Entwined (7 page)

The wound. She was in the fucking wound. “No,” he rasped between clenched teeth, fingers digging deeper into the wooden desk. “It’s…fine.”

“
Ilithios
.” Ever the professional, she left it at calling him an idiot and didn’t push again. Soon her fingers were moving once more, sliding away from his wound until the pain lessened and warmth returned to his chest.

Holy Hades.
He blew out a ragged breath. That was most definitely not a pinch. If she’d ever wanted to hurt him, she could have done it with barely a flick of her finger.

“I need you to focus again, Zander,” she said firmly. “Relax. Close your eyes.”

Relax. Yeah. That sounded possible.

He took another deep breath. Tried to think about…nothing,
like she’d suggested. And succeeded, for all of two seconds. Until her hands started moving south. Down his rib cage and abdomen, and stopped to hover right over his belly button.

“Lie back,” she said. “And spread your legs slightly.”

The command was enough to send the blood straight to his groin. His cock strained against his pants. And oh, yeah, this was wonderful. He was going to have a hard-on in a matter of seconds, and she was telling him to lie back and spread his legs.

He gritted his teeth again, did as she said and prayed her eyes were still closed. She didn’t touch him, but he sensed her move closer. Felt the heat between his legs as she eased nearer and leaned over his groin, her hands millimeters above him now, moving slowly lower, now over the waistband of his pants, down the zipper, lower still. His skin tingled in the pressure points between his hips and torso. Warmth continued to move south. He held his breath and waited, even as he felt himself grow impossibly hard beneath the fabric of his pants.

Her hands hovered over his lap. Warmth turned to heat to a white-hot burn in his groin he knew all too well. And oh, fuck, that was her breath against his belly button. She was leaning way over him. Her face so close. Images popped into his mind: Her succulent lips. Her mouth against his skin. Running lower. Her tongue…Her doing this exam and whatever else she wanted to him, naked, with him laid out before her like an offering.

His breaths came deep and ragged as he fought the arousal. If she so much as bumped his cock accidentally he knew he’d go off, right here on this makeshift examination table. And would that not be mortifying or what? He told himself it wasn’t her. It was what she was doing to him.
Any
healer doing this exam would have the same effect on him. It was the energy rushing through him that was juicing his libido, not
her
.

Yeah, right, dumbass.

It felt like an eternity before she moved on, down his right leg, and he finally drew a full breath when he felt the warmth spread out of his groin and down his limb. She was now quick and efficient, examining one leg and then the other. And there was only a tiny twinge of electricity in his groin again when she moved back to start at the top of his left leg.

All that warmth seemed to rush out of the big toe of his left foot, and he heard her push up from the floor, sigh and finally say, “You’re done.”

She turned away from him, replaced the tools she’d used earlier in her bag. Almost afraid of what he’d see, he opened his eyes, stared up at the three-story-high ceiling with its gilded ceiling plates and tried to calm himself. Didn’t work, though. Yeah, that heat was now gone, but his cock was still stiff as a board and there was no way she’d missed that when she’d opened her eyes.

Fuck it.
She was being professional about this, and that meant he should be too. After all, there was nothing left between them, right? He pushed up with his elbows.

He shifted to find a more comfortable position—as if there were one. She had her back turned to him and she didn’t look up, not even when she crossed the floor, grabbed his shirt from the couch and tossed it his way. “Everything seems fine. I’ll tell the king you’re able to…” She stopped herself. Seemed to think twice. Then finally said, “That you’re healthy. So long as the sample comes back normal, there’s nothing else you need from me.”

“Sample?” he asked, catching his shirt in his lap and shifting it to hide his still-raging hard-on. “What sample?”

She recrossed the floor, reached into her bag and handed him a small plastic cup and lid. “You’ll need to provide a sperm sample for lab analysis.” She set a brown paper bag beside him on the desk. “Leave it in the bag on the desk when you’re done.” Then she lifted her bag and headed for the door.

Too stunned to move, he only stared at the plastic cup in
his hand as she reached the door. She wanted him to…? With her waiting outside this door while he…? Right
now
?

His gaze shot to her, and though he most definitely wasn’t a prude, something about this felt wrong. Really freaking twisted wrong.

