Guardian's Challenge (2 page)

“We have to turn the babe,” Neeve said, returning him to the present.

She motioned him closer. Alinore joined Neeve and together they pushed on the rigid lump under Elizabeth’s skin. Her body shuddered under their hands, and he increased the flow of power. Finally, the babe twisted into position, and Neeve returned to her post at the end of the bed.

“Release her,” Neeve ordered. “She needs to push.”

He withdrew the energy from Elizabeth’s body. After what seemed like hours, he watched in horrified awe as the child slipped, wet and howling, into Neeve’s hands.

He’d never seen such a beatific smile on her face. The sight of it made his chest ache, and for a moment, he let himself imagine her holding their child. She met his gaze, and her expression faded. Turning from him, she tied and cut the cord, before wiping off the baby.

She’d dismissed him. Well, she’d tried to, but it didn’t matter. Now that she was back, he wasn’t letting her go again. Not until he’d had his fill of her.

Ignoring Asher’s probing gaze, Neeve cleaned the blood and fluid from the crying child. No matter how often she witnessed this miracle, it amazed her each and every time.

Today, more than ever, she thought about the baby she could have borne Asher if she’d stayed.

Guilt clogged her throat. She’d been so stupid. So blinded by her misery over leaving Asher, she hadn’t recognized the signs for what they were.

She’d thought she’d gotten over the pain, but his presence today brought back the sharp memories of loss—loss of the child and Asher. Blinking back tears, she wrapped Elizabeth’s newborn daughter in a soft blanket and laid her in her mother’s grateful arms. The joy in her friend’s expression was contagious.

“She’s beautiful,” Elizabeth whispered, awe tingeing her voice. She met Neeve’s gaze. “Thank you.”

Micah stared at his daughter and reached to touch her tiny hand. The utter fear in his eyes was almost comical. A fierce warrior brought low by a crying infant. Much like her mother, this little one had no trouble speaking her mind. Neeve couldn’t stop the grin that spread over her face. Without meaning to, she sought Asher with her gaze. It was a mistake. He watched her like a hawk circling its prey, making it nearly impossible to look away.

His deep green eyes glittered with frustration, and he dragged his fingers through his long, chestnut-colored hair. Her fingers itched to follow the same path. She’d loved playing with his hair after they’d—

It was best not to think of that. It wouldn’t ever happen again.

Busying herself with the afterbirth and cleanup, she kept as far away from him as she could. It wasn’t easy. He hovered nearby, clearly waiting for an opportunity to speak with her. She glanced at him beneath her lashes. Judging from his expression, he wanted more than a conversation. A flutter of anticipation fanned through her womb as her body clenched with remembered need. Even now, she had to convince herself not to rush into his arms, though that was the only place she wanted to be.

Unbidden, memories assailed her—his eyes burning with desire as they bored into hers. The play of his warm hands on her body. His firm lips coasting over every inch of her flesh. The nearly unbearable friction of their bodies as he pounded into her.

Desire pooled low in her abdomen, and she bit back a groan.

With a sigh, she reminded herself that she’d done the right thing by leaving. She was nothing more to him than a temporary slave. His consort. A convenient vessel for his seed. And if he had discovered her powers…

She knew that the overlord had changed the laws to protect women with magic, but she hadn’t been willing to risk it. It wasn’t that she didn’t trust Micah—she did. But she didn’t trust the other men of Maelgwn to follow the edict. Nor did she trust Asher’s response. She doubted that he would have been angry that she’d had the abilities, but he would have been furious that she’d hidden them from him. He’d wanted her body and soul.

To be fair, she’d been content to give him everything he’d wanted. She’d been insatiable for him. But no longer. She was more than a woman with an available womb. Her life was her own. She would no longer be a slave to his passion…or hers. Now, if only she could convince her body of that.

Setting aside her wayward feelings, she looked at Elizabeth. Curled in her mate’s embrace, she and her newborn child had fallen asleep under his protective gaze. A pang of sadness and envy closed Neeve’s throat. Even if she’d stayed with Asher, they never would have had the love Micah and Elizabeth shared.

Her post as a temple consort had been merely to provide sons for the temple guardians to train in the magical arts. Men in Asher’s position didn’t mate for life. If she’d learned anything since her flight from Maelgwn, it was that she wanted more than he had to give her.

He’d been a kind and generous lover, but he’d always hidden his emotions behind the stone wall of his will. She knew his body, but she didn’t know
him
. It wasn’t enough.

She glanced at him from the corner of her eye. This rigidly coiled irritation was the biggest emotional response she’d ever seen from him. She squelched a smile of satisfaction. It was about time something spoiled his composed demeanor.

Turning from him, she gathered her belongings. It had been a long labor, and she wanted to rest before returning to Hafan. Glancing at Asher once more before she left, she saw him push off the wall he’d been leaning against. Determination lit his eyes and tightened his features as he stalked toward her. He was across the room before she could take two steps. The need she’d thought she’d quelled flared to life at the hunger in his gaze. Gripping her wrist, he pulled her out the door.

She gasped at the sensation. It was such simple contact, but his hand on her skin seared her. Perhaps, it was because she’d craved his touch for so long.

