Fated for Sacrifice Page 4

  The weight of his leg trapped hers between his thighs, binding them even closer together. Intimate. Comfortable.

  And enticing beyond belief. Her fingertips itched to traverse the tight planes of muscle beneath her palm. The urge to turn her cheek and dust kisses all the way up to his mouth hit her square in the belly and clamped her womb into a vise. He was right here for the taking. Hers for this singular moment in time.

  She couldn’t remember the last time she’d awakened aroused beyond all normal measure of the word. For the last several months with Tom, when she woke up, all she could think of was getting out of bed, getting on with her day. Not how she could convince him into hours of sexual languor.

  She chanced a glance at Dáire’s handsome face and smiled at his relaxed expression. What would he do if she followed impulse and woke him up by exploring that long, rangy body with her mouth?

  Letting out a sigh, Reese gave herself a mental shake. Dáire withdrew from the kiss last night. He’d left the bed, for heaven’s sake. Probably because, like her, he understood that getting tangled up in each other came with too many complications. Doubtful he’d appreciate her advances.

  No, she’d be smart if she rolled away before he ever realized she’d drifted to him in her sleep.

  A sigh slipped free, part contentment, part frustration. Why did the one man she wanted more than any other have to be a friend of her ex? Her technically recent ex at that.

  Last night should have never happened, and she’d be better served by forgetting it.

  ****

  The hum of activity lured Dáire from the depths of an exhausted sleep. He cracked one eye open to assess what had intruded on his slumber, only to find himself in the old cabin on his property, tucked into bed beside Reese, where he’d crashed hard about an hour after she drifted off.

  Her leg tangled through his. With her head tucked against his shoulder, her hair tickled his nose. Her perfume tantalized his senses, reminding him of the incredible way she’d come to life beneath his hands.

  Though she lay perfectly still, the rapid-fire nature of her chaotic thoughts ping-ponged through his mind, telling him she was wide awake. Once again Dáire confronted a struggle that tightened his lungs into narrow straws. Reese’s desire combated with her apprehension, pulling her between touching him and rolling out of his embrace into the safety of the other side of the bed.

  Damn.

  If she didn’t feel so amazing all meshed up against him, he’d ease himself away from her supple body and find the fastest means of getting her out of the cabin. But she did feel amazing, and all he wanted to do was lie still and savor the newness of Reese. Relish in the fact he liked having her in his arms like this.

  Far more than he’d ever enjoyed waking to any other woman.

  He lifted his hand to her hair and pulled his fingers through the long silken locks. At the tender caress, Reese lifted onto her hands and gave him a sleepy smile. Her gaze dipped to his mouth for a heart-stopping moment, but before Dáire could recover from the staggering memory of her sweet kiss, she eased out of his hold. “Time to get going I guess.”

  Reluctantly, he nodded. “Yeah, probably so.”

  Regret pulled through his veins as she slid off the edge of the bed. Her comfortable warmth went with her, leaving him to fend off a sudden chill that settled into the space she’d abandoned.

  “You’ll take me home, right?” Reese asked as she stretched.

  Her question registered, but the graceful way she bent forward, fingertips extended to her toes, left Dáire speechless. He stared, enchanted by the elegant curve of her spine. A flashpoint of memory surfaced, Reese in a deep red sundress, thin spaghetti straps dipping halfway down her back and highlighting well toned muscles in her shoulders. She’d worn the stunningly simple dress to a picnic the year they worked together on Tom’s predecessor’s campaign. Dáire had to fight to keep from staring the entire afternoon.

  He blinked. Where had that memory come from?

  “Yoo-hoo sleepyhead?”

  Squeezing his eyes shut to regain his focus, he recalled her question. “Yeah, I’m taking you home.” But not before he convinced her out of that scroll. Currently, he wasn’t in any shape to try. Not as long as his thoughts were honing in on Reese in sundresses. If he tried to influence her now, if he let those electrifying thoughts connect with his conscious awareness, he’d forget all the reasons he’d terminated their kiss.

  He needed some distance. Unable to cope with the heady nature of her emotions and his own jumbled thoughts, he released the link with her subconscious. Time to work out a strategy. A way to buy himself some time before he delved back inside that head of hers.

