Bael looked at the woman sleeping in his arms, his chest tight with an unfamiliar emotion. He thought it might be love, but he wasn’t entirely sure. He’d never been in love with anyone before.
Well, he’d thought he might be once or twice, with girls who’d been particularly amazing in bed, but out of bed he’d realized he wasn’t really interested in them. But with Kett, he cared about everything she did. The way she walked, the throaty tone of her voice, the flashing silver of her eyes all turned him on, but it was more than that.
He loved her defiance, her courage, her stubbornness. He loved the way she behaved like a wild animal but thought like an intelligent human. He loved how she cared for people she pretended she had no time for, respected and trusted them.
He loved her resilience, her complete refusal to back down or give in. How she’d fought her way into the world, a frightened, backward child with no friends or family, and clawed herself a place. How fearless she was when faced with pain and misery that would overwhelm anyone else.
She was scarred, bitter and more than a little insane, and Bael loved her.
After an hour or two of lying there watching her sleep, he felt her stir and idly stroked her shoulder, which was now as healed as if the injury had occurred months ago. As Bael was wondering whether this newfound healing power might erase some of the scars on her back or ease the mangled muscles of her leg, Kett opened her eyes and silver flashed at him.
Bael’s heart swelled in his chest and he felt himself smiling without even intending to. Kett smiled back, her face sleepy, and she rolled her shoulders, frowning a little in confusion.
“Better?” Bael asked as she shoved aside the covers to check the wounds on her stomach and hip. They too were healed.
You think love hurts. Looks to me like it heals.
“Much.” She looked up at him. “Did you know this was going to happen?”
That I’d fall madly in love with you? “No,” he answered honestly.
“It’s not a Nasc Mage power?”
“Kett, I don’t know what Nasc Mage powers are. I only know what my parents didn’t bother to hide from me, which wasn’t much. No one ever taught me how to use what I’ve got. I never thought I had any power, except Var changing his shape.”
Kett ran her fingers over the scars on her hip. “Somehow I don’t think this was Chance’s ointment.” She suddenly rolled to her feet. “Wait.”
She left the room, totally naked, and Bael watched her go. He doubted Kett had forgotten to get dressed. It was more like she didn’t care.
A moment later she was back, closing the door and leaning against it. Her brow was creased.
“What?”
“Jarven’s not healed. I mean, he’s getting better, but it’s not like this.” She gestured to her body.
A flash of jealousy stabbed Bael. “You went to see Jarven completely naked?”
“He was asleep,” Kett said dismissively, walking over to the bathroom.
“What if he wasn’t?”
“Bael, he’s seen me naked before.”
That had him on his feet and in the bathroom before he knew what he was doing. “Naked?” he repeated.
Kett gave a slow sort of smile, which had his cock stirring, as she leaned over to turn the shower on. Had he not been naked with the woman of his dreams, Bael might have taken a moment to appreciate the beauty and modernity of the bathrooms in Nuala’s house, but right now he had more pressing things on his mind.
“Jealous?” she asked.
“No,” Bael said sulkily, and Kett rolled her eyes. “Let me rephrase that.” He grabbed her waist. “Yes.”
“You are?
“Hell yes. How come he’s seen you naked? He said he’d never slept with you.”
“No, but he has seen me change shape and he’s cared for me when I’ve been injured…and Bael? You can’t possibly pretend that’s your sword pressing against my hip.”
He grinned. “I could, but I didn’t think you’d appreciate the pun.”
She slid her fingers into his hair and kissed him, long and slow, a soft morning kiss despite that it was the middle of the day.
“I need to take a shower,” she said, “because I’m still covered in that ointment, among other things.”
Bael grinned, because he’d been responsible for those other things. “I’ll help.”
“I’m a big girl. I can wash myself.”
“Yeah, but I want to. Besides, I’m dirty too. I need to wash.”
It didn’t take much to convince her. Stepping under the warm water, he beckoned her into the tub and picked up a bar of soap. It smelled warm and woodsy, not what he’d usually call a feminine scent, but it suited Kett perfectly.
Kissing her again, he ran the soap over her back, her shoulder, taking care on the newly healed skin.
“Does it hurt at all?” he asked.
“Hardly. Feels like it’s been healing weeks. Months.”
He kissed the pink skin then moved down to kiss her breast as he ran the soap over her hip.
“See, I knew you didn’t really want to get me clean,” Kett said, but he heard the smile in her voice.
“I do,” he protested, “but then I want to get you dirty again.”