She stopped with one hand on the knob, but she didn’t turn. And there was no way he could read her expression when she said, “I wish you and Isadora…much happiness, Zander. Yeah, I…May you and yours flourish in the tradition of the great heroes.”

The congratulatory words traditionally offered to an
ándras
and his bride wedged their way into his head, then slinked down to his chest. Where they settled. Cold. Heavy. Dark. The arousal he’d been fighting since he’d stepped into the room slid out the door right along with her, leaving him unsatisfied and edgy. And irrational as it was, his temper flared as the door clicked shut behind her and silence settled over the room.

He didn’t want her good wishes. He and Isadora didn’t need her approval. Growing more pissed off at her words, his reaction and what had and hadn’t happened in this room, he glanced down at his lap, where his cock was now fairly shriveled.

He was over her, dammit. He didn’t need her. And he knew one very clear way to prove that fact once and for all.

Except…before he went looking for Isadora to do just that, he apparently had to jerk off on command. Or stay locked in this room for the rest of his immortal life.

Shhhhhiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiitttttt.

Muttering curses at Callia, the king, this whole damn situation, he grabbed the cup and his shirt, tossed both on the couch, then sank down into the cushions. It took several minutes for his heart to stop racing and his thoughts to quit swirling, and when both did, he let his head fall back against the headrest, closed his eyes and pictured Isadora. Pale, petite, pretty, perfect. It was no great secret she was one of the most attractive
gynaíkes
in all the land. And
wouldn’t you know it? His cock didn’t even twitch at the thought.

He blew out a long breath. Tried again. This time palmed his groin. He could do this,
dammit
.

Except…nothing happened.

Frustrated, he mentally undressed Isadora in his mind as he stroked himself, hoping that would do the trick. He pictured her in a long flowing skirt and a sleeveless top. Her pale hair fell all the way to her hips. She skimmed her fingers over her throat, slid them lower, around the outside swell of her breasts, down her sleek rib cage, to finally land at the hem of her coral top. Her milky white hands crossed in front of her, tugged at the fabric, and he caught a flash of sleek skin, the soft indent of her belly button and her toned upper abs as she drew the top higher. He held his breath and waited, watched as inch by inch she revealed herself until she was pulling the garment up and off, and her high, firm,
very
naked breasts were all he could see.

And oh, yeah. They were perfect. Pink. Tight. Just the right size for a guardian’s hands. For his mouth…

She whispered something. His name? He wasn’t sure. Before he could figure out what she’d said, she was leaning forward, her hair coming down to hide her face as she slid her fingers into the waistband of that long, elegant skirt and pushed it down her curvy hips.

His mouth ran dry. He waited. Couldn’t see anything but all that silky hair and the fabric of her skirt sliding low…lower. And then…all that was left was a mound of satin pooled on the floor at the base of two of the sexiest legs he’d ever seen and a river of auburn hair he wanted to part with his fingers and dive into.

His dick tingled. He felt the blood flow south. He rubbed himself through his pants. Silently cheered because…
Yes!
…this was finally working.

Only…when she eased back upright and all that glorious flesh came into view, he realized the
gynaíka
suddenly naked before him was no longer petite and perfect. She
was tall and voluptuous, with silky red hair and eyes the color of amethyst. And she was smiling, just for him, like she had hundreds of times before. That one look brought his cock to instant alert, sent every last drop of blood to his groin. And he grew impossibly hard. Harder than he’d been in years. Just that fast.

Callia turned away, giving him a clear view of her toned ass and legs, braced her bare knees on the seat of the couch, inched them wider until he could barely breathe. She shifted around to glance over her creamy shoulder with a sultry come-get-me look that grabbed hold of his chest like a vise and wouldn’t let go.

And then she threw the death blow. The one that crumbled him from the inside out. She whispered, “Take me, Zander. Fast. Before someone gives you a reason to say no.”

Ah, gods, he was lost. It wasn’t even worth fighting anymore. His seed boiled deep at the remembered feel of thrusting hard inside Callia and giving her exactly what they both wanted. And even before the first twinge shot up from his balls, he knew he was royally fucked.