  “You want coffee? Breakfast maybe? My cabin’s not that far away.” Sitting up, he gestured at the extinguished fire. “Warmer too. And there’s hot water if you want to shower.”

  “Oh, man, I’d kill for a shower.” Reese pushed her hair away from her face and crinkled her nose. “I smell like campfire.”

  “That seals it then.” With far more energy than he really felt, he kicked his legs off the edge of the bed and stood. “My place. You shower, I’ll cook breakfast.” At least at this time of morning, Taran would still be fast asleep. Particularly after a late night of carousing. Reese could shower and eat three meals before Dáire’s younger brother dragged himself out of bed.

  While he dressed, she slid into her heavy coat and tucked her feet into wool-lined boots. Hands tucked into her pockets, she waited by the door until he too had his boots on and crossed the room. Dáire opened the door, holding it wide for her to exit first. As she passed, that enticing scent of amber drifted to his nose, making it that much more difficult for him to resist the temptation of catching her hand and pulling her back into a good-morning kiss.

  He liked waking up with her—how odd.

  Shaking his head, Dáire fell into step behind her and descended the rickety stairs. “That old cabin’s sturdier than it lets on. Maybe I should renovate and rent it out.” Doubtful given the curse that plagued his family, but he needed conversation. Mundane conversation to keep his objective in mind.

  “It’s kinda charming in its own way. Rustic.”

  With an agreeing nod, he nudged her shoulder, indicating the path. “Cozy.”

  “Yeah,” she murmured quietly. “Cozy.”

  Even the startling discovery of what Reese felt for him didn’t make him as uncomfortable as the tension spanning between them. Not once had he ever been awkward with her. Nor could he recall ever being so off-kilter after a simple kiss.

  Well, maybe their kiss wasn’t so simple, but right now he felt like a bumbling fool as he trudged along a half-step in front of her, unable to think of anything to say. Make that anything appropriate to say. A whole litany of suggestions about things they could be doing with their morning poured through his head. Tangling up those dusty old sheets, relighting the fire in the nude, laying Reese down in front of those warm flames and tracing the shadows that danced over her skin with his tongue…

  Dáire sighed as he guided her around a small bend and onto the wider path that led to his family’s retreat. When this was over, when he possessed that scroll and could claim mortality, he’d put serious effort into pursuing what they both wanted. He could navigate around Tom—one way or the other.

  “Oh my God!”

  Reese’s sharp exclamation jerked him out of his thoughts. He came to an abrupt halt, only to realize she stood several feet behind him. One hand pressed to her mouth in horror, the other stretched out before her, indicating a thick clump of brush.

  Groaning inwardly, Dáire approached. This close to the cabin, only the ancient spirits could guess what Taran might have done that horrified Reese. He only hoped it wasn’t a body.

  As he reached Reese’s side, she lowered her hand. Wide brown eyes plead with him. “Help it.”

  Help? He blinked, then cocked his head to better see around the thick evergreen shrubs. Fierce snarling met his ears, pieci
ng together the mottled fur hide that was partly hidden beneath the boughs. A partially obscured length of rusty chain told him Taran had indeed been busy the night before. Thankfully, he limited his prey to the four-legged variety.

  “It’s a coyote, Reese.” Dáire placed his hand on Reese’s shoulder, intending to turn her toward the path.

  “But it’s hurt. We can’t leave it, Dáire.”

  As if to further argue her point, the canine emitted a high-pitched, soulful whine.

  Damn. She’d never forgive him if he forced her to walk away. Yet, a wild animal wouldn’t let her anywhere close enough to set it free. The smartest thing they could do, the most humane act, would be to return to his cabin and grab the shotgun. If Taran had indeed set the trap, he’d let the animal starve to death.

  “Reese, I—”

  His logical reasons why they should keep moving died abruptly as Reese pushed aside the brush and naively took three steps toward the creature. She stopped when it lifted its head, teeth bared, drool sliding down its jowls.

  “Do something, Dáire,” she called quietly. “Distract it so I can grab that trap. There’s a stick jammed between the teeth and its paw.”

  Lucky coyote.

