A Time of Dying (Araneae Nation) (33 page)

Attractive, a kind of wild-man smell that pleased her wolf whose ears pricked, whose tail lifted.

Not here, not now, not
anywhere
. Sally rolled her eyes at herself, and at her wolf who wanted to make friends and who remained undiminished by past violence.

She glanced at Zach, wondering if he’d noticed her strange reaction, hoping it all remained inward and invisible. Fortunately, he focused on helping Storm divest himself of boots, mitts and jacket, which would have all gone flying if Zach wasn’t gathering them up and setting them right.

He straightened to inform her, “I’ll be staying.”

“Yes, of course. You’ll be part of the lesson.”

He stiffened. “Pardon me?”

“You’ll be part of the lesson so you can help Storm with his practice at home.” She smiled.

Zach blinked. Just once. “I know nothing about music.”

“All the better,” Sally declared, absurdly pleased to have put him in a quandary about this.

“Jason’s mom sat with him,” Storm piped up.

“She did,” Sally agreed.

“Please, Zach?” Storm tugged Zach’s hand, and the man’s expression, one of appearing out of his depth, hardened into something like determination. It was quite sweet. He looked at her again, a more assessing gaze now, and she wondered if he’d identified her as wolf. But he kept to the topic at hand.

“I guess,” he said as a wry note entered his voice, and it was
very
appealing, “I’m about to learn something about music.”

“She was nice!” Storm announced on their walk home. Excruciating piano lesson completed, thank God, they were off to pick up milk from the corner store. Yes, most of their groceries were delivered, arranged by Connie, but they always ran out of milk.

“I’m glad you think so,” replied Zach.

“Do
you
think she was nice?”

“Yes,” he said. Any other reply would lead to endless questions. Storm expected Zach to like everyone. A glance down revealed a small, furrowed brow. Storm, being a wolf, was perceptive about truths and lies.

It hadn’t been a lie, but he offered Storm a reason for the ambivalence he must have sensed around Zach’s answer.

“I don’t know piano, so it’s new to me.” To be precise, he’d never had anything to do with music that he could remember and had no feel for it. Sitting there listening had left him feeling uncomfortable and ignorant. “Sally is certainly musical.”

“Jason likes her too,” Storm said with a bounce, deciding Zach liked Sally after all. “I want to be musical.”

“You will be.” There was no reason Storm couldn’t excel at things Zach hadn’t the first clue about. He just wished he didn’t have to be involved, listening to Bach and staring at the black-and-white keyboard. He suspected Connie had purposefully neglected to mention to him this important aspect of the Suzuki method—parental involvement.

Music wasn’t the only thing which made Zach uneasy. The woman did. Sally had been attentive when it came to Storm, observing him, watching any interaction between Storm and himself. Maybe it was normal. People were often surprised by a male guardian, and at least her demeanor hadn’t suggested she was being judgmental.

Her scent had unnerved Zach, and he couldn’t pinpoint why. It was almost familiar, yet entirely new to him. He remembered individual scents well, so they hadn’t met before, he didn’t think. He gave an internal and irritable shrug. He wasn’t around women enough—Connie didn’t count—so it had felt strange to sit in Sally’s living room for half an hour.

She was pretty, he could admit as much. Having to stay there, with nothing to do but listen, it had been difficult not to observe the gray eyes, the brown-blonde hair, the quick smile when she interacted with Storm. She managed to be tall yet fine-boned. Supple.

Zach stifled a sigh at the last observation. This was one reason he tried not to interact with people. He didn’t want to
react
. He just wanted to
be
—be there for Storm until Storm was old enough to function on his own.

Maybe he could talk Connie into being an important part of the Suzuki method, given she already had a piano in her house.

Two pianos for Storm. Nothing done by half, as if to make up for absent parents and a werewolf heritage.

Zach glanced down at the child, amazed anew he was part of Storm’s world. He remembered when he’d first spotted a lost wolf pup and had almost ignored him, had almost trotted on. It had been the forlorn way Storm had yipped at the moon, as if he didn’t know what to make of it, the way he’d circled around to lie down to sleep.

The way he’d shifted to a too-young boy all by himself in the woods.

Zach had shifted then too, and in the early-morning light, he had carried the child home to frantic grandparents who didn’t know who to turn to because of a missing wolf child.

It had been the end of one life and the beginning of another. He sometimes couldn’t get over it, or the relief that had assailed him when he realized he could become something more than a feral horse.

If only he could figure out what that more entailed.

The warrior in her was ready for anything. But she never saw him coming…

Riever’s Heart

© 2011 Renee Wildes

Guardians of Light, Book 5

Verdeen is on the brink becoming an elite warrior ranger until the ultimate humiliation—no war mare chooses her for advanced training. King Loren’s consolation prize isn’t much better. Journey to the Isle of Ice as bodyguard to a
human riever.
Daq Aryk. Barbarian. Prince of thieves.

