Knight Avenged (25 page)

Butterflies lit off, taking flight across her abdomen. She shifted on her knees, pressing both to the side of Henrik’s thigh. The linen sheet rustled, joining the quiet crackle of the hearth. “You’re a light sleeper.”

“Very.”

“Probably a good thing and, a
h . . .
necessary. I mean, you can never be too careful, because you know, wel
l . . .
” Desperate to gain control of her nerves, she paused.

Patient as ever, Henrik raised a brow and waited for her to continue.

Which—blast it all—made her want to die of embarrassment. Or crawl under the nearest doormat and never come out. Cosmina smothered a grimace. Way to go. Brilliantly playe
d . . .
or not. Nothing like acting like a ninny. One who didn’t know what to say to the man she desired in her bed.

“Someone migh
t . . .
umm, you kno
w . . .
sneak up on you.” Nibbling on the inside of her lip, she forced herself to stay the course. But gods, it was hard not to squirm as his fingers slid between hers. Goose bumps snaked up her arm, making her shiver. “Or something.”

He stroked his thumb across her palm. “You can sneak up on me anytime, Cosmina.”

She frowned. Was that an invitation? Sounded like it, and yet, she couldn’t be sure. Had no way of knowing what he intended. Or how she ought to proceed. Be straightforward and hope for the best? Let the silence stretch until he took the lead? She didn’t know. And Henrik didn’t help her decide. Like a patient predator, he watched and waited for her next move.

Which needed to happen now—before she lost all sense of herself.

Mouth gone dry, she reached for courage. “Can I sneak up on you now?”

Interest sparked in his gaze. “Depends.”

“On what?”

“What you intend.”

Be brave
, her mind whispered.
Touch him now
, desire urged.

Heeding both, Cosmina shook free of his hold and cupped his cheek. He made a gruff sound, one full of surprise as her fingers stroked along his jaw. Rough whiskers rasped against her skin. Prickles of pleasure ghosted up her arm, then turned tail, and cascaded over the tops of her shoulders. She murmured his name, the yearning hard to deny. She heard it in her voice. Felt it as he turned his face into her palm, seeking more of her touch. Her heart hopscotched, rebounding inside her chest as her other hand slid across his nape. Wonderment swirled. Goddess, his hair was soft. So thick. So incredibly dark against her pale skin.

His dark. Her light. A fair comparison.

In truth, it made perfect sense. He’d suffered. Had been caught in something terrible. Instinct and facts gathered by her unnatural talent told her so. She might not understand the extent of it, but as she caressed him—loving him with her hands, finding a place for him in her heart—certain knowledge wielded a heavy weight. Henrik was damaged, just like her. Abandoned. Cast out. Left for dead.

Which made them a sad but perfect fit. Two ruined halves making whole.

Empathy sank deep. Cosmina understood. She really did. He needed softness in his life in the same way she needed companionship and acceptance. She craved true freedom, the right to be herself without the heavy hand of judgment. The idea he might give her all of that made her bold. She wanted to be something other than cautious and afraid. Needed more than mistrust and distance. No worries for the future. No care for the consequences. No time for second-guessing either. Just commitment coupled with a passion so powerful it couldn’t be denied.

Tunneling through his hair, she turned his face toward her. His eyes met hers. She leaned in and touched her lips to the corner of his.

He groaned. “Cosmina.”

“I want to make love with you, Henrik,” she said, laying it on the line, letting honesty lead the way. “I want to know your touch before you leave me.”

“Sweet love.” Eyes dark with desire, he kissed her back. A gentle touch. The merest brush of his mouth against hers—so soft, so sweet, so filled with longing he made her want to cry. “Have you ever been with a man?”

“Aye.”

Surprise made him pause. Raising his head, he brushed the tangle of curls from her temple and retreated enough to look at her. Apprehension lit off, making her heart pound harder. Did her honesty bother him? Did he expect her to be a virgin? Most men would. She’d never been married, after al
l . . .
or even close to betrothed. Another misstep in a whole string of them. She’d lost her innocence years ago. Had made mistake after mistake, trusting the wrong boy, believing the lies he told. And yet as she held Henrik’s gaze, she refused to lie.

Or pretend to be someone she wasn’t.