  Dáire sighed heavily and lifted an apologetic gaze to the heavens. Closing his eyes, he reached out to the wounded critter mentally, taking care to keep his thoughts calm, his directives mellow.

  When his energy blended completely with the coyote’s, he lowered his gaze to find it complacent in the snow, intelligent gold eyes locked on him.

  Lie still, wise walker of the woods.

  A low submissive whine gurgled in the canine’s throat as it lowered its nose to the forest floor. The tip of its tail wagged like it greeted a pack mate.

  In Dáire’s peripheral vision, Reese moved closer to the ensnared hind foot. As if the coyote could understand her, she cooed soft words of encouragement as she closed her fingers around the bloody paw.

  “Easy, fella. I won’t hurt you. Maybe for a minute, but it will be over soon enough.”

  Her low, tender voice did fantastic things to Dáire’s heart. For a moment, he thought it might tumble clear down to his toes. He’d heard her speak that way once before, when a toddler had fallen off the podium at a political meeting the first year they met. She’d soothed away the tears, the boy’s blubbering calls for his mother, and managed to restore a toothy smile before the child’s father could reach him.

  Back then, her gentleness fascinated him.

  Then he’d had to watch as Tom slowly stuffed all that heart into a shell and ridiculed Reese for her tender sympathies. You can’t save the turtles, the swordfish, and the sharks at once, Reese. Grow up.

  An angry snarl bubbled in Dáire’s throat. Damn that bastard. Why in the seven hells did Reese subject herself to his crap for so long?

  Sensing his sudden aggression, the coyote’s head snapped toward Reese. Sharp canines peeked from a curled upper lip. Barely in time to stop the inevitable bite, Dáire jerked his attention away from Tom, back to the situation at hand, and issued another order to the beast.

  Stop. Lie still.

  He breathed out in relief when the creature relaxed, slowly lowering its head to the snow once more, while Reese pried at the trap. Blood covered the tips of her fingers, making her hands slip. But she bit down on her lower lip, as determined as a locomotive bent on climbing a steep hill.

  “Almost got it, buddy,” she soothed.

  Metal clinked, chain rattled, and Reese exclaimed, “Ah-hah! See, told you.” She ran her hand over the coyote’s lean hip. “Free.”

  Touched more than he could ever recall being, Dáire smiled. “He’ll have a bit more to go.” He approached Reese and hunkered down at her side. With a portion of his mind attuned to the coyote’s he could sense the creature’s severe pain, as well as a healthy dose of numbness in the foot. While it wasn’t critically injured, from the messages he was getting, he’d guess the coyote had been out here most of the night.

  “He’s too cold to get up,” Dáire murmured, sliding his gaze to the coyote’s half-closed eyes. You’re going to remain still while I lift you, brave hunter.

  “So what’s that mean?” Reese prompted.

  “It means…” Dáire pulled in a deep breath and slid his hands beneath the soggy fur. Curling his arms forward, he stood, bringing the coyote into his arms. Rest now. You are safe, master coyote. “He needs to get warm and have that cut cleaned before infection gets him.”

  Reese ruffled her hand through the thick hair at the nape of the coyote’s neck. “He’s awfully amicable.”

  “Mm-hm.” If she only knew.

  If she only realized how badly this defied nature. He had no business interfering in this, let alone tampering with the coyote’s mind. He hadn’t been present to witness whether the coyote legitimately stumbled into the trap, or whether he’d been deliberately lured. While he could wager Taran baited the creature, if he hadn’t, Dáire had just upset the balance.

  Life was meant to pass. Nothing lived forever.

  Except those who bore a damnable curse.

  Quickening his pace, he struck a determined path toward the cabin. He was running short on time. Ostara came tomorrow night. He had to have that scroll.

  Chapter Six

  Dáire set the coyote down on the woven rug in front of the wood stove. Tawny eyes flashed warily as it lifted his head. Stay put, old coyote.

  Reese came up to kneel at the coyote’s shoulder. “Do you think he’s in shock? He’s so…quiet.” Slender fingers combed through thick fur, and concern etched into her brow.

