Beyond Bewitching (12 page)

How could she have missed the correlation before now? The difference between yesterday’s foreplay and this morning’s no-holds-barred sex was a night spent in the tender care of her equine lovers. Had she known John and Tanner were her companions in the stable area, she likely would’ve dragged a pile of blankets outside to sleep on the ground. Instead, they’d led her to believe they were merely noble beasts belonging to the masters of the cavern.

Tanner slipped in beside her, stretching and yawning. She half expected him to drape a possessive arm or leg across her, but he folded his hands behind his head and grinned at her. Disappointment tried to elbow its way into her heart. Forcing it away, she let their lie by omission lead her emotions.

Returning from the bathroom, John slid in on the other side and mirrored Tanner’s pose. “I like seeing you in our bed, Sarah.”

She untied the leather string at the end of her braid and then began unweaving the damp strands. “As much as you liked having me sleep in your stable with you last night?”

His lips flattened into a straight line. “You…um…We planned to tell you.”

Halting the unwinding, she flicked her gaze from John to Tanner. “Of course, you did. Actually, I feel a bit stupid for not figuring it out sooner. You’re horse shifters, and you just happen to have a pair of horses in your humble manger? Horses that seemed to understand that I’d freeze if they didn’t share their body heat. You knew I wasn’t about to accept you, so you let me think you were sympathetic creatures willing to listen to my ramblings.”

Tanner frowned. “We were giving you more time to consider what we’d told you about us being your mates. Besides, shifting back to human form to talk to you wouldn’t have been a good idea.”

“Really? Why not?”

John’s cough sounded like he was trying to keep from laughing. “Horses don’t exactly wear clothes.”

He made an excellent point, and she wouldn’t have been ready to deal with them anyway. Still, how did they expect her to trust them if they kept secrets?

Rolling on his side to face her, Tanner kissed her shoulder. “You seemed happier with us as horses, and we wanted you to be comfortable here. I swear we never intended to deceive you.”

Linking his fingers with hers, John brought her hand to his cheek. “We didn’t understand why you were upset until you confided in us. Comforting you was more important than revealing our true selves, but we agreed to tell you after breakfast.”

Their reasons were honorable, and she could hardly argue with them now when she’d needed them to listen in silence to her confession last night. She’d required it to achieve what they had this morning. They hadn’t really had a choice.

Tanner placed his palm over her free hand. “There’s more.”

Her heart skipped a beat. “More?”

“Yes.” He rubbed his thumb back and forth over her skin, easing the tension that had started to build. “Together, we’ve completed the first two steps of becoming lifemates, as stated by the prophecy. John and I have pledged ourselves to you, and our physical desires have been consummated to link our minds and bodies. The last measure is solely yours, Sarah. When the time is right, you must pledge yourself to us or deny us.”

When the time was right? How would she know?

John levered up on his elbow to look into her eyes, and she braced herself for another revelation. “Are you aware that by bringing you to the present to escape Naga’s henchmen, we inadvertently activated your fertility cycle?”

“My fertility cycle? You mean the call to mate?” Her chest tightened at the mention of the witch trait she didn’t possess. “I don’t have a fertility cycle. I’ve never—”

“You do, Sarah. Right now. We’re pretty sure that’s what caused you to cry yesterday. And then when we mentioned the word ‘mate’ at breakfast, you seemed to lose control. You had a fever and passed out. We took you into the pool to cool you down, and you know what happened there.”

“But before the trial… I thought…” Confusion flooded her brain. She’d assumed she was “broken” as a young woman. All the evidence of her recent behavior pointed to a different conclusion. Why would she suddenly have a fertility cycle now? How had she conceived her son?

Trying to regain her composure, she closed her eyes and imagined staring up at the night sky from the stable window. The quiet serenity had done wonders for her anxiety. As she recalled the image, one tiny detail stood out. A surge of relief soothed some of the nervous tension in her shoulders. “No, it can’t be happening now. Only a tiny sliver of the moon was out last night. The witch cycle begins with the full moon and ends on the third quarter. The new moon appears soon.”