He washed the remains of the ointment from her skin then kissed the scars it had healed. Well, maybe they were scars he’d healed. He still didn’t entirely understand how it had happened.
Kett shifted, restless, and Bael breathed in the scent of her arousal. Smiling, he slipped the soap between her legs and massaged it back and forth over her pussy lips. She widened her stance to accommodate him, and Bael lifted one of her feet to rest on the edge of the tub. Kett tensed, but instead of moving his head between her legs, he ducked to the side and kissed the outside of her thigh.
Kett went utterly still, because his tongue was darting over the rip of pink flesh where the tiger had crippled her.
“Does it hurt?” he asked, looking up, and she shook her head in tiny jerks. Smiling, Bael resumed kissing and licking the length of the terrible scar, dropping the soap as he did and letting his fingers take over between her legs.
“What are you doing?” Kett gasped as the water poured down on them both.
Bael flicked her clit with his fingertip. “What’s it feel like?”
“Like you’re licking my scar, you sick man.”
Bael rolled his eyes. “Last time I licked your scars, what did it do?”
Kett said nothing.
“You mad woman,” he added, and her foot lightly kicked his back. Smiling, he carried on, but when he’d kissed and licked his way along her thigh half a dozen times, he figured it was time to stop. He lowered her foot to the ground, brought up the hand he’d been stroking her with and sucked her moisture off his fingers.
Her eyes never left his face.
“Turn around,” he said, his voice low, and she did. Bael pressed against her back, feeling her body twitch as her bare breasts touched the cold, wet tiles. He brushed her hair from the back of her neck and kissed her there. She shuddered delightfully.
He started kissing and licking over the crosshatch of scars on her back, his fingers once more delving between her legs and finding her even hotter and wetter than he’d left her. And while she writhed and his cock ached, he concentrated on covering every inch of her scarred back with his mouth, healing her bit by bit.
Some other asshole had created these marks. But maybe Bael could ease them.
He was using both hands now, one curving around between her belly and the wall to stroke her clit, rub up and down, make circles around it, and the other delving into her hot, wet pussy to find that sweet spot inside that made her convulse.
She came to one shuddering orgasm like that, his fingers inside her and his mouth on her back, and then he slipped his hand back a little, probing at the tight ring of her ass.
She tensed, and he murmured against her skin, “Do you want me to?”
“Sure,” she said, her tone almost nonchalant. Almost. “If you want.”
Smiling, he stroked her there and she gave a low moan. His fingers were slick from her orgasm and he slipped inside easily, his other hand still stroking her clit and her swollen, puffy labia. When he’d pushed one finger all the way into her ass, he did the same with her pussy and finger-fucked her, feeling how close his fingers were inside her. Wondering if she’d ever done this before-she doubtless had. Had she ever done it with two men? Felt one thick cock push into her pussy while another filled her from behind?
He decided he didn’t care. His cock was full to bursting and he’d kissed all the way down her spine to the white lines crossing the top of her buttocks. He needed to be inside her, now, before he came all over the bathroom tiles.
He hadn’t prepared her enough for a rear entry and he wasn’t brutal enough to try. So he kept his hand where it was between her buttocks, his finger pressed inside her, and angled her hips to line his cock up against her hot, wet folds.
“We’ll do it this way later,” he promised, flexing his finger inside her, and a moan was his reply.
Bael pushed inside Kett’s hot, tight pussy, loving the way her slick flesh fit around him so well. He stayed motionless for a long moment, until she writhed against him, then reluctantly he withdrew his hand from her ass. He couldn’t move properly that way, and he wanted to thrust into her.
The water, by now running cold, pounded down on them both. Bael slid his hands around to cup her breasts, knead her firm flesh and pinch her nipples as he rocked inside her, but that wasn’t enough. He needed to thrust, hard, and he grabbed her hips to plunge into her relentlessly, driven by a fierce need to possess her.
She moaned as he pounded into her, biting the back of her neck and quickly going mindless. How did she do this to him? How did she affect him this way? No one else ever had. Only Kett could turn him into a total animal, desperate to brand her as his, to hold her and keep her and pleasure her until they were both senseless with it.
The pleasure inside him built to a crescendo, spurred on by Kett’s moans and cries, and as he succumbed to his massive orgasm, he heard himself gasp her name.
“I love you,” he murmured, as the water cascaded onto them and her body trembled in his arms.
Driven to distraction by his mouth and hands and fierce, pounding cock, Kett felt herself tip over into orgasm at the same time Bael gasped her name and emptied himself into her. He gripped her tight, his body tense and hard against her back, his arms gradually sliding around her body to hold her close.