  Ancestors help him, Dáire couldn’t help but smile at her worry. It was such a heartwarming sight to see such goodness in someone after too many years of seeing the darkness. Of living it himself. “He’s fine. Just cold. I’ll stay here if you want to grab some gauze, tape and the peroxide out of my bathroom.”

  “Sure.” With a bright smile, she rose and scurried to the narrow door he gestured at. “Where is it?” she called from within.

  Dáire moved closer to the calmed animal to rub one pricked ear. “Under the sink. In a basket.”

  A cabinet thumped. “Good grief, you’re organized!” She reappeared in the doorway wearing a grin as bright as the sunlight outside. “It’s so neat under there. Tom just threw everything behind doors, I swear.”

  “Tom’s all polished veneer.”

  Chuckling, she knelt at his side. “Yeah, tell me about it.”

  While she carefully picked up the coyote’s injured paw and doused peroxide on it, Dáire studied her profile. His chest tightened with emotion he couldn’t name at the softness in her expression, the utter care she gave to the wild animal that, for all she knew, could turn on her at any minute. “You’re better off without him.” The observation slipped free before he realized it had even registered in his mind.

  “I know,” she answered quietly.

  He shrugged a shoulder. Might as well delve deep. “What took you so long to figure it out?”

  Reese’s hands stilled, gauze hovering over the slice on the backside of the coyote’s paw. She blew out a breath that stirred her uneven bangs and gave a soft chuckle. Then, taking up her task once more, answered, “I guess I didn’t want to admit failure. He was ashamed of me from the beginning. Never introduced me to family if he could get around it, never left me alone with family when he couldn’t. Talked for me as often as possible.”

  Every word she uttered drew Dáire’s gut into a tighter knot. He’d witnessed some of what she mentioned, but that had been at political get togethers, campaign meetings, and interviews with the press. He hadn’t realized Tom’s domineering ways extended into their life beyond the public eye.

  Damn him. The man deserved a good beating. One that he wouldn’t soon forget.

  Dáire reached to help her with the tape. Their fingers brushed as she wound it around the animal’s leg, and a spark sizzled all the way to his shoulder. His gaze caught hers. “But
why’d you stay when you could have had something…else?”

  She looked away, back down to her fluttering hands. “You mean someone else?”

  “Yeah.” He swallowed, his throat as dry as the gauze beneath her fingertips. Though he’d terminated the link with her subconscious, he felt her spirit as keenly as if she’d touched him. This thing, whatever it was, hovered between them, snapping and crackling until his nerves stood on end and his very skin tingled. All he wanted to do was touch her.

  “Tom’s a damned fool. You’re a prize, Reese.”

  A slow smile spread across her face as she tipped her head to the side and met his gaze. “And you’re a charmer, Dáire.” She let the coyote’s paw slide from her hands and rocked back onto her knees, distancing herself. Her voice dropped so low he had to strain to hear her. “Tom would have us for breakfast, lunch, and dinner, if we let this go any further.”

  At that moment, Dáire didn’t care what Tom Martin would do—he had to touch Reese. Had to kiss her again. Taste that sweetness that Tom was too blind to see.

  With the briefest glance at the coyote to insure his mental influence remained intact, Dáire caught Reese’s hand. His gaze held hers steadily, daring her to embrace the desire that they’d unleashed. “Tom doesn’t have to know.”

  Her brittle laugh caught him off guard, and he gave her a frown. “What?”

  “That’s a very Tom-ish thing to say.” Still chuckling, Reese pulled her hand free and tucked it into her lap. “I think I’m done with being hidden away.”

  Hidden away? Had she lost her damned mind? He’d show her off to the entire world, if he could be certain she wouldn’t suffer the backlash for it. Driven by a force he couldn’t define, he leaned forward and cupped her face between his palms. A hard edge crept into his voice. “I’m not Tom.”

  Before he could rationalize his reaction, he followed sheer instinct and lowered his mouth to hers. Denying her the opportunity to consider things, he nudged her lips apart. His tongue stroked hers, and with the heavy thud of his heart, desire arced through his body. This was what he wanted, what he’d spent centuries chasing but could never find. The headiness of a kiss, the erratic clang of his heart. The utter helplessness of knowing he couldn’t stop, no matter time, place, or reason. The completion that came with such a total loss of control.