Tanner gave her hand a gentle squeeze. “A Pennymead witch’s cycle lasts from her birthday through the next four moon phases—for a whole month. And you aren’t
broken
. Your mates were simply in a different century, and you couldn’t get to us. You’re here with us now, and that’s all that matters.”

His use of the word “broken” struck a strange chord. She hadn’t used that word during her rebuttal. The stress of the conversation must have allowed the door in her mind to open again.
I don’t want my hormones to control me.

He rubbed his thumb across the back of her hand, pushing her heart rate higher.
We’ll be right here with you. Let us help you stay strong. Trust us, Sarah.

Trust. She’d failed to trust them several times already, yet they hadn’t given up on her. Did she even have the capacity to trust?

John pressed his lips to her forehead.
Let us slake your body’s needs, and you’ll maintain control of the rest. Only denial of sexual satisfaction can weaken you.

If she surrendered to lust, her fertility cycle wouldn’t have as much power over her? Perhaps trusting them with her body had benefits besides intense pleasure, but one major side effect kept her from accepting John’s and Tanner’s offer—the possibility of conception. She’d never survive losing another child.

Samuel’s lock of hair.

Where was her skirt? She pushed John out of the way in an attempt to sit up.
I have to find my skirt!

His muscular form didn’t budge, holding her against the mattress. “Tanner, go find her skirt.”

Tanner released her hand as he rolled out of bed, and her dismay quickly changed to panic when he jogged into the hall.

“It’s okay, Sarah.” John grasped her cheeks between his palms, locking her in place. “He’ll be right back with your skirt. Breathe. Try to stay calm.”

Tears stung her eyes, and a lump blocked her throat.
I can’t. It’s all I have left of him.

“Tanner’s bringing your skirt. Everything will be okay. I promise.” He wiped her cheekbone, spreading a drop of moisture across her skin. “Just focus on me, Sarah.”

His face cleared as she stared up at him, the tears draining from her eyes to her face. The intensity of his gaze brought the overwhelming anxiety down to a manageable level.

Hurried footsteps slapped on the stone floor. Tanner stopped at the side of the bed, holding out a crumpled pile of moss-green fabric. “Got it.”

John moved aside, and she grabbed at the skirt. Her heart pounded as she sifted through the material to find the pocket and check for her belongings.

It has to be here. Please let it be here.

Her fingers caught in a fold as she skimmed the waistband, and her hand closed around the package. Withdrawing it, she spread the contents in front of her on the blanket. The hank of black curls was still tied up with a thread of the same color. She picked it up, holding it to her lips and closing her eyes. She’d kissed the top of her son’s head every chance she’d gotten to lose herself in the feel of his baby-fine hair.

I remember, sweet Samuel. I remember.

Suddenly aware of John and Tanner watching her, she blinked away the memory and gathered the other mementoes to return them to the bag for safekeeping. The lock of hair fit in the sack with the locket and the bloodstone, her priceless treasures once again in her possession. Unfortunately, the men had witnessed her breakdown and had seen the most private of her secrets as a result.

Tanner spoke first. “Are you all right, Sarah?”

She shrugged. “My son is dead, and everyone believed I killed him. Should I be all right?”

Enclosing her in his arms from behind, John held her close. “We’ll help you heal from those wounds. The woman destined to bear the heirs of the Xanthus clan would never harm her own flesh and blood.”

“Bear the heirs?” She jerked away, his words slashing across her soul. “You mean to use my body as a vessel to renew your clan? I’m nothing but a broodmare to you. I won’t carry a child under my heart to have it taken from me again!”

The searing pain in her chest had nothing to do with Tanner and John fucking her for no other reason than to create their precious herd. She’d never entertained the idea that they might actually care for her. Their passion and loyalty came strictly from a need to fulfill a prophecy the Fates had chosen for them—one in which she would be the victim again.

Neither man denied her assertion or sought to explain, their lack of action confirming her accusation. Not only was she expected to carry their babies, after each birth, their clan would claim her son or daughter.

