Reclaimed (A Highland Historical Trilogy) (The MacKay Banshees 1-3) (35 page)

Chapter Nine

Soren lounged on his furs and cursed the sun as he felt dawn approaching. He’d woken inside her, halfway to release, and she’d ridden him to yet another soul-shattering end.

This time, she’d allowed him to help.

“It kept flexing at my back while you slept,” she offered by way of explanation when she rolled off of him with a contented sigh.

Only an idiot would explain a morning erection to someone willing to put it to good use, most especially when it might be his last.

Besides, she hadn’t stopped talking since.

Soren didn’t mind. He enjoyed the sound of her voice, its brogue and cadence a pleasant melody in the darkness. In fact, he’d asked her the question that had catalyzed her, but had since forgotten what it was. At first, he’d listened to every word. He’d learned of her older sisters. About the honorable men they’d married. The Druid seemed to be the most prolific, spawning what sounded to him like a tribe of MacKay babes. The Laird and her eldest sister had only daughters and Kamdyn was pleased that her brother-in-law didn’t seem to mind.

He’d chuckled at her stories of the Laird’s overprotective antics while chasing suitors away from his girls. He’d snarled fiercely when she’d told him of her violent end in a fire. Then she’d shocked him further by revealing that the very Berserkers who’d contracted after his death also had avenged hers.

Soren wanted to thank them for that. He wanted to hate them for it, too. What would he ever be able to do to protect her? To show her what it was to be mated to a fierce Berserker. He could not feed her from his hunts or warm her with his fires. He could not give her sons. Kill her enemies. She didn’t need his long life as she had an endless one of her own.

Without him.

She’d moved on quickly from the subject of her death to that of her immortality. She expressed her fear of her sisters and their mates aging and dying, leaving her behind. She’d bonded with their children, but her sisters were her immediate family and she loved them dearly.

It seemed her duties as a Faerie were important to her, though she mourned the last twenty years spent as one.

“Everything is perfect in Faerie,” she’d complained. “How I hate it.”

She’d flitted to a tangent some time ago and had lost him when one story or another had caused her to sit up and cross her legs. Though her lower half was covered by the furs at her waist, her breasts, only the size of ripe apples, bobbed and swayed with her animated gestures.

A few errant words reached him, but it had been quite a while since he’d known just what the hell she was saying. Fortunately, she didn’t seem to require any kind of affirmation from him, just his eyes on her. He was happy to oblige. In fact, there was no chance of him looking away, not while she moved like that.

He could worship those breasts. Build shrines to them. His greatest regret about his life ending was that he hadn’t spent a sufficient amount of time with them.

With
her
. Because he— “I love you,” he interrupted her stream of chatter the moment the truth occurred to him.

She paused, blinked, and opened her mouth. “I—I’m sorry… What?”

“I fucking love you.” It felt better to say it again. He wanted to say it a million times, in all the languages he’d ever learned.

“I think you meant to say that you love fucking me… to which I return the sentiment, of course.” She offered him a blush and an odd sort of solicitous smile.

“I do not say one thing when I mean another thing.” Soren shook his head, still mesmerized by her breasts, but caught her dubious expression in his periphery.

“Saying that… won’t save you,” she said haltingly.

“I know.” He reached for her, but she deftly dodged his lazy grasp, rolling away to stand over him with her hands planted firmly on her hips.

“Besides,” she continued, a note of frenzy creeping into her voice. “You
don’t
love me. You don’t even know me all that well. We don’t even agree on anything.”

He rolled his eyes. Sometimes his woman made things too complicated. “I do not think love and agreement have much to do with each other.”

“What does someone like
you
know about love?” Her face crumpled, which was not the reaction he’d anticipated, but it rarely was with her.

The question insulted him and he sat up to glare at her in a way that had brought sages and seasoned warriors to their knees in fear. “I know more about it than you do, and I
know
that I love you.”

“How
could
you?” She flung herself from the furs, whirling to accuse him with gigantic, watery green eyes. “It’s not as simple as all that!”

“It
is
that simple to me.” Everything was. Something existed or it didn’t. A truth was or it wasn’t. Soren didn’t live in the in-betweens as some did. He didn’t bend truths to suit his pretenses or manipulate the cast of a word so it shone brighter in someone’s eyes and darker in others. There was no time for that. No need.

“How could you even
know
what that word means?” she asked in a dramatic whisper. “You don’t just throw it around a tent in a war camp like—like—some kind of—”

He stood, not appreciating the challenge in her voice. “I think the better question would be, do
you
even know what the word means?”

Her eyes flared with that spark of green fire and her little nostrils flared with the first hint of anger he imagined she’d shown in decades.

“
Excuse me
?” Her voice had lost all husky notes of pleasure and sex, infused with a shrillness that was not Banshee, but purely female.

He continued, unfazed. “What do you know about hatred? What do you know about being so consumed with an emotion that you’re willing to give your life for it? Have you ever experienced darkness so cavernous, that you could throw yourself into it and take an eternity to reach its depths?”

She just stared at him.

“Have you ever explored the capacity of your own brutality? Have you forced yourself to accept the ugliness that lives in your own soul?”

Kamdyn shook her head with such vehemence, her curls bounced over her shoulders. Denial shone in her stance, in the clench of her tiny fists, in the intensity of her delicate features. “I don’t have the capacity for brutality.”

His sound was so devoid of mirth it didn’t qualify as a laugh. “No? How do you describe a woman who will accept a man’s cock, but deny his love?”

She shrieked, and reached for him. For a brief moment, Soren thought that he’d goaded her enough to finally jolt him with her magic, but she merely pushed at his chest in utter frustration.

