“I wouldn’t want him to suffer,” I say, surprised that I mean it. “I would do what I can.” And I am trying to be obedient. I am. I don’t wish to hurt anyone else. Not again. “Sitting here isn’t doing any good.”
“He wouldn’t wish for you to be harmed,” Eric says, but he watches his master with concern, like he’s considering helping me, anyway. He doesn’t care for me, but he does care about the king.
I decide to play that to my advantage. “We’ll tell him that I forced you. Your king won’t have to know you helped me.”
Eric studies the stone floor, his brow creased in concern. But then he nods. “What do you need?”
“I need you to ensure my friend is given food and supplies, then safely escort him back to his cave,” I say. “You’ll leave me here alone with the king and not return until one of us walks through that door.”
“How do I know you’re not planning to feed from him yourself and sap him further?” he asks.
I hold his gaze, hoping he’ll see the truth in my eyes. “Because I’d rather die than feed from this beast.”
He blinks like I struck him, but he gives another nod, then waves Lailoken forward. “Come, monk. I’ll escort you myself. No harm will come to you.”
Lailoken takes my hand in his again, gripping me tight. “I fear for you, daughter.”
I kiss his cheek. “I’ll come to you at sunrise tomorrow. Either in spirit or in body. But I’ll see you one last time, I promise.” I give him a small smile. “We’ll see if my mother is as wise as they say.”
Fear overwhelms me for a moment as I watch him go, and I have to dig my nails into my palms to keep my power from surfacing. I shiver and turn to the king. The cold is suddenly a sting in my bones. But if I plan to do this, I need to get it over with.
I move to stoke the fire, trying to bring more heat into the room. Then I steel myself, letting my woolen shawl fall to the ground. I reach up and pull the string on my dress, loosening the neck, letting the fabric fall past my shoulders until it hangs at my waist. My shift covers my breasts. I can’t bring myself to strip naked for him, but I need to allow for as much skin as I can.
The bed is soft under me as I move my way across to lie at his side.
This is my Bonded. I won’t need herbs to encourage his connection. I won’t need spells. That’s all been done already. What I’ll need is skin, his and mine, and a willing spirit on the other side of the connection.
His shades have already removed his leathers—only his thin linen tunic remains. I tentatively reach out and unfold his hands, pulling them from his torso. I gather the fire in my fingers and run them softly along his arms and chest, burning the fabric enough so that it all falls away.
My body shakes, teeth chattering, nerves raw. I nestle in, pressing my body into his side, laying my arm over his pale chest. Resting my cheek in the crook of his shoulder. There are salty tears on my lips.
“You may feed from me if you wish,” I whisper.
I hope he can hear me.
What am I thinking? Am I wishing myself into oblivion?
“Goddess, help me.”
I almost don’t notice the first pull, it’s so subtle. A slight ache in my cheek, my palm. I’m half-relieved, half-terrified when it comes. I focus on breathing and ready myself for the inevitable pain, knowing very little of what might be coming, knowing only that it is death.
Again, the ache surfaces, stronger. And a chill blossoms next, small prickles left in its wake.
I watch in confusion as ice crystals crawl from his chest, over my fingers, up my forearm, to my elbow.
Fear washes over me, but I don’t pull away.
A moan rumbles from his throat, vibrating in my skin.
And the pain flares, at last, my whole body lighting with the burst, the ache growing jagged edges, sharpening into agony in mere seconds, blinding me. Talons and teeth claw at my insides, in a frantic swarm, tearing, writhing, like a riot of birds trying to burst from my bones.
I can’t move, I can’t breathe, I can’t hear anything except my thundering heartbeat.
But just as quickly as the agony comes, it washes away like a tide fading out.
I gasp and convulse, trying to get air into my lungs as I scramble away from the monster trying to rip me in two.
Fingers grip my wrist, and the king rises, his body looming over mine. His silver eyes burn blue. “What’ve you done?” he growls, his voice scraping against my skin. “Fool woman.”
I try to squirm away, but I’m weak, my limbs useless. “Please,” I rasp from shivering lips. “Please.” It’s all I can say, my mind blurring in and out of focus.
“I’ve hurt you,” he says more gently. As if he were ashamed.
He gathers me up, his fingers delicately caressing my face, almost unsure. I hardly know how to interpret his touch.
“Listen to my voice,” he says, “and focus on my face.”
His features are tight with worry. Still, his fingers brush carefully at my cheek, my neck, lulling me.
“It wasn’t for you to do this,” he says. “I would have returned to you. I always will.”
“Couldn’t leave you alone,” I whisper. No matter how much I wanted to. I don’t have my own will any longer. This Bond holds me captive to him, beyond my control. It’s suddenly clear to me now.
He goes still, as if stunned by my words. He studies me, fingers playing in my hair.
And then he leans in, kissing me gently on the lips.
The scent of him surrounds me, sweet roses and rich wine, the tang of it on my tongue so stunning I nearly gasp. Heat spills from my core, filling my skin, my power seeking, hungry as it reaches out, as it responds in a heartbeat, wanting him.
But I struggle with it, pushing it back, then tuck it away as I always do.
“Don’t resist,” he says. “Let it do what it wants. Let me feel you, Lily.”
His lips touch mine again, this time with a need of his own, his hands gripping me, pulling me close. Everything in me sparks to life, bright and vivid in a vibration of urgency. His body and mine cling to each other, natural as magnets. My hunger seeking, nudging, needing.
And I answer. Surrendering.
THIRTY-TWO
FAELAN
My eyes snap open. I gasp for air, feeling like I haven’t breathed in decades. The chill of the stone room shifts to the warmth of my cottage; the bed melds into my nest; the smell of snow turns to the smell of green life.
What did I just see . . . feel? That wasn’t Sage in that vision. It wasn’t Sage.
And with sudden clarity I know why Sage feels a connection to Kieran, what memories she’s sensing when she’s with him. It must be one of these dreams. One of Lily’s memories of the king.
Because that was Queen Lily. I can barely believe it. Sage was living her sister’s memories in her sleep. A striking, vivid dream of a real moment from long ago. How is that even possible?
It’s not possible. Unless . . .
Unless Sage was given the blood memories by someone.