Eversworn: Daughters of Askara, Book 3 (19 page)

None of which helped my cause.

I didn’t feel I had abused my power, but was neglecting it for so long an offense in itself?

Aldrich had treaded the line of abuse to save Queen Nesvia by allowing a sentient crafting to feed on Emma. If he hinted at trouble, would wielding that information be called blackmail or named evidence if I used it against him? I wasn’t sure, but he was a dangerous male I’d be wise not to antagonize. I pushed those thoughts aside in favor of the question clawing up my insides.

I inhaled, a mistake, because it carried Dillon’s scent. “Why does my safety matter to you?”

“Other than the fact you’re my prisoner and protecting you is my job?”

I tugged my chin from his grip. It didn’t matter that I meant nothing to him beyond his duty.

“Or do you mean besides the fact it would finally give Emma a reason to introduce her knee to my balls?” He shook his head. “You don’t give your friends much credit, do you?” He took my hand and laced our fingers. His strength, his support, made me weak, willing to spill any answers I had he might want. “No offense, but you’re not much of an actress. Case in point,” he said, pointing through the flap at a familiar shadow positioned outside the tent. “Lindsay showed up while you were sleeping. She left the Lowndes in charge of the consulate, and I have to say Emma will be pissed at how you two played hot potato with her boarders, but I’m hoping by the time she gets back, we’ll have this settled. All we need is the salt and one hell of a good excuse.”

I must have misheard him. “I d-don’t understand.”

“No, you don’t.” He stared at our joined hands. “That’s part of the problem.”

“You saw my glamour drop in the mines and you cursed me. You were disgusted. Don’t pretend otherwise.” I’d thought in exchange for his kindness, I could let slide that initial reaction, but I was proud of my heritage and his slight hurt. “The others will be just as accepting, I’ll bet.”

“The others will manage to keep their feet out of their mouths.” His gaze lifted a fraction. “You’re right. I won’t lie. I wasn’t expecting… You’re Sereian, Isabeau. It caught me off guard.”

My heart cracked. I was stunned he hadn’t heard the crisp snap as my hope fractured.

Hadn’t I warned myself this would happen? Hadn’t I told myself Dillon wasn’t for me?

Rough hands caught my cheeks, and calloused thumbs wiped moisture from them.

“You did too good a job of making everyone believe you were Evanti,” he said, “and I—”

I turned aside and pushed him from me. “You don’t have to explain.”

He’d expected a mate, a full partner, not a pairing with a Sereian priestess. Craving him was selfish when his people required pure bloodlines to replenish theirs. I cringed at the direction of my thoughts, how they excluded any choice from him in the matter. That must be why his status remained a secret. Arranged matings were less barbarous than Phineas’s means but still required a hefty sacrifice from Dillon. At least rediscovering Daeza meant more variety in primas for him.

I set my jaw. He would mate someone who could give him pureblood children. Not me.

Dillon pressed his finger to my lips. “Hold that thought.” Shoving to his feet, he nudged the tent flap aside and craned his neck until he located his target. At first, their voices were too low for me to hear. Then his fist bunched canvas and he snapped, “No arguing, Lindsay. Go with Church.” The shadow I’d noticed earlier stomped off after another bulkier figure before Dillon returned. Snapping his fingers, he said, “One more thing.” He pulled me to my feet. “Turn around.”

Warm breath fanned my nape. I froze as rough fingers trailed my shoulders, traced the column of my throat. A rustle of chain and familiar weight settled about my neck. No. It couldn’t be. I clasped the worn charm. “My locket.”

“You need a new chain, but that knot will keep it secure until we can sweet-talk Uriah into forging you a new one.” Taking my hand, he guided me from the tent. “Come on.”

“What about Aldrich?” I dug in my heels, but he dragged me. “We can’t keep him waiting.”

