Redeemed (Heroes of the Highlands) (The MacKays #2) (13 page)

It took Daroch an entire night and half the day to process the Arborlatix down to a glossy, clear substance that would coat his weapons without dulling them. Turned out, he wouldn’t need the MacKay’s forge after all.

Sitting in only his trews by the fire, he let the rhythmic slice of the whet stone on his Druid sword lull him. Scanning the cave that had been home and sanctuary to him for nigh on a century, his eyes kept darting to the fissure in the rock that often contained a soft green or blue glow. Funny, that Kylah generally used the opening still when she could simply glide through the wall. That corner of the cave remained dark for too many hours now. He’d even left the lanterns unlit, just in case.

In case of what? In case she wanted to pay him a social call? He looked down at his sword, tested its edge with his thumb and was pleased at the shallow slice he received.

Perfect.

He glanced at the entry once again. Where had she gone? Why wasn’t she here asking ‘why this’ and ‘why that’ until he was forced to order her to leave? What if she never bothered him again?

The thought left him feeling much like the entry to his cave. Dark, hollow, and empty. Daroch steeled his resolve. These thoughts weren’t relevant to his cause. There was little likelihood he’d survive this to see her again, regardless. For when morning dawned the next day, he was reaping vengeance like none the Fae had yet to see. Never in this epoch had any but the Gods possessed weapons that would vanquish a Faerie. Humans had been at the mercy of powerful, apathetic beings for much too long.

It was time that changed.

He plunged his sword into the long cylindrical tube of Arborlatix and let the substance coat the steel. Pulling it free, he doused it in ice-cold sea water, letting the salt and temperature harden the substance around the weapon.

Holding it up to the firelight from the blaze next to his pallet of furs, he let the flames illuminate the glossy sheen of the coating.

Excellent.

He wished to show it to Kylah. But she would fear it now, wouldn’t she? It was a weapon against her, as well as his enemies.

“It’s incredible, what you’ve discovered.” The melodic voice echoed out of the darkness

Daroch leapt toward it, brandishing the blade at the ready and squinting into the shadows. No blue glow. Had he conjured her words by wishing for them?

Kylah stepped from the darkness into the edges of the soft firelight. Absent her blue glow, her creamy skin was tinged with a soft peach. Auburn curls fell heavily around her shoulders and down to the small of her back. Her lovely green eyes flickered with flecks of gold, and her translucent robes dragged on the earth as she moved toward him. Stepped. On the ground. Not floated, not drifted.

Walked.

Daroch nearly dropped his sword. Of course. He should have known they’d come at him sideways. That they’d find his greatest weakness and use it against him. Use
her
against him.

The way she looked at him heated his skin more than the fire ever could. Even if he stood within it. He almost hated her for it. That she could make him want her with such intensity even as she became one of his enemies.

“Ye’re here to kill me,” he said with much less emotion then he felt. He was already dying on the inside, in small increments while other parts of him stirred and came to life.

“I could say the same for you.” She gestured toward the sword he held still gleaming with the deadly coating of what he hoped amounted to Fae poison. She took a small step toward him. Then another. Her throat worked over a difficult swallow, as was her habit when about to do something that terrified her.

Daroch’s heart began to pound. This was his chance. The Queen had turned her into a full Banshee. She was a lower caste of Fae and if he ever needed to test the effectiveness of the
Arborlatix
, now was the time. He could slice through her before she held out her wee Banshee hand and sent her deadly currents through his body.

She was close, too close. One more step and she’d be in reach of his blade. Three more and she’d be inside his guard. It would all be over.

He had to act now.

Daroch lunged. He was distantly aware of his sword clattering to the earth as his lips captured Kylah’s mouth and he roughly pulled her shock-stiffened body against his. Her lips were shockingly warm. Pliant and soft, yet utterly still.

Daroch knew she was afraid. Knew she could kill him at any moment and bring his piteous existence to an end. He should soothe her. He should take care with her. But instead he kissed her as though he were Annwn, the hellhound escaped from the underworld to run his prey to ground. He kissed her like he did everything else in his life, with single-minded and exacting thoroughness.

Her hands went to his shoulders and fluttered there like deadly butterfly wings. Daroch’s heat shot even higher and his entire body hummed with lust heightened by the threat of pain and death. It was not unlike the moment he stood at the edge of the cape staring down at the ocean before he dove in. An exhilaration tinged by a fear born of instinct to survive, unmatched in its intensity before this moment. And if it was to be his last, he refused to die without tasting her.

He licked at the seam of her mouth, warning her before he claimed it. Thrusting his tongue into the moist heat behind her lips, he let out a groan. She was here. She was real. And he could touch her. Hold her. Claim her as his own.

The moment the thought manifested in the miasma of lust that had become his brain, Kylah came alive in his arms. She returned his kiss with a desperate, wanton innocence. Wrapping herself around him and clinging to him, her mouth became hot, hungry and timidly inquisitive.

Should he have expected anything else?

He drank from her deeply, tangling his tongue with hers in a dance of wet experimentation and exploration. He was distantly aware that he’d conjured a storm in this moment. The inevitability of its arrival hung thick and heavy in the air between them and the ominous clouds rolled in the distance, promising to unleash the full force of their thunderous power.

They were both out of breath when he tore his mouth from hers. She let out a whimper of protestation and Daroch thrilled to the gleam of firelight on her moist and swollen lips.

Their foreheads touched and for a moment, and they simply shared wordless, panting breaths while soaking in the foreign sensation of touch and taste and the swell of a frightening and demanding passion.

“If ye doona kill me now, I’m going to take ye, Kylah.” He’d meant it as a warning, as a threat, but the fervent need in his voice lowered the timbre to the equivalent of a vocal caress.