His breath was harsh in her ear. She thought she heard him murmur something but the sound of the water drowned it out.
They stayed still and close for a while, until the chill of the water negated the heat from Bael’s body and Kett shifted away. Silently, she soaped and rinsed herself, and was about to step out of the bathtub when Bael slid his arm around her waist and kissed her with infinite sweetness.
“Kett,” he said, his face earnest and his eyes serious, as if he wanted to tell her something, but then he closed his eyes, fingers tensing at her waist, and shook his head. “You’re cold,” he said lamely.
She nodded, disconcerted, and wrapped herself in a towel. “I have to talk to Nuala,” she said, “and make some calls. You should get some rest. Nu said you were exhausted.”
He gave her a cocky grin, much more like the Bael she knew. “You should know.”
She rolled her eyes but she was smiling as she went to get dressed.
Leaving Bael to take a post-coital nap, she took herself downstairs in search of some coffee and solitude. Despite the immense size of Nuala’s house, it proved difficult. Family members prowled in every room. Rain hammered on the windows, which always made her father moody like a little boy.
“Does it on purpose,” her father accused.
“But you weren’t going to go anywhere anyway,” Kett said.
“I might,” he said mulishly.
“So get wet. You ain’t made of sugar.”
He scowled at that, and Kett shook her head and took her leave of him. She found Beyla with some of her extremely giggly, extremely young and extremely annoying friends, occupying one of the sitting rooms.
She backed out fast.
“Kett!” Beyla called.
Not fast enough.
“What?” Kett asked sharply, in no mood to put up with anything girlie.
“Dierdra’s having problems with her crochet. Can you help?”
Kett blinked, trapped. Dammit, of all the secrets to confess to her sisters.
“I-ain’t got a needle,” she fudged, unwilling to show anything that looked like a softer side to these girls. All of them were wearing frills and hairstyles that must have taken a pointless age to finesse.
One of the girls, presumably Dierdra, since she was the one holding a ball of wool, giggled. “You can borrow mine,” she said, a slight smirk on her face. “I’m afraid the wool is very soft though. No wire in it.”
She wanted to humiliate Kett.
Beyla caught her eye. Her eyelid flickered in what might have been a wink.
Beyla wanted to humiliate Dierdra.
Kett fantasized briefly about just stabbing the irritating bubblehead with her own crochet needle, shook her head and strode forward. Her leather jeans creaked as she moved. Her damp hair brushed wet circles on her shirt. Her boots thudded.
She held out her hands, took the needle and wool-which was pink, what else-and briskly made the stitch. “Move the needle, not the wool, and keep it tight, don’t let it go slack. Got it?”
They stared at her. Dierdra said, “But-but how-you can crochet?”
“That’s what I just did.” Kett made another few stitches without looking.
“But-” Dierdra stared at Kett’s ancient leathers, her nearly transparent shirt, the scar on her face, her heavy boots.
“Where did you learn to do that?” asked one of the other girls, awe in her voice.
“Prison,” Kett said, and thrust the wool back at Dierdra. She strode from the room, hearing as she did Beyla informing her friends with a touch of pride that Kett had beaten up the man who cheated on her. “I think it should be a mandatory punishment, actually,” she said, as Kett shut the door.
She found herself smiling.
The next room she tried in search of solitude contained Nuala and many bolts of fabric in almost identical shades of mauve. “Kett! Come and help me choose new curtains,” she cried, but Kett had already escaped before the words died out.
She found Chance and Dark canoodling on a sofa. In the next room, someone was murdering a sonata on the pianoforte while a male voice murmured encouragement. She shuddered. Giselle, no doubt. Thank the gods she was pretty.
Moving on, she spied Eithne and Verrick snogging in what she had to dub the Cream with Hints of Dark Gold Drawing Room, and was hurrying to leave when her sister leapt up, crying her name.
Kett sighed. “What?”
Eithne came rushing over, her eyes gleaming. “I don’t know what you said to Papa, but I absolutely love you for it!”
She threw her arms around Kett, who attempted to extract herself with little success.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“The wedding!”
“What wedding? Your wedding?” Hadn’t Tyrnan forbidden Eithne to marry her garda?
“Yes! Earlier, Giselle was playing a piece on the pianoforte-she’s absolutely terrible at it, by the way, but Tane still thinks she’s an angel, must be love-and I was trying to be polite, and said what a pretty piece and that my friend Aliana had it played at her wedding. And Papa said, ‘Just so long as you don’t play it at yours’.”