“Aldrich is discussing treatment options with Christophe and Warren for Derik.” He added, “Raiders almost disemboweled him. Our healers did what they could at the time, but they’re both inexperienced with major medical trauma. Patching up Mason and Osher pushed the limits of their ability to heal.” His expression darkened. “Aldrich is his best chance at recovery, and it’s like pulling teeth to get him to consult, so while he’s making nice with those two, I’d rather leave them to it. Besides, Mason’s on his way back from the city. I expect it will be a slow ride since he’s still tender and all that jostling adds up fast. We have time.”

Shuffling behind him, I frowned at his sense of urgency. “Time for what?”

His chuckle was wicked. “You’ll see.”

Skirting the neat rows of residency tents, we bypassed the heart of the colony and headed for its fringes. I frowned at the scattered debris marking what must be a construction site. Stacked rocks I guessed were harvested from the mine made an L-shaped divider. Dillon led me past the bend to a series of stalls constructed from sheets of hammered silver laced with intricate designs.

“What are these?” I stepped inside one and spotted a drain. “They’re shower stalls?”

“If you can’t tell on sight, then Uriah must not have done as good a job as he thinks he did.”

“I guess I didn’t expect…” Pipes hung unattached overhead, and I remembered what Emma had said about spell crafters taking their time fortifying the new aqueducts. The colony had been purchasing water from Feriana at an exorbitant rate and would continue to until construction was complete. It appeared the colonists weren’t waiting idly by before they began preparations.

“Ah.” He circled me. “You’ve noticed the small flaw in my plan. We lack running water.”

I wished I hadn’t backed into a stall, into a trap. “The open-ended pipes were rather telling.”

His smile was easy, genuine. I liked it. “I know what you’re thinking—”

I was glad one of us did. “That this is an accident waiting to happen?”

A flash of his teeth, then, “Are you saying I’m a danger to innocent females?”

“I’m not innocent.” I swallowed as he entered the stall I’d chosen.

“See, that’s where I’m not so sure.” He cupped my face in his hands. “I want you to trust me with the truth, Isabeau.” His head lowered. “I want to help you, but you’ve got to help yourself.”

I wanted to trust him. I did trust him, but not with this. Not with my daughter. Not yet.

I was too used to hiding her in my heart to crack open the door wide enough for him to slip inside. If he made me believe he wanted more with me than a quick resolution to a bad situation, then the fissure in my heart might split in two once he discovered I had been Roland’s mistress. I imagined his previous disgust amplified a hundredfold once he realized who’d fathered my child.

No. There were things I must keep from Dillon, the better to hone my edge if we found the salt. But could I feed him half-truths? Hint at Roland? I still hadn’t told him my suspicions about Roland’s connection to Phineas. I feared anything I said might link Roland to me. Of course, he had heard Phineas and might share my suspicions.

I braced myself. “What do you want to know?”

His lips brushed mine, his sigh filling my mouth with his taste. “Everything.”

My palms pressed to his chest and should have shoved him from the stall, giving me room to breathe, a means of escape. Instead, I thumbed his nipples, and his shocked gasp sucked air from my lungs. I battled my foolish heart as it tapped out its surrender. “I can’t tell you everything.”

His voice was a pained groan as I tweaked his chest. “What
can
you tell me?”

“This.” I rolled onto my tiptoes and met him halfway to a kiss. “I want you.”

Chapter Twelve

Fog swirled through Dillon’s mind. Isabeau’s refusal to come clean should have pissed him off, and would have if she weren’t so busy turning him on. His nipples smarted in reminder of a time when they’d been pierced. Adornments for his body meant for the queen’s pleasure, not his.

Red lips brushed his chest…teeth clacked on metal…skin tore…

Grinding his jaw, he blinked free of the past and set his sights on Isabeau. See
her
, see
now
.

Another tug made him wish he’d kept the damn barbells so she had something to hold on to. When her nails scraped down his stomach, he groaned, wanting her hands higher. She must have heard the edge of need in the sound, because she worked her hands under his shirt.

He took the hint and shucked it over his head. She laughed when his wrists tangled in the buttoned cuffs. His shoulder bounced off the wall when she shimmied past him, turning him, pushing his back against the stall as she snatched the center tangle of fabric and tugged it, and his arms, higher. She teetered on her tiptoes, but she managed to knot his shirt over the showerhead.

