Spellbinder (Moonshadow #2)

It was time to move on and see how Sidonie had fared with her day.

On his way out, he stopped by the honey merchant to steal a piece of honeycomb. After he sucked the sweetness of the honey out of the comb, he would have wax he could use to stop his ears.

He stopped just long enough to suck on the honeycomb, savoring the rich, golden sweetness as he chewed the wax until it was soft and pliable enough he could mold it into earplugs. Then he made his way through the castle.

It was harder this time. Before, he had stolen through in the middle of the night. Now, it was earlier in the evening, all the witchlights were aglow, and more people were awake and about. Also he had to concentrate on using his magical senses to avoid detection, not his hearing.

Finally he reached the doors of the music hall, only to discover the hall was dark and empty. Sidonie wasn’t there.

Growling under his breath, he went on the hunt to find her. Her scent was clear and easy to follow. It led back to the servants’ quarters. That area was much darker than the rest of the castle, as most of the sensible, hardworking servants were already in bed.

One room had candlelight glowing from the crack at the bottom of the door. Candlelight, not the cooler glow of a witchlight.

The area outside that room also smelled like Sidonie. Pausing outside the door, he said telepathically, I’m here. Douse your candle.

For a moment, he wasn’t sure if he had made a telepathic connection, and he pulled the wax from his ears so he could hear what was happening on the other side of the door.

Then, cautiously, she asked, What if I don’t want to?

Frustrated again, he rubbed his face. Part of him wanted to shove through that door and take her into his arms, but the other part held back. We’ve already talked about this more than once. You know it’s not safe.

Not safe for whom? she asked. Her telepathic voice sounded tense. Me or you?

The tension could have been due to her discomfort at the new use of telepathy, but he thought he had grown to know her better than that. He replied quietly, Not safe for either of us. What’s wrong?

I’m no longer comfortable with our arrangement, she whispered.

Why? he demanded. Had she discovered who he was? The urge to storm through that door was getting stronger. What’s happened?

Are you Warrick? she asked.

The question hit from out of the blue, and it made him recoil. Gods, no! he exclaimed violently. Why would you ask such a thing?!

Do you swear you’re telling the truth? She probably had no idea how telepathic speech mimicked verbal speech. Doubtless she was unaware of just how shakily she had asked that question.

But Morgan heard it, and furious concern roared through him. What had that bastard done to her? In a soft, evenly controlled voice, he said, If Warrick has done anything to hurt or frighten you, I swear I will cut out his heart and feed it to him.

On second thought, that probably hadn’t sounded as reassuring as he would have wished. Pressing one fist against the wooden door, he willed her to believe him.

A shadow passed in front of the candlelight shining underneath the door, and there was a soft, muffled sound, close by.

She said, more calmly, He didn’t do anything to me. He was boorish and suggestive, and he wears weapons. It’s not a good combination. He also threatened Triddick, who stood up for me and backed him off.

Morgan was going to kill Warrick. He didn’t know how, and he didn’t know when, but it would be soon. He had always known Warrick had a rough edge, but he’d always been able to keep the other man in check before. Now that Morgan was supposedly gone from Avalon, Warrick’s true colors were emerging.

Quietly, he asked, Why on earth would you think I was Warrick? Have I done anything boorish or suggestive to you?

No! she exclaimed. Then, more calmly, No, of course you haven’t. You’re… you’ve been amazing. I literally don’t believe I would still be alive, if it weren’t for you, and you didn’t stop with just saving my life. You keep helping me. I’ve grown to rely upon you. But you are the one who keeps warning me not to trust you, and I know you’re not Light Fae. Warrick is the first man who isn’t Light Fae that I’ve seen since I’ve gotten here. And when I thought about how I know so few facts about you, I got a little freaked out.

He absorbed all that in silence. Finally he said, You know I can’t promise what might be done under the geas, but I will never hurt you. I—the man—will never hurt you. I will never push past any barrier you erect, or coerce you into doing something you do not want to do. I will always support, respect, and defend you.

How chivalrous, she whispered.

Well… yes. His lips pulled into a wry smile.

Your well-being matters to me, he said. The music your spirit creates… it matters to me. If you want to talk to me through a closed door, and if you want to keep your candle lit so you aren’t in the dark, I am not going to do anything to change that. And if you tell me to go away and leave you alone, I will go. Just… for your sake, we should arrange to meet tomorrow, so I can cast the battle spell on you before you play for the Queen.

On the other side of the door, he heard a quiet thump, as if she had banged her forehead against the panel. She said, Thank you for saying all that. I believe you. Hang on.

A moment passed, and then the light went out in her room. None of the servants’ rooms had locks on the doors, but he made no move to open hers. Clenching his fists, he made himself wait, until she opened the door.

When she did, he strode forward and snatched at her. At the same moment, she leaped at him, throwing her arms around his neck, and something raw and angry eased inside, and he was so tired of thinking about what he should or shouldn’t do, he threw all of it out of his head, lifted her off her feet, and kissed her.

Raising her face, she met him halfway. Their lips collided, not gently. A muffled laugh escaped her, then she parted her lips, and he delved inside as deeply as he could go.

Kissing her was a euphoric experience. The softness of her wet mouth, the eagerness with which she kissed him back, the velvet sensation of her tongue sliding across his.

His conscience made one last effort. Lifting his head a little, he whispered against her mouth, “We shouldn’t be doing this.”

“Shut up and get inside so we can close the door,” she whispered back.

Quickly, he complied and shoved the door gently with one foot so that it settled into place. He glanced around. The walls of the servants’ rooms were made of thick stone, but someone could still eavesdrop at either the window or the door. With a flick of his fingers, he cast a dampening spell in the room so that all the sound inside the room was muffled.