Defying Destiny (11 page)

agreed. She picked up a knife and whittled

at her steak. Nash watched her with

interest for a moment as she cut off a bite-

sized piece of steak and used her fingers

to put it in her mouth. After a moment, he

mimicked her actions, still watching her

as if learning by example. She got the

impression he had never used a knife in

this manner, and was doing so only for her

benefit.

“Even though you live close to

Sarbough, I find your culture is a lot

different from theirs,” she said.

Nash caught her eye across the

candlelit table. “You can tell?”

“I think…I think it’s interesting,” she

said. “I like that you’re not like everybody

else.”

He smiled at her and touched her hand,

which was resting lightly on the table.

“You are more open-minded than most,”

he said. “There may be hope for you yet.”

She moved her hand away from his,

hiding it beneath the table as it had begun

to tingle beneath his feather-light touch.

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing,” he muttered. He changed

the subject. “This steak is good. I usually

prefer it rare, but I like this.”

She didn’t respond to his compliment.

She was still puzzling over his previous

comment.

He tried distracting her again. “How is

your shoulder? Does it hurt?”

Mentioning her wound brought up

memories of the feel of his tongue against

her skin. The tips of her breasts tightened

and her breath caught. “I…it…um…it’s

good.” She placed the last piece of steak

in her mouth, chewing slowly and

watching the ceiling so she wouldn’t have

to speak again.

“I should clean it again,” he said.

“Scratches can get infected and I don’t

think you can reach the wound yourself.”

She forced herself to swallow the

venison in her mouth. “I suppose that’s

true.”

“When I take you back to Sarbough

tomorrow, I’ll get you a new shirt as

well.” His eyes were focused on the

bloodstain on her shoulder.

“You’re taking me back tomorrow?”

His gaze moved up to hers. “Don’t you

want to go back?”

She had. But she so enjoyed his

company.

“I…I…well, yes. I suppose it is best. I

mean it must look improper for the two of

us to stay together alone in the same house

and everything. People will probably

think…people will think…” She trailed

off, suddenly lost in his intense stare.

“My people will not think anything of

it,” he said. “If you want to stay with me,

then I would be happy to have you as my

guest.”

“My things…are…” she lost her train

of thought once again. Was she brazen

enough to stay here with him? She had to

stay in the area until the next full moon.

She had at least thirty Wolves to slay

before she could move on to exterminate

the vermin of the next village, but to stay

here with Nash... She had known him

scarcely twenty-four hours. How could

she even entertain such a thought?

“We could go get your things from the

inn after sunrise,” he said. “I’ve been

meaning to do some shopping. It seems

I’m all out of forks.”

She smiled and then laughed. “Okay,”

she agreed, her heart thumping hard in her

chest.

“I’m glad that’s settled,” he said,

standing up from the table and stretching

his arms up over his head. She caught

sight of a flash of bare skin at his waist, as

his sweater rose above his leather pants.

Her eyes settled on a line of dark hair

beneath his navel and traced its path until

it disappeared into the waistband of his

leather pants. Her breath caught and she

squirmed in her chair. Why did he make

her feel this way? She had never panted

after a man before, had never even been

interested in men really. What was so

special and appealing about this one?

“Come,” he said, holding his hand out

to her. “Let’s go warm ourselves by the

fire and I’ll tend your wound.”

She took his hand and stood up from

the table, following him to the living area

without a word. He coaxed her to sit on

the thick bearskin rug near the hearth and

added a log to the fire before taking a seat

beside her. He gazed into her eyes for

several long moments until she lifted her

hands and began to unbutton her shirt. He

needed access to her wound if he was

going to treat it again, she told herself. She

pushed her shirt off one shoulder and he

looked down at the scratches above her

collarbone, touching them lightly with his

fingertips.

“This looks fine. I should probably

leave it alone,” he said.

“It still hurts,” she lied, tilting her

head to give him access.

He hesitated briefly, before leaning

closer and drawing his tongue over the

wound. She shivered, eyes drifting closed

with bliss.

“Are you cold again?” he asked,

drawing her closer to share his warmth.

“Yes,” she lied again, gasping when

his tongue returned to her shoulder.

“Am I hurting you?” He lifted his head

to look at her with concern.

“No, please don’t stop.”

He lowered his head again and she

sighed contentedly, burying her fingers in

his thick black hair. She didn’t really

mean to, but she pushed his head lower

and arched her back until his delightful

tongue caressed her breast above the cup

of her bustier. When he nudged the fabric

lower with his chin and drew his tongue

over the swollen bud at the tip of her

breast, she collapsed with a gasp, drawing

him down on top of her.

“Oh,” she breathed, as he stroked her

aching nipple with his tongue. It was even

better than she imagined. A throb pulsed

between her legs, her flesh swelling and

moistening.

She

wanted

something.

Needed something. Nash.

Her hands moved from his hair to his

back, drawing him nearer, longing for the

caress of his tongue to continue forever.