Her eyes were bright as she stared eagerly at Kett, waiting for her to make the connection.
“Uh,” Kett said.
“Well, then I said I thought the Queen’s Wedding March was a much nicer piece to walk down the aisle to, and he said that was much more appropriate for a princess.”
She was beaming now, her whole face alight. Kett waited.
“Don’t you see? That’s the first time I’ve brought up a wedding and he hasn’t gone off into a tirade about how I’m not getting married to any garda and I’m far too young and all the rest of it. He actually seemed interested in my actual wedding!”
“Um,” said Kett, who hadn’t read the same thing into it. “Did he?”
“Yes! And it’s all thanks to you!”
“But-what do you mean, me?” Kett asked, trying to work out exactly what Eithne’s thought processes might have been.
“You’re the only one whose opinion he ever listens to.”
Kett stared at her. She started to laugh. “Okay, is this some sort of outrageous flattery designed to lead in to you asking me to wear pink as a bridesmaid?”
“No, don’t be silly.”
Kett relaxed.
“I’d put you in silver, like that dress you had for the ball. Beyla would wear pink.”
Kett began to back away.
“Kett, you have to be my bridesmaid, you’re my sister!”
“Half-sister,” Kett reminded her, “and most definitely not a maid.”
This only sent Eithne into peals of laughter. Kett backed toward the door and made a run for it.
Her whole family was mad. Completely insane. What the hell was Bael thinking, getting involved with her after he’d met them all? It ought to send any sane man running.
Of course, Bael wasn’t sane. That was probably the answer. He probably thought her family was normal.
She ended up in the summerhouse, which in the middle of winter was freezing cold and smelled of dampness. But it was silent, and the view across the rainy gardens was incredibly peaceful. She found a blanket, packed in a chest with dried oranges keeping it sweet-scented, and wrapped herself up on one of the sofas.
She made lists first, then got out her scryer and started calling. First up was Striker, who answered looking sleepy, smug and shirtless. Kett suspected he was probably naked, but for once in her life the prospect didn’t excite her even a tiny bit.
“Pet,” he said, his intonation somehow implying that it was less of an endearment and more of a description.
“Striker. I need a favor.”
He shrugged. “Nah. Don’t fancy it.”
“You haven’t heard what it is yet. It comes with an aftermath of death and destruction.”
He smiled. “I’m listening.”
After Striker, she called Tyra, the librarian of the Order. “I’ve got a handle on the Federación. A ringleader, although I suspect he’s just one of many.”
“Perhaps we can torture him for information,” Tyra said, as if she was just suggesting a polite conversation.
“Yeah. Well, Striker’s on board, so that’s a strong possibility,” Kett said. “But this Albhar’s got a lot of followers. We’re going to need some muscle.”
“Leave it to me,” Tyra said.
She was hesitating over the third call when a shadow outside the summerhouse caught her attention. The sky had turned dark, and the single lamp Kett had brought with her didn’t illuminate anything beyond the summerhouse walls.
But she didn’t need to see to know who it was. “Bael?”
The door opened and he stood there, hands in pockets, shivering slightly.
“Close the bloody door, fathead.” Kett drew the blanket closer around herself. “What are you doing here?”
He shrugged, clicking the door closed behind him. “Looking for you. Well, actually, looking for somewhere I wasn’t going to get pulled into discussions about curtains or weddings or terrible, terrible pianoforte-playing skills.”
Kett grimaced. “Giselle?”
“How can someone so graceful play so badly?” She smiled and Bael came closer. “You look frozen.”
“Yeah.” Kett glanced at the small fireplace, which was cold and empty. The summerhouse was set up like a little rustic cottage-or at least, Nuala’s idea of what a rustic cottage should look like. It at least came equipped with a stone fireplace and thick, woven blankets for chillier days. But the fireplace had been swept clean and not re-laid.
“I could warm you up.” His eyes were hot.
“Nice of you to offer, but I’m kinda busy.”
Bael raised one eyebrow and glanced at the fireplace.
A ball of flame whooshed into life, hovering above the empty grate. Kett stared at it, feeling the heat starting to seep toward her.
“How-how did-? What the fuck, Bael?”
He frowned slightly. “Don’t ask me.”
“You just created a ball of flame.”
“Yeah. Looks like I did.”
“But-you said you had no training or power or-”
“Evidently you’re good for me.” He held out a hand. “Come here, I want to check something.”
Kett stood up warily and Bael took the blanket from her shoulders. He turned her around and lifted her shirt, staring at her back for several long seconds.
“Huh,” he said.