“Your duty to the overlord is finished. It’s time to fulfill the rest of your obligations.”

Neeve tried to tug free of Asher’s grasp. He couldn’t possibly mean what she thought. Refusing to let her leave, he pinned her against the corridor wall. His hands on either side of her shoulders caged her between his outstretched arms. Leaning forward, he closed the distance between them, his fierce gaze leaving her breathless.

“Where the hell have you been?” he growled.

She swallowed past the lump in her throat and tried to answer. “It doesn’t matter.”

Anger darkened his eyes, and she could almost feel the desire coursing through his body. “The hell it doesn’t.”

As difficult as it was to do, she fought the hunger rising within her. “Release me.”

A cold smile curved his lips. “No.”

“No?” Anger displaced some of her desire. “I am no longer your consort.”

“You owe me a year.”

Rage burned through her veins. “I owe you nothing!”

He shook his head, and his gaze dropped pointedly to her breasts then returned to her face. “Yes. You do.”

She shoved at his solid chest, her effort fruitless. “Go to hell.”

“Where do you think I’ve been?” Without warning, his lips descended, capturing hers with a near growl.

She released the breath she hadn’t realized she’d held, and his tongue slipped past her shocked defenses. For a moment, she lost herself in sensation—the remnants of mead on his lips, the rough stubble of hair on his chin, the hard planes of his body against hers. Yes. This was where she wanted to be—in his arms.

His hand splayed through the hair at her nape, loosening the strip of leather that kept it from her face, and his lips trailed an urgent path along the column of her neck. Her fingers fisted in his tunic, and she pulled him closer. How had she lived so long without this? Without him? Just as quickly, she remembered how, and more importantly, why.

She tried to twist from his grasp. Tightening his fingers in her hair, he raised his lips from her skin.

“Let me go,” she demanded.

He shook his head.

“I’m not the same person I was when I lived here.” She needed him to see reason.

“It doesn’t matter.”

“It does to me.” Anger tightened her muscles. She’d hurt him if she had to. Drawing her knee upward, she prepared to bring her foot down on his instep.

Sensing her intent, he shoved his leg between hers, bringing his thigh to rest against her mound. Her breath left her body on a gasp. More intense than ever, the aching empty sensation clawed through her body, and she fought the urge to beg him to take her here and now.

Hardly daring to lift her eyes, she met his gaze. His mouth curved in predatory satisfaction, and her stomach sank to the hewn stone floor. Her response hadn’t gone unnoticed.

“You still want me,” he murmured, his breath hot against her ear. He let his hand slip from her hair to trail over her shoulder and settle at her waist. His thumb brushed over her ribcage, under the swell of her breast. She tried to squirm from his hold, but the motion only served to heighten her awareness of their intimate position.

“No,” she choked out. “No, I don’t.”

Raising an eyebrow in disbelief, he slid his hand upward and cupped her breast. Her nipple hardened under his palm, and a gratified smile curved his lips.

Neeve fought the shudder of need that coursed through her at his touch. It was heaven to have his hand on her again. She wanted to rip away the cloth that separated their skin, but she refused to give him the pleasure of knowing how he affected her. Pressing her lips together, she glared at him.

What might have been amusement flitted through his eyes before they turned flat again. His hand dropped to her hip, and he began to gather the fabric of her skirt, inching it upward. “If I touched you right now, you’d be wet for me.”

It wasn’t a question—the arrogant lout. The worst part was that he was right. As soon as he’d kissed her, desire had dampened her folds. She wanted nothing more than to have him inside her. “Touch me, and I’ll hurt you.”

His lips twitched, but he kept bunching the fabric, intent on baring her skin.          

She struggled harder, not wanting another reminder of the bliss he could give her. She’d spent far too many nights lying awake with nothing but cold memories to comfort her, and she doubted she’d survive leaving him a second time.

His callused fingertips reached her thigh, and she fought the shudder that threatened at the contact. As he crept closer to her core, apprehension twisted her stomach. She couldn’t let him touch her. Still trying to break free of his hold, she sank her teeth into his upper arm.

Asher’s eyes narrowed, growing darker—more intense. He moved closer and brushed her ear with his lips. “You’re going to regret that,
cariad
.”

Releasing him, she met his gaze and swallowed thickly. “Probably.”

The word ended on a gasp as his hand brushed across her damp curls. He held her gaze with his own. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t look away from the carnal promises in his eyes. The shudder she’d stifled earlier raced through her as he unerringly found her center, parting her folds with his finger.

“You’re so wet,” he breathed.

Her hands curled against the heated planes of his chest. She closed her eyes and melted against him as he stroked her needy flesh. He lowered his lips to hers, and she opened willingly beneath him, drawing his tongue into her mouth. He kissed her as if she were the sustenance he needed to survive. All the while, he continued to slide through her wetness, occasionally brushing his thumb across her swollen clitoris. She arched against his hand, powerless to stop the motion of her hips. She wanted him inside her so badly the emptiness hurt.

His mouth left hers to trace the line of her jaw, down the side of her neck. The sensation of his rough cheek against her skin drove her fingers into his hair, and she dragged his lips to her breast.