her. She was that kind of woman. It would have to be her way or no way.

If he could fuck her, he would do it any way she preferred.

For his reward, she lifted her face and parted her delectable lips in open invitation. Instead of devouring her mouth like the beast he had been the last time and frightening her out of her wits, he bent and gently kissed the luscious, red lips that so tempted and enticed him.

"Aislan, how sweet you are,” he whispered as he parted them with his tongue, tasting her delicious mouth, kissing her like a gentle lover and not a depraved animal. It had been more than a month since he had last seen a woman. He wanted instant gratification, to throw her on her backside and ram his cock up her pussy without further ado.

"Ah, fuck!” he groaned and caught himself from uttering more profanity into her sensitive ear. She had flinched when the men cursed, and he knew she disapproved of foul language, as a lady should, so he resolved not to be vulgar with her as he was wont to do when it came to sex.

He sucked her tongue, tracing the curve of her lips, breathing in her fragrant skin, drawing in her every breath. Lucien had never been gentle with any woman. He grew up in the royal court with all its vices, from noble ladies to courtesans. He ended up with hellions or whores who clawed and scratched, demanding pain and roughness, giving as much as taking. Sex had always come easily, but he would not get any here if he did not behave himself. His cock ached and clamored for release, and Lucien struggled with himself and refocused. This time, the genteel lady expected to be wooed with tenderness. She could not even handle a rough kiss, so he had to fall in line with her comfort level.