“I was fifteen and foolish,” she said, memories rising from the ashes.

Gods, she’d been so naive. So very wrong, but then the former High Priestess of Orm had driven her to it—keeping her sequestered inside the tower room, locking her away, allowing no one to visit. The reason for her imprisonment had been simple. The old witch had wanted to keep Cosmina’s gift a secret—all to herself, so that she might profit while others floundered. Her mother had fought long and hard for Cosmina’s freedom. To no end. Ruthless, without conscience, Ylenia had removed her mother from the equation. A deadly poison splashed into her wine goblet an
d . . .

Grief tightened Cosmina’s throat. Goddes
s . . .
five years.
Five long years
had passed, and yet the pain never lessened. The loss of her mother still hurt. If only she’d seen Ylenia’s plan in advance. If only she’d understood the jagged pieces of premonition. If only she’d put enough clues together and warned her mother in time.
If onl
y . . .
if onl
y . . .
if only.
Two words that would forever haunt her. Along with the aftermath of her mother’s murder and her rebellion against the Order of Orm. Had she been smarter, she could have wielded her gift like a weapon. Made Ylenia and those in her inner circle dance to her tune. Instead she’d rebelled, refusing to share her visions, getting involved with the wrong boy, making the High Priestess believe the loss of her virginity meant the end of her gift.

A huge bluff. One Ylenia had called the day she evicted Cosmina from White Temple. And a history she had every right to hide. Something about Henrik, though, made her want to let it go and lay herself bare.

“I was young. Too trusting,” she said. “I thought I was in love, and he—”

“Took advantage.”

“Not really. I was willing an
d . . .
curious.” Sad, but true. She’d craved a friend, a companion outside her tower prison and the kitchen staff who brought her meals. The smithy’s son had provided that and, well—Cosmina grimaced—a whole lot more. Tracing the shell of Henrik’s ear, she pressed her cheek to his. A gentle shift. A quick adjustment, and she kissed him again. He drew a sharp breath. Daring to be bold, she licked into his mouth. He responded, delving in, deepening the contact, and pulled her toward him. Her knees slid on the sheet. His hand settled on her back as she touched the tip of her tongue to his. “My cross to bear, I guess.”

“What is,
iubita
?”

“Curiosit
y . . .
The need to experience things.”

“Understandable,” he said, kissing her back. “Did he give you pleasure?”

She frowned. “What do you mean?”

“I’ll take that as nay,” he growled, disgust for her onetime lover in his tone.

“I only slept with him once, bu
t . . .
” She shrugged, then shivered as Henrik’s fingertips played along her spine. Up. Down. Around and around. He drew circles on her skin, watching her, descending until he stroked the curve of her bottom. Pleasure rippled through her, making her muscles twitch as she moaned against his mouth.

With a hum, he nipped her bottom lip. His fingers stroked up, slipping beneath the hem of her braes. “But?”

Cosmina blinked. But
what
? Good Lord, she couldn’t remember what they’d been talking about, never mind follow the conversation. Not with his hands on her, caressing, exploring, trailing across her bare back.

Henrik helped, prompting her memory. “You slept with him once, bu
t . . .
”

Oh, right.
That
conversation. “I don’t think he knew what he was doing.”

“Imbecile.”

“Probably.”

Henrik smiled against her throat. A second later, he flicked her pulse point with his tongue. “You deserve better,
iubit
a
. . .
to know joy, every ounce of pleasure.”

“So show me better.”

“Cosmin
a . . .
” Regret in his tone, he raised his head. “Sweet love, ’tisn’t a good idea. I shouldn’t be touching you like this, never mind—”

“Please?”

Caressing her bottom lip with the pad of his thumb, he held her gaze. Longing reflected in his eyes, mirroring her own, providing what she wanted most: all his desire, every ounce of his yearning centered on her. But even as she rejoiced in his need, remorse stole into his expression, and he shook his head.

She tightened her grip in his hair. “Do you want me, Henrik?”

“More than I want my next breath.”

“Well, I want you back,” she said, a plea in her tone, strength in her hands.

