Lord of the Wolfyn - By Jessica Andersen Page 0,39
right now, I feel alive.”
Yes, he thought. Alive. That was the word for the awareness that raced through him, making everything seem fresh and bright as the sun crested the horizon and a single songbird trilled from the trees surrounding the cabin. Had he spent the past twenty years sleepwalking through life, only half living because he had been waiting for her?
He thought so. Now, though, he was awake. Gods and the Abyss, he was awake.
Then, suddenly, he could move again. He wanted to rush, to wrap her around him and plunge. Because of that, and because of the way he felt his temper slip and fray, he made himself go slowly.
Achingly, sweetly, slowly.
Framing her face in his hands, he leaned in and touched his lips to hers. He lingered there, drinking in the feel of her soft skin and the way it went from cool to warm against him, hearing the faint catch of her breath, tasting magic and smelling flowers and spice.
The rising heat washed through his body and soul, making the skin at his gums itch. No, he said to the magic, not now. Not with her. The thought brought a tug because he didn’t know where he would be when he next fed, or even if he would get that chance. But he knew he wouldn’t be with her, because when they reached Meriden Arch, they would go their separate ways.
“Listen,” he began, needing to say something but not entirely sure what. “When we get to Meriden—”
“I don’t want to think about that now.” She brushed her mouth across his and moved past him toward the cabin, then turned back and held out her hand. “I’d rather think about you.”
Heat and need lashed through him as the sunlight brightened from dawn to day and he saw her in living color for the first time: her wild copper riot of hair catching the sunlight, her full lips soft from his own and a flush of desire on her skin.
More, her words moved through him, echoed inside him in a stark reminder that he had been many things—a son, a prince, a sibling, a hunter, a guest—but rarely himself. There were other sons, other princes, other siblings, hunters and guests. But Reda was looking at him, reaching out to him, desiring him alone.
He reached out in return. Their fingers met. Curled. Clung.
And he followed her to the cabin, feeling as if his entire existence had just shifted on its axis.
Chapter 8
As Reda stepped into the cabin, her mind recorded the scene. The main room was maybe ten by fifteen, and had a soot-stained brick hearth at one end. A queen-size bed took up a raised platform nearby, with a big chest at the foot of the stripped mattress promising blankets against the cold. The remainder of the main space was open, save for a tall cupboard in the corner, where she guessed nonperishables were stored, maybe even an appliance or two.
All of that pretty much fit with her idea of a hunting cabin. The surprise, though, was the door on the wall opposite the fireplace, leading to what looked like a fully plumbed bathroom, including a large, multinozzle shower tiled in strange, smooth gray blocks. “What the heck?”
“Kenar had it installed a few years ago,” Dayn said from behind her. “His idea of roughing it.”
“A pointed reminder that I’m not in Kansas anymore.” She hadn’t seen a cistern, pump or solar panels, suggesting that this was another of those places where magic and science intersected.
“Kansas?”
She swallowed a laugh that threatened to turn hysterical. “Never mind,” she began as she turned toward him. “I…” She trailed off at the sight of him standing backlit by a window, the yellow light of day throwing him into reddish shadows rather than the blue-white of the moon.
He had dumped his bag in the corner and shucked off his bomber and sweater, though the air inside the cabin wasn’t much warmer than that outside. That left him in his shirtsleeves, standing near the doorway staring at her with eyes that seemed to see straight into her.
“‘I’ what?” he prompted, closing the distance between them, his eyes going very dark as he looked down at her.
“I forget,” she said huskily, while her inner self said, I’m a sucker for the woodsman. And at the thought, new sparks raced through her, tightening her skin and making her elementally aware of the cabin around them, the bed behind them.