She nodded against his forehead. “Just… don’t hold me down,” she admonished in a whisper.

He nodded against hers. “If ye doona watch,” he requested.

She closed her eyes.

He lifted her into his arms.

Carrying her to his pallet of furs, he kicked some loose dirt over the fire, dousing the flames and leaving only glowing coals in the pit. Daroch hoped it would be enough. He wanted some light to see her by and she no longer provided it.

He realized his double standard—his weakness—but it couldn’t be helped.

Setting her on her feet, he pulled her against him again. She kept her eyes closed as her face turned up to his. Her dark auburn lashes fanned across her cheek and he kissed them lightly, touching her lips with a shy smile. A part of him wanted to see the soft, expressive liquid green burn as he brought her pleasure, but he feared that her gaze would cool the heated blood pulsing through his cock.

Her mouth parted, and he took the invitation, sealing his lips over hers and plundering her honeyed recesses with a hunger borne of a hundred years. Her nipples hardened against his chest, but the curves of her body softened and melted into the hard angles of his.

He cupped her precious face in his hands, feeling the delicate skin of her jaw before drawing his fingers down the column of her neck to her collar bone. His hands trembled as he pushed her robes away from her shoulders and let them glide down the lovely curves of her body.

Kylah squeaked against his mouth and pressed her naked skin firmly into his, her eyes squeezing shut.

Daroch pulled back. “Are ye frightened, little Banshee?” he murmured.

She pressed her face into his neck, and shook her head ‘no’ as she trembled against him.

He smiled against her temple, pressing a kiss in the downy curls there. He’d forgotten all about women. How complicated and contradictory they were. How creatures so soft and delicate could be so strong and resilient. Even if they had to start by pretending.

Against the velvet skin of her slim back, his hands felt big and unwieldy. He dropped his lips to her neck as his fingers explored the dip of her waist, the flare of her hip, and the curve of her bottom

She let out a sigh against his ear, turning her face to press her lips to his jaw, then his neck, then the sinew where his throat connected to his shoulder. Her hands also traversed the muscles of his back, their feather-light touch tickling along sensitized skin until he was certain he’d go mad.

Daroch realized he couldn’t see her. Couldn’t be certain that her eyes were shut. He pulled back, his skin instantly missing the contact.

True to her word, her lids fluttered against her cheek, but they never parted.

“Lie down,” he ordered thickly, thinking the better of pushing her to the ground.

Kylah nodded and sank to her knees on the furs before stretching herself out on her back.

Daroch stood above her, tremors wracking his own body borne of epic amounts of restraint and dominant desire warring within him. He’d never had anything so lovely displayed before him. Never had a question or experiment consumed him with such absolute obsession. He needed to know this woman. Needed to touch every inch of her, learn every recess and secret she possessed. To learn and master every desire and fantasy she could conjure and surpass it. To overcome every fear. To revel in every pleasure.

He needed… her.

“Daroch?” Kylah’s voice had become uncertain. “Are you...”

“I’m here,” he soothed, quickly divesting himself of his trews and joining her on the furs. She instinctively reached for him, pulling his mouth down to hers. “You may take me now,” she consented against him.

A renewed wave of lust pounded through him at her words.

“I must taste you first.” He kissed her throat, her chest, and headed to the softness of her quivering, magnificent breasts. Yes, he must taste those.

“Nay,” she whispered. “Take first, taste later.”

Heat seared straight to his loins at her words, but he forced himself to wait. “Kylah, it’ll be better for you if I—”

“I’m losing my nerve.” She opened her eyes then, they were liquid pools of vulnerability. “But I want you inside me. Please… do it now.”

For a brief moment Daroch was completely paralyzed between primal desire and fear. What should he do? She’d opened her eyes. She was looking at him with expectation and want. And in order for him to take her, she couldn’t be. She needed him now. But he hadn’t prepared her for him.

“Do you trust me?” he asked her.

Kylah’s eyes widened, but she gave a slight nod.

Daroch lifted himself away from her, and nudged her to lie on her stomach. The sight stole his breath. Her hair curtained her face hiding her and, more important, himself. He settled atop her pressing his lips against the blades of her shoulders as his hot length came into contact with the soft skin of her thigh. The sensation ripped through him and he drew a sharp breath through his teeth.

She gasped and tensed beneath him, and he was careful not to burden her with his weight. Daroch held his breath as he eased her legs apart and positioned the throbbing length of him at the aperture of her thighs. He could feel the wet heat of her and every muscle in his body clenched.

“Kylah,” he gasped.

“Yes,” she demanded on her own tortured hiss.

Daroch let out a raw sound. He’d meant to go slowly. To ease inside and let her body adjust to him. But in a desperate moment he found himself buried to the root and pulsing with a white-hot pressure. She was so tight, almost unbearably so. Had he not known better, he’d have thought her a virgin. But she was also slick, her body welcoming him and bearing down against him all at once.

He whispered her name again, moaned it, dropping his forehead onto her back. It bloomed with sweat, his or hers, he couldn’t be sure. “Gods…
fuck
… are ye…Did I…?”

He felt her flesh tighten around him and he wheezed out another pained gasp, but he dared not move, no matter what his body screamed at him to do.

“Don’t stop.” Her voice was muffled by her hair, but the words were unmistakable.

She was right. There was no stopping now. His second thrust was slow and difficult. Her body tried to clamp down and Daroch felt a sheen of sweat break out over his brow as he slowly plowed to the hilt. The muscles of her thighs and bottom tensed and he could hear her soft hitches of breath. He griped her hip as he withdrew and thrust again. And again. Each time sweeter and more exquisite than the last.