She couldn’t let him go. Not while pressure mounted between her temples and premonition threatened. ’Twas strange, her need for him. Naught about it made sense. Then again, naught about her gift ever did. She never received the whole story, just bits and pieces. Broken shards that didn’t amount to much. Still, she refused to ignore the coil and strike of second sight. Someho
w . . .
some wa
y . . .
Cosmina knew being with him was right. Was good. Would make a difference down the line and change the course of her life. So nay, no going back. Or shying away. In this moment, he belonged to her. And she needed to claim him, even if it meant she must let him go in the end.

“Henrik, I need to know you. I cannot explain it. ’Tisn’t based in rough urges or right and wrong,” she said, holding his gaze. “’Tis a necessary thin
g . . .
pure instinct. I need this from you. Pleas
e . . .
do not leave me wanting.”

He growled, the rough purr so low she barely heard it. A denial? Unabashed acceptance? It didn’t matter. Her course was set, and fate turned the dial, pushing her into his arms. So she kissed him again, sinking into his mouth, holding on to his taste, hope rising hard as she waited to see what he would d
o . . .

Push her away. Or do as she asked and lay her down.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

He shouldn’t be touching her. Shouldn’t be enjoying the feel of her so much either. Giving into need. Doing what he wanted. Making love to Cosmina. All bad ideas. Worse than terrible, actually. Henrik knew it. Every instinct he owned told him it wouldn’t end well. He’d do what he always did and leave. She’d end up with a handful of memories and a heart full of hurt. Not good for either of them. But even as he told himself to do the right thing, ease up and back away, he couldn’t force his hands from her, never mind deny her kiss. Not with her small hands buried in his hair and her lush body up against his.

Henrik groaned. God forgive him bu
t . . .

She tasted so damned good.

Better than decadent. A delicious temptress who twisted intention, making him yearn in ways he never had before. Now he longed for her. For the softness of her skin. For the taste of her tongue and heat of her mouth. For the acceptance she gave. No judgment. No second-guessing. Not an ounce of hesitation, just full-on welcome wrapped up in all-consuming need.

Please do not leave me wanting.

Captivating words. Desperate desire. Such a powerful plea. All of it hers.

She whispered his name like a benediction. The need in her tone throbbed between his temples. Tore into his heart. Left him grasping at straws, searching for self-control, a way to hold the line as she kissed him again. Her tongue flicked along his teeth, burning a path into his mouth. Passion flamed into a wall of heat, licking through his veins, making his balls fist up tight and his heart pound the inside of his chest. Thump-thump-throb. Boom-boom-slam. The sound echoed, roaring into a lust-filled chant, tempting him an
d . . .
oh God. He wanted to do it—continue, lose all restraint, and be the first to show her pleasure. Be the only man to lay her down and teach her true abandon.

It would be so easy to do. To let go, lose control, and give Cosmina her way.

She wanted him. And honestly, he yearned to please her. Was driven to provide all she asked, s
o . . .
no harm, no foul. The situation held all he insisted upon—willingness, a bed, and explosive desire. All incredible components. A great combination heading into a brief interlude. One that benefited both parties. Except for one thin
g . . .

It wasn’t that simple.

Particularly since
brief interlude
would never apply to Cosmina. ’Twould be more of a love affair, a complicated one in which he lost his mind and got burned in the process. Logic pointed out the flaws in the plan. Instinct backed up the theory. One night—afternoon, evening, whatever; he didn’t know what time it was—would never be enough. Not with her. It was a simple fact wrapped up in unshakable certainty that led to an inescapable conclusion. All based on how he felt about her—hot, needy, proud, invested, so goddamn possessive he understood the implications.

Laying her down and loving her amounted to self-annihilation.

He wouldn’t survive the experience unscathed. Not with his heart intact. She wasn’t like the other women he’d bedded. She was infinitely more precious. Special in ways he found difficult to describe, but knew to be true. Which meant his
love ’em hard, leave ’em fast
maxim wouldn’t work with her. For the first time in his life, Henrik wanted to stay. To stick around long enough to make a play for another’s heart. To see if, by some miracle, she came to value him in return. Xavian had done it, risked all, been brave, and held on to Afina. It defied logic—and the code of their kind—but somehow their relationship, the love the pair shared, worked. His sister was happy, and his best friend full of the kind of contentment most men never found.