He took a step back, just so she’d feel like she’d gained some ground. Now if that wasn’t love, he’d cut out his own tongue.

“I do not deny your love!” she insisted. “Because you do not
feel
love. Lust, yes. Possession, perhaps. But because you are capable of feeling hatred, doesn’t mean you can just as easily fall in love. And not in one night.”

It’s exactly why I can,” he insisted. “I’ve seen the most vile ugliness man or God is capable of producing. I’ve been consumed with hatred, vengeance, and emptiness for more decades than you’ve been alive. And I know what I feel for you is love because it is the opposite of all that, but equally as powerful, perhaps more so.”

When she began to chew on the inside of her cheek, Soren knew he’d gotten to her, at least a little.

“You live in a perfect world full of perfect immortals and you hate it,” he pressed. “Everything in your soul rejects it, and do you know why?”

“Nay,” she whispered.

“
Because
in a place devoid of ugliness, a land without flaws, how can you appreciate the beauty of perfection? How can it hold any meaning?” Soren suddenly knew he could not convince her. Not with words. Frustration warred with the more tender, foreign emotions she nurtured inside him. His little Banshee was afraid and love and hope couldn’t pierce such fear unless she reached beyond it. And maybe there wasn’t time for that.

“Because of the ugliness I’ve seen, I find your sweet, innocent beauty more tempting than all the other women in this world.”

She crossed her arms over her breasts, a gesture he didn’t appreciate. “You haven’t seen that many women.”

“I’ve seen enough.” He waved her words away. “I know that I enjoy no sound above your voice. Not the wind in the trees, the roll of the sea, or the dying screams of my enemies.”

Her brows drew together at that last one, but she said, “Go on,” in a mulish voice.

“I know that after having you, I will never lust after another.”

“Of course you won’t,” she argued. “I’m going to kill you in a couple of minutes.”

That dragged a harsh laugh from him, which seemed to startle her. He liked that she was stubborn. She’d have needed it were they to share a life together. “I could live a couple of centuries and still never find the pleasure you’ve given me in one night. I’ve experienced enough pain to know that, beyond a shadow of a doubt. But if I still belonged in this world, it would be to live beside you. Inside you.” He stalked her like the predator he was. She backed away from him, but there was only so far she could go. “I know that every Berserker searches the decades for his mate, and I know that I’ve found you, that my beast has claimed you with that kiss that bound my soul to yours.”

“Wha—what are you talking about?” she whispered.

“The only thing about death that I find distasteful is that it will be an existence without you. That I will never know what it is like to win your love and acceptance. I find I had no true desire until you came to my tent. I took whatever I thought I wanted, and still remained empty. And now, my only need is the fulfillment of yours. All my possessions I would give to you. I would kill whomever you asked me to kill. I will die, whenever you tell me to die. For a man such as me, this is love. This is all. And I
know
what it is when I’ve found it.” Soren scowled at his mate because she, again, shocked him with her reaction. “Why are you crying?” he demanded.

Why was she crying?
Why
was she crying? Because the words he’d just said were so absolutely and damnably… perfect. Actually, they were sort of—excessively violent, but beautiful in their own way.

Kamdyn had known many warriors in her short life and not one of them would have dared to say such things to a woman. They tripped over their egos to find a compliment. They would compete with one another for the greatest prize of the most beautiful women’s favor. For all she knew, they might even feel something close to what Soren had just described. But she’d never heard such a pure and honest confession. He’d given it without shame. Without fear of emasculation or rejection. He’d stated the truth as he saw it, as he accepted it, and now he stood looking at her with no expectation or condemnation for what she would… what she
must
do.

Kamdyn backed into the table and caught herself with both her hands. Her eyes squeezed shut as the memories of what had transpired on that very table the night before overwhelmed her and hot tears fell like an eternal stream down her cheeks.

Silk slid over her body, draping over one shoulder and knotting about her in a soft covering. Kamdyn knew what color it would be when she opened her eyes. The color of sapphires. Because it smelled like him.

“It is time, little Banshee,” he breathed into her ear. His rough cheek rasped against hers and came away wet with her tears.

“Don’t tell me when to kill you,” she wailed. “I’ll do it when I’m ready.” She’d never be ready. Not ever. And yet, what could she do? She never should have let him touch her. She should have finished the job after he’d kissed her the night before, when he was flat on his back, already half-dead from her first jolt. But she couldn’t then, either. She’d just looked down at his strong, angular face, at his hair that was too dark to be red and too red to be black, at the lonely frown on his hard mouth. And she’d willed him to live. Because some broken, lonely part of her yearned to fill one of the dark corners of his black heart, if only for a moment.

She hadn’t expected to take all of it, to have him so freely give it to her. Now that she possessed it, she didn’t want to give it back. She wanted to keep it, like the selfish little girl she’d always been. And that’s what he thought of her, wasn’t it? That she was a little girl, incapable of the depths of emotion he’d just described.

The rough pad of his thumb wiped at her cheek. “Remember I’m a bad man, who does terrible things.” He softly gave her words back to her. “I’ve killed many, and would likely continue to do so if you didn’t stop me.”

Her eyes flew open and she pushed him away from her. “Don’t try to make this easier!” she sobbed. “It only makes it more difficult!”

“It’s the truth. Killing is all I know. It’s all I’m good at.” That clear blue gaze speared her, as did the reality of his words. “You may have opened my eyes to many things, but I still remain what I am.”

“Which makes me wonder why you are not yet dead.” The arctic voice stunned them both.