Her eyes drifted open when she found

something sticky at the nape of his neck.

She lifted her hand to peer her fingertips

quizzically. They were covered with

blood.

“You’re bleeding,” she gasped and he

lifted his head to look at her.

He seemed unconcerned by the wound

she had found. “Why did you want me to

lick you here?” he asked, drawing his

tongue over her swollen nipple again.

She shuddered involuntarily and

shoved him aside. “I didn’t,” she said,

incredulous he could even suggest such a

thing.

“Don’t be embarrassed. I didn’t mind

doing it and you seemed to enjoy it. I just

wondered why.”

“I don’t know,” she said testily,

closing her shirt over her exposed chest

and sitting up. “Let me see your back.”

Before he could dodge her, she had pulled

the back of his sweater down, and peered

at the four puncture marks on the back of

his neck. They weren’t large, but they

were deep. “What happened?”

“It’s nothing. My mother will tend it in

the morning.”

“I’ll do it,” she told him and pulled his

sweater off over his head.

Paths of dried blood streaked down

the center of his back, but the wounds

were still leaking slightly. The idea of

lapping up his blood with her tongue held

no appeal, so she climbed from the rug

and went to the kitchen for a towel. She

wet it with some water before returning to

Nash, who was still sitting on the rug. He

watched her over his shoulder curiously,

as she bathed the drying blood off his skin

with the wet towel.

“This looks like a bite,” she said as

she inspected the wound more closely.

“Did one of the Wolves bite you?”

He turned his attention to the rug in

front of him. He didn’t answer her

question, but sat there as if he had

disappeared into another world. She set

the towel aside and wrapped her arms

around his waist, dropping a tender kiss

near the wound.

“Are you alright?” she asked. “Does it

hurt?”

He untangled her arms from around his

waist and stood up. “I think I have

something you can sleep in tonight,” he

said and left the room.

Sleep? She hadn’t thought about that.

Where would she sleep? In his room. On

his pallet with him. Alone? In the dark.

Would he sleep naked, like she had found

him that morning beneath the ancient tree?

Would she mind if he did? When he

returned several minutes later, she was

sitting on the rug with her cool fingers on

her flaming cheeks.

“It’ll be too big and it’s kind of old,

but it’s clean,” he said, handing her one of

his undershirts.

“Thank you,” she said quietly,

accepting the shirt and looking up at him

with thousands of questions racing through

her mind.

“You go on to bed,” he said. “I have

some things I need to do before I turn in.”

“Your bed?” she asked, her voice

uncharacteristically squeaky.

“I only have one bed,” he said and

then seemed to realize their cultures were

clashing again. “Is it unacceptable for us

to share a bed?”

Her face was flaming and her heart

was pounding, but somehow she was able

to say, “It should be okay.”

He

smiled,

looking

relieved.

“Goodnight, Maralee.”

She realized he was dismissing her.

“Goodnight,” she returned morosely

and climbed to her feet to find the bed she

would share with him.

He watched her as she passed him and

caught her arm. “Is something wrong? You

seem upset.”

She looked up at him; his face was

barely visible in the dim room. The lock

of hair that covered his eye appeared

whiter than usual, in stark contrast to the

gloom. She stared at it, reminded of a

shining crescent moon and then turned her

gaze to his golden eyes.

“I’m fine.”

“Would you like me to clean your

other breast for you?”

Maralee’s eyes widened and all the

blood in her body seemed to rush to her

face at once. “N-no,” she denied, though

her breasts began to ache with wanting his

warm, moist caresses.

“Did I say something wrong again?”

he asked. “You seem embarrassed.”

“I’m not embarrassed. Why would I be

embarrassed?” Her unconcerned laugh

sounded entirely unconvincing. If he

noticed, he didn’t say anything.

She pulled her arm free of his light

grasp and continued towards his bedroom.

Maralee opened the bedroom door and

ducked to enter the low-ceilinged room.

She half wanted him to follow her and

‘clean her other breast’ as he had put it,

but he didn’t. She left the door cracked

open so what little light there was in the

house could penetrate the absolute

darkness of the room and she could

change. She removed her clothing, folding

it neatly and storing it in a corner. She

glanced over her shoulder frequently to

see if Nash was watching her. He never

made an appearance.

She pulled his shirt on over her head

and burrowed into his soft bed. His scent

engulfed her. It clung to the bedclothes and

his shirt. Every slight sound made her

tense with nerves. She kept expecting

Nash to climb into bed with her, but if it

weren’t for the occasional scrape of his

chair at his desk, she would have thought

she was alone in the house. It was well

after midnight when sleep finally claimed

her.

Nash watched Maralee disappear into

his room, longing to follow her. He

listened to the sounds of her undressing

and wondered why the thought of her

naked made his heart thud so violently and

his human cock grow rigid once again.

Nudity was a natural state of the body. He