“What’s going on here?” He gave an experimental tug. Material gave and he exhaled.

Escape was one firm tug away. Shrugging his shoulders, he relaxed into his captivity.

Isabeau fanned her fingers across his pectorals, stopping when her thumbs brushed the tips of his taut nipples. “You like this.”

Truer words had never been spoken. Yet she waited. Did she really need confirmation? His head bobbled
yes
. Paired with a grunt, it was all he could manage.

She rolled and twisted, pinching him until he arched against her, panting. Was it possible for him to orgasm this way? It’d never happened before, but…another glance down as she dipped her head had him testing the shirt, debating the merits of ripping it in half. Should he or shouldn’t he? He couldn’t make up his damn mind because his brain had switched offline ten minutes ago.

The first tentative brush of her tongue lit his skin on fire. Sweat popped along his upper lip and ran from his forehead into his eyes. He blinked to clear his vision and let his head fall back against the wall. Thumped it a few times for good measure. Another lick of pain flared where her teeth met tight buds and tugged hard enough his gut clenched.
Red lips…sharp teeth…tearing…

The past staggered him, blinded him until Isabeau pressed a soft kiss to his stinging skin.

Another kiss followed the first. “Tell me if it hurts.”

He barked out a laugh. “Yes, doctor.” His voice was graveled, throat tight.

Her chuckle vibrated his chest where her lips feathered over his collarbone.

“I’m not your healer.” She stared up at him. “Not here and not now.”

Certain his next few words impacted his next
several
minutes, he said, “You did your job. Our tab was settled the day I walked out.” For good measure, “You haven’t treated me since.”

Her nod ended with her face nestled against his neck. He leaned toward her, brushing their cheeks together, inhaling her pear scent and reveling in how his body had awakened beneath her fingers. Had he ever felt more alive than this? He didn’t think so. Sure he’d lived, and lived well, once fleeing Askara. In his wildest dreams, he’d never imagined this connection was what he’d been missing. No wonder Harper let Emma take the lead. A female who knew what she wanted, what her male
needed
, was a dream. And maybe, just maybe, was stronger than his nightmares.

She thumbed him again, sighing into his shiver. “So sensitive.”

“Are you?” He bit his tongue. “Let’s pretend I didn’t ask that.”

Some
sthudai
he was. Pleasure had been his trade for decades. Funny how all the training he’d undergone hadn’t prepared him for Isabeau. His patience was shot. He wanted to please her the first time, every time, and yeah, he was ashamed for asking her for a cheat sheet. It was like pressing the handicap-access button because he was too lazy to open the door. No excuse for it.

Just goes to show how long he’d gone without—contact, kisses or sex—anything physical.

Isabeau’s laughter told him his impatience was forgiven. Good, because his gut twisted with each swirl of her tongue. His cock ached for her attention when he’d once sworn the next hand to touch him there would be introduced to the dull side of a blade. No one could touch him but her.

“It’s been a while for you, then?” Had he imagined the hopeful lilt to her voice?

“A long time,” he said, mesmerized by the swipe of her tongue across her lips. “You?”

“For me too.” She traced his collarbone, fingers climbing toward his neck.

He crushed his eyes shut, dragged in deep gulps of air.
No reason to panic.
Be
here
, be
now
.

“Dillon?” She cupped his cheeks. “Are you all right?”

He managed a jerky nod. “Yeah,” he croaked. “I just…I remember sometimes…”

She stroked damp hair from his forehead. “I know. I heard your nightmares, remember?”

His gaze lowered. “I’d forgotten that.” Or he’d tried to at least.

Tilting his chin up, she scanned his face. “You were collared?”

Breaking from her grasp, he planted his chin on his breastbone. “Yeah, I was.”

“Then your throat is off limits.” She fumbled his shirtsleeves. “I should have considered.” A tug. “Here. Let’s free your hands. Then we can continue…if you like.”