Slamming the door closed on her mind, she shut off her emotions and focused on reverting to her Patience Wyndham persona. Patience wouldn’t allow herself to become anyone’s victim. She was strong, intelligent, and unflappable. No one would dare tell her what to do, how to behave, or who to screw. Certainly, no man would ever dictate to her whether she bore his offspring. Patience lived her life on her own terms, and she wouldn’t tolerate being used or abused.

She straightened her spine and lifted her chin as she climbed from the bed, determined to put as much distance between her and the stallions as possible. The linen pouch in her hand showed her one weakness, but it was knotted again—sealed up tight, like her regard for the human race.

Ulterior motives rule the world.

Walking to her suitcase, she pulled out clean clothes, not caring about her state of undress. The bounty hunters had seen all there was to see—the ink markings, the lashing scars, the stretch marks, and each of her womanly attributes. Hiding her body would imply she was ashamed or embarrassed of it and her behavior.

Disgust roiled in her stomach. She’d become Sarah the weak and pitiful again, nothing more. Why hadn’t she listened to her own words? Sarah Pennymead was
dead
.

On her way to the bathroom, she didn’t bother to look back, unconcerned what John and Tanner thought of her. More than likely, they were busy trying to concoct another method to seduce her, in hopes of impregnating her. Now that they’d revealed why they wanted to have sex with her, nothing would lure her down that road again.

No amount of pleasure was worth the self-deprecation.

One step forward. Three steps back.

Tanner massaged his temples and sighed as he sprawled across the couch. “It isn’t supposed to be this hard.”

“It wouldn’t be if Sarah hadn’t gone traipsing around the bedroom naked.” Leaning back in the chair, John scraped his hands through his hair. “Why the hell would she think she’s nothing but a broodmare to us? Have we initiated sex with her? No. We waited for her to make the first move.”

“But was she really the one starting something, or did the lunar cycle make her do it?” Ripples in the spring-fed pool drew Tanner’s attention, the concentric circles moving outward to the stone ledge. “She was unconscious and burning up when we put her in the water. Then a few seconds later, she was kissing you. What if she didn’t have control over what she was doing?”

“Aren’t we under the influence of hormones too? I think we’ve been pretty damn restrained under the circumstances. On and off, then hot and cold. She’s giving me whiplash with all this changing her mind.”

Remembering the chill of Sarah’s withdrawal sent a shiver up Tanner’s spine. “I thought telling her about shifting last night and her fertility cycle would get her to trust us. She practically accused us of wanting her to repopulate the clan singlehandedly. And why would she think we were going to take our children away from her?”

“I don’t know. Women are impossible enough to understand when they
aren’t
in heat. Sarah’s cycle has only been going on for a few days. We have another four weeks of mood swings, and—”

“And what, John Grey?” Sarah’s icy question had Tanner whirling around toward the hall to the bedroom.

His stomach dropped to his knees at her harsh expression. Her gray-green eyes were hidden behind a veil of darkness, and the soft lines of her face had given way to a stern jaw and pursed lips. The false female elder of the Black Triad stood before him. Truly evil or not, she wasn’t the same woman who’d made love to him only a few hours earlier.

John stood. “Sarah.”

Her jaw tensed even more. “My name is Patience Wyndham. Sarah Pennymead is dead.”

“Goddess, I thought we’d gotten past that nonsense.” He propped his hands on his hips, warning Tanner that John was about to dig in his heels for an argument—exactly what they didn’t need. Of course, it probably couldn’t make the situation much worse, either. “You
are
Sarah Pennymead, and I’ve had it with you judging our motives based on your past. I don’t pussyfoot around. If you want to know why I had sex with you, ask me. I’m more than happy to tell you that I get hard watching you sleep, listening to your sexy voice, and knowing you’re every bit as strong as I am. Oh, and to answer your question, Sarah—we have another four weeks of your mood swings, and I wish you’d trust us to help you through them already.”