Only problem was, it wasn’t in any way, shape or form the way the king wanted.

Isadora stepped from the shower and tugged a plush towel around her body. After the scene in her father’s chamber, she’d felt dirty. Had needed to wash off the stain the entire ordeal left behind. The way they’d all stared at her. The things Demetrius had said…

She grabbed another towel and wrung the water from her hair to keep from focusing on his words again, then tossed it on the counter.

In her bedroom she eyed the heavy full-length gown that Saphira, her handmaiden, had left hanging on the closet door. Her stomach pitched. She couldn’t stand to look at that dress. Hated covering her skin with it. Despised the weight and texture. Sickness welled in her stomach at the thought of doing one more thing someone else wanted her to do. Instead she ripped the towel from her body, tossed it onto the bed and took a deep breath.

Pants. She wanted pants. But where would she get them? She lifted her thumb, gnawed on the tip of her nail. She could ask Casey. Her half-sister would jump at the chance to help her out on this one. Of course, if her father saw her dressed in anything other than a gown it might shock him into cardiac arrest.

“Isadora?”

Zander’s voice in the anteroom hit her a microsecond before the door to her chamber pushed open and he stepped inside. Where he stopped. Dead in his tracks. And didn’t move.

And oh, shit. Heat rushed to her cheeks at what he—the first male ever—was seeing. She scrambled for the towel
and wrapped it tight around her body, wishing she’d thought to grab her robe from the bathroom.

Good gods, why was he here? And why in the name of all things holy was she freaking out like some spineless virgin?

Because, technically, you are one, Isa.

“I, uh…I’m sorry,” he muttered. “I didn’t realize you weren’t…decent.”

Obviously. But now that he knew, why wasn’t he making any attempt to leave?

“It’s…it’s all right,” she said, searching for composure. “I just didn’t expect you…anyone…to come barging in.”

Where in the blazes was Saphira?

He didn’t respond. And when she finally turned to face him, she found he was staring at her with a blank expression she couldn’t possibly read.

Which, okay, shouldn’t surprise her. She knew she wasn’t a hot commodity. She was too pale, too thin, bony where she should be curvy. So it was no surprise he didn’t look overly pleased by what he’d seen. But this…this was just…awkward. She’d barely said ten words to him in all her life, and now they were standing here face-to-face, her nearly naked, with the weight of a marriage looming between them and the knowledge that in a matter of days they’d be having…sex.

When he still didn’t say anything, just continued to stare at her with that stone-faced expression, she dug down deep and pulled up her courage. “Did…did you want something, Zander?”

Nice one, Isa. He’s male. He’s an Argonaut. He just barged into your bedroom like he owns the place. And you’re practically naked. What the hell do you think he wants?

Or did before he saw you…

She tugged the towel closer. Curled her bare toes into the thick carpet. Waited.

Finally, after what felt like an hour, he opened his mouth as if he were going to say something, then closed it just as quickly. His head lowered, and he rubbed a hand across his
brow. “I’m not quite sure what I’m doing here,” he muttered. Then louder, “No. I do know.” He looked up. “You’re father’s forcing this marriage on you. You don’t want it, do you?”

“I…” Isadora didn’t know what to say. If she agreed with him, he’d know how she truly felt, and their binding would start off with animosity between them. But if she wasn’t honest, they’d never be on equal footing. And though her father didn’t yet realize it, she didn’t intend to let any
ándras
, this one included, bully her again. “No,” she said firmly, straightening her spine. “I do not.”

“I didn’t think so.” He dropped his hand, locked his gaze with hers. He was truly handsome, bronze and buff and blond, but she didn’t feel even an ounce of attraction toward him. Never had. “I’m glad you told me. But as archaic as I know it is, in this situation, your father has the final say.”

Yeah, she knew that too. And she didn’t like it. Her jaw clenched.

“However,” Zander said, glancing down at his hands, “I don’t like the way this was forced. So…” He paused, seemed to gather his words. “What Demetrius said, back in the king’s chambers.” His gray eyes lifted to hers again. “That was wrong of him. And I for one apologize if he upset you. There are facets of Demetrius even the rest of us don’t understand.”