Odd. Baffling. So very tempting. Almost irrepressible, but for one thing.

Cosmina deserved so much better than him.

Heart heavy with regret, Henrik retreated a little, lifting his mouth from hers. He needed to end it now. Set her aside and walk away this instant. Before he forgot restraint and—

“Nay,” she said, her lips brushing over his. Her hands flexed in his hair. She leaned in, bridging the distance, and bit down on his bottom lip. A gentle nip. A sweet tug, and bliss swirled, taking him on a passion-fueled ride. “Stay. Kiss me again.”

Another whispered plea. More soul-stirring need. Enough to drag him closer to edge. “Cosmina.”

“Now, Henrik.”

Her tone brooked no argument. Her command of the kiss fueled his fire, forcing him to respond even as he tried to resist her. But Christ, it was hard. He wanted what she offered. Needed to touch, taste, and discover. And as she took control, Henrik lost his will—his mind too—and opened wider, encouraging her to explore and take and tease.

Which—goddamn it—scared the hell out of him.

For good reason. His need for her was unsettling, beyond anything he’d ever experienced, which left him at her mercy. A problem, particularly since she didn’t appear to have any—kissing him as though starving, sending her tongue deep, eating at his mouth the way he yearned to feast upon her body. And as she stoked his flames higher, ramping him into dangerous territory, Henrik felt himself crack and give ground.

Something he never did.

Always dominant in bed, he dictated the play. ’Twas a hard and fast rule. One he lived by. Too bad it wasn’t working for him right now. Her touch. The soft sounds she made. The feel of her pressed against him. Temptation personified. Beautiful wanton. Gorgeous hellion. She sent him soaring. Each caress compounded the effect, multiplying until the word
no
disappeared from his vocabulary. Not a good sign. The ground rules must be laid in advance. He needed her to understand and accept before they went any further. Believe him when he told her they had no future together. She was a member of the Blessed, a valuable asset to the Goddess of All Things. He was an assassin assigned to protect her, one with a tainted past and too much blood on his hands.

It wouldn’t end well. Was doomed to fail. He knew it, even if she didn’t.

Reaching for some small measure of restraint, he turned his head and broke the kiss. She protested and, with a tug, tried to bring him back. He almost gave in. Almost said to hell with honor, took control, and tangled his tongue with hers.
Almost
, but not quite. Despite rampant need, he couldn’t do it. Couldn’t go on without telling her the truth.

Warning her was the right thing to do.

“Cosmin
a . . .
iubita
, slow down. Ease up a moment. We need t
o . . .
” Chest pumping, he fought to draw a full breath. A useless endeavor. Cosmina was too quick. Denied his kiss, she dipped her head and set her mouth to the side of his throat. The sharp edge of her teeth scraped his skin. His muscles flexed, tightening in alarm as she shifted to her knees. One moment, she sat beside him on the mattress. The next, she sat astride him, the insides of her thighs pressed to the outside of his as she settled her exquisite bottom in his lap. Heat bled through her thin braes, scorching him through his leather trews, making him twitch. “Christ, don’t—”

“What, Henrik?”

Playing the seductress, she undulated against him, riding the hard ridge of his erection. He cursed and rolled his hips, meeting her downward thrust, encouraging her ride as he flicked at the hem of her shirt. Soft skin met his palms an
d . . .
ah hell. Oh Jesus. He was in trouble. He couldn’t stop touching her, never mind breathe when she rode him that way. His hands traveled of their own volition, refusing to listen to him, caressing her bare back, loving the feel of her.

She hummed against the side of his neck. “Make you desire me? Take what I want instead of waiting for it to happen?” With a quick shift, she licked over his pulse point, lashing him with bliss, then raised her head. Bright-green eyes met his. “I’m tired of waiting. You’re here. I want you. Give me what I need.”

He longed t
o . . .
over and over, again and again. “Sweet love, ’tisn’t that simple.”

“Aye, it i
s . . .
just that simple. You. Me. Desire. Simplest thing in the world.”

“Cosmina,” he said, his heart aching so hard his whole chest hurt. “I cannot stay.”

“How long do we have together?”

“Two, mayhap three, days.”

