Beneath a Midnight Moon - By Amanda Ashley Page 0,40

though light, spread through her like heat lightning, making her heart sing, bringing a warm flush to her cheeks.

“Are you really here?” he asked, his lips brushing against the sensitive skin of her palm.

Kylene nodded, her gaze locked with his, her mind unable to accept the fact that he was growing stronger before her very eyes. His skin had lost the pale waxy look that had frightened her so. His hand was no longer cold, but cool, his breathing steadier, less erratic. It was impossible, she thought, and yet the proof was before her eyes, a living, breathing miracle.

He stretched, and then he sat up. She was too stunned by his sudden recovery to protest when he lifted her onto the bed, then gathered her into his arms. “How did you know I needed you?”

“I saw you in a dream. I heard you calling my name.”

“And I heard you.” His hand delved under her hair to stroke the nape of her neck. “I knew if I held the darkness at bay long enough that you would come to me.”

“You heard me? What did I say?”

“You said, ‘Hardane, I’m coming. Wait for me.’ I heard what my father said, too,” he murmured, his breath tickling her ear. “Do you still deny that you are my betrothed?”

Kylene nodded. “Aye, my lord. And yet I cannot deny that we are truly bound in some way that I do not understand.”

“I understand,” he replied quietly. “You are a part of my heart, my soul, my very life. How else can you explain our bond?”

“I can’t.” She looked at him, her expression troubled.

What if it was true? What if she really was a part of him? What if he couldn’t live without her? And what if the reverse was true? Would she somehow die without him? She thought of how lost she had felt while residing at the Sisterhouse at Bourne, how long the days had been, how empty the nights had seemed. Without Hardane, she’d had little appetite for food or drink or for life itself.

The thought of being so closely bound to another frightened her in ways she feared to examine too closely.

“What are we to do?” she asked tremulously.

“I don’t know. I only know that you’ve come back to me, and I won’t let you go again.”

“Why has this bond made itself known only now?”

“Because the time for mating is approaching. The bond lies dormant until the time of the mating moon.”

Kylene swallowed hard. The seventh day of the seventh month would soon be upon them.

Her heart fluttered with excitement at the thought of being his woman, his wife. “And will the bond go away once you’ve joined with your betrothed?”

“No.” His right hand roamed up and down her spine. “Do not be afraid, lady. You cannot change what was meant to be.”

With a sigh, Kylene buried her face in the hollow of his shoulder. In spite of what he thought about fate and destiny, in spite of all he’d said about not letting her go, nothing had been settled. He was still betrothed to another, and she was still promised to the Sisterhood. But for now, for this one night, she didn’t care. Hardane was here, beside her, and that was all that mattered.

Tomorrow, they would worry about the future.

Tomorrow, she would ponder what Lord Kray had said about her uncanny resemblance to Lord Carrick.

But none of that seemed important now. Hardane was alive and well, and she was in his arms, content to be there for as long as the Fates allowed.

Chapter 19

Selene sat beside her father, listening to his labored breathing. She offered him a cup of cool water, holding his head while he drank. Months of hiding out, of finding shelter in dank caves, of trying to eke a living out of the barren land of the Mouldourian desert had left him weak and disheartened.

Gently, she lowered him down to the blanket once more. Gently, she covered him. He reached for her hand, his long, thin fingers wrapping around her own, and then he closed his eyes.

Selene glanced at the dismal cave that had been her home for the past six months. Once, she’d lived in luxury. She’d had numerous servants to wait upon her, dresses of the latest fashion, the best victuals and the finest wines the land had to offer.

She stared at the tattered hem of her gown, quietly cursing her uncle Bourke’s treachery. When she was again in a position of power, she’d see him