“Well the
n . . .
” Gaze steady, she brushed her mouth against his. So gentle. So sweet. Way too accepting. “We’d best make the most of it, don’t you think?”

Think?
Christ, ’twas too much to hope for. His brain—along with every ounce of good sense—was gone.

“Make love to me, Henrik. Show me true pleasure,” she whispered. “No regrets.”

And just like that, he was done. Finished. Beyond the limits of smart, plunging headlong off desire’s cliff into the stupidest form of wrong.

Triumph tasted sweet, and Henrik even better.

Gods, he was something. So hard-bodied. So strong. The sweep of his hands over her bare back so gentle it took her breath away. Now all she wanted was more. More of his taste. More of his heat. More of his skin against hers. A startling thought. She’d never imagined thinking it, never mind having the opportunity to explore the tight tug of arousal. But the slow burn of desire—’twas incredible, alluring, seductiv
e . . .

So damned good, she yearned to settle in, stay a while, and prolong the pleasure.

Another odd thought. One that wrestled with the first. Aye, she wanted to linger, relish each touch, every tantalizing sound he made and yet, impatience shoved at her too, urging her to rush headlong into bliss and experience all the pleasure Henrik promised. Polar opposites. Two conflicting approaches. Both of equal merit. Pile on her inexperience and—aye, the entire affair held the possibility to send her tumbling into dangerous territory.

A place labeled
true, unadulterated love
.

The realization should’ve set Cosmina back a step. Or at least caused her to pause, take stock, mayhap even revise her game plan. A good girl, after all, didn’t beg a man to make love to her. Or plop herself in his lap, bury her hands in his hair, and press her advantage. A respectable woman demurred, waited, expected a ceremony and commitment before giving herself to a man. She huffed.
Commitment
. ’Twas a lovely concept. An interesting convention an
d . . .

One best left out of the equation.

Building a fantasy life around Henrik wouldn’t end well. He didn’t want anything permanent or long-term. And honestly, she wasn’t sure she did either. Men were fickle creatures, ones who enjoyed variety and adventure. She’d learned that truth the hard way, five years ago when she’d become entangled with the blacksmith’s son. Love did strange things to people—made women stupid, circumstances turn, and heartbreak inevitable. Something about Henrik urged her to risk it. Brave all, tuck in, pull him close, and keep him for as long as fate allowed.

Such a bad idea.

No way should she be dreaming of a future with him. She should be planning the best way to let him go after the loving. Before meeting him, she never would’ve believed herself capable of loving and then leaving a man. Or rather, allowing him to leave in the aftermath of physical conquest. With Henrik, though, clarity crystallized, dragging awareness to the surface. She couldn’t push him away. Or guard her heart. The strong pull of premonition refused to let her. Denying her gift wouldn’t work. Here, now, this moment was about listening—for opening her Seer’s eye and allowing intuition to flow.
Which mean
t . . .
no walking away.

Regardless of the fated heartbreak and upheaval in the aftermath, she intended to take everything he gave her. Give as much as she could in return as well. Burn herself into his brain so he never, ever, forgot her. Days, week
s . . .
years. Time wouldn’t touch what they shared here. No matter the distance, it would endure, rest safe in his heart, mind, and soul in the same way it would hers. Even after Henrik left her and never looked back.

Henrik deepened the kiss, taking charge of her. She let him, loving his taste, reveling in his touch as his warm hands ghosted up her spine. He groaned against her mouth. Bliss swirled in a heated curl. Satisfaction roared in its wake. He wanted her—badly. She could feel it in his touch, in the urgent flex and shift of his body against hers, in the tangle of their tongues, in his need for more.
More
. Oh gods, she loved that word. Couldn’t get enough of Henrik’s
more
. Wanted to give him all and offered it as he deepened the kiss, making her moan. He growled in return, gripping her hips, teaching her rhythm as she moved in his lap. Denying her nothing, he provided what she wanted, then offered her more. Cosmina took it all. Every soft caress. Each heated stroke, passion urging her to follow his lead. She undulated against him, rolling her hips, riding the hard length pressed between her thighs.

Henrik’s breath hitched. “Christ, Cosmina, ay
e . . .
just like that. Take control. Find your rhythm and ride. Ride me,
iubita
.”