Aryk dreams the impossible: unite six fractious clans into a peaceful nation. Failure means they are all doomed to kill each other off—and the nightmares of his son’s death by sword will come true. The new elven ambassador rouses his ire, not because she’s female, but because she’s inexperienced. Her possibly needless death weighs on his already overburdened soul. Her beauty is a distraction he can’t afford.

In a fragrant, moonlit garden, Verdeen dares yield to an irresistible compulsion to kiss the mortal riever. The heat shakes her to the core, and frees a desire that should occur but once in her life. With a mate.

As their quest twists down ever more dangerous paths, though, their bond is the asset that could assure peace…or the liability that could send a dream down in flames.

Warning: This tale illustrates what happens when adventurous dreamer meets seen-it-all cynic. Contains hot, no-holds-barred sex, voyeurism, and some self-loving. Also betrayal and some graphic (but never gratuitous) battle violence.

Enjoy the following excerpt for
Riever’s Heart:

Verdeen paced through the lush gardens, letting the honey scent of night-blooming moonflowers soothe her. Their waxy ivory petals glowed in the lights. Thank the Lady goddess, everyone seemed to be inside. The splashing of the wishing fountain drew her, and she emerged into a small clearing lit by pink mage light. She wasn’t the first to venture there. She froze at the intimidating figure staring into the shadowy ripples of water. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know anyone was here—”

“Don’t go.” Aryk turned from the fountain and held out a sun-bronzed hand. “Stay.”

She eyed his hand, wary of his touch. “Daq Aryk, what are you doing out here?”

Was he following her?

“Just Aryk. I needed quiet.” He raked his hand through his hair. “I felt on display.”

She could relate to both parts of
that
statement, and unexpected sympathy welled for the stranger. As if of its own volition, her body moved closer to him. His eyes drew her gaze. Their intensity made her falter. “Why have you come here to Poshnari-Unai, my city?”

“To set my destiny in motion.” His lips quirked at her puzzlement. “
Stovak nos briel.
”

She cocked her head. “What does that mean?”

“‘Destiny awaits.’ Sounds grand and mysterious,
hai
?” He sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. “’Tisn’t. I’ve a political problem back home. Cianan thought Loren could help.”

Humans believed in the Destiny Hand? “Well, he’s very good at solving most problems. Everyone’s but mine.”

“Your eyes are red. You’ve been crying. Why?” He frowned, but she read genuine concern in his eyes. “Today you triumphed over everyone. I’ve never seen anything like it. You were amazing.”

“Really?” She cursed the tremor in her voice, the eager need for approval only too obvious even to herself.

His smile softened the harsh planes of his face and deepened the crinkles around his eyes, making him seem younger and less imposing. “
Hai
. Really. I’ve seen many a warrior in my lifetime. Believe me when I say you’re truly gifted, kyra. Smart, strong and beautiful. Poetry in motion.”

Something melted within her at the compliment. There was that word again, kyra, his husky tone almost making it an endearment.

“The one thing I wanted most in this world slipped through my fingers this afternoon,” she confessed. “A chance to be selected as a ranger trainee, to further my studies. It didn’t happen.” A tear slid down her cheek. She froze as he reached out to brush it away.

“There are many paths to greatness,” he told her. “A warrior’s greatest strength is the scope of his vision. You showed vision and judgment today, but take care lest your focus cause you to miss your true path. A warrior must above all be adaptable to change. The one thing that never changes is the fact that everything changes.”

Aryk held out his hand again, palm up, and Verdeen found herself reaching to take it. Big mistake. His thick, scarred fingers slid over hers in a caress which made her tingle in places not even remotely attached to her hand. She entwined her fingers with his to still them and bit her lip at the zing of awareness as his thumb brushed across the sensitive skin of her inner wrist. “Cease,” she whispered.

“Cease what?” His voice dropped to a smooth, dark seduction of lethal proportions. “This?” His fingers teased hers with long, light strokes. “Or this?” He rubbed gentle circles over her pulse, which hammered at his touch.

She should pull away but didn’t move. Couldn’t move. “This isn’t proper.”

Some rebellious part of her didn’t care.

“Do you always do what’s proper, kyra?”

She had to know. “What’s kyra mean?”

“’Tis a term for a woman warrior.”

Verdeen nodded. “We also have such a term, ancient and seldom used.
Vertenya
. Few exist in our world to carry such a title.”

According to Cianan, there were now but two—Queen Dara and herself.

Aryk slid closer, the heat from his body curling around her. “I answered your question. Now you answer mine.”

What was his question? If only she’d focused on his words instead of on the rich smoky warmth of his voice. Like crème rija pudding with honeyed brandy. Sheer decadence to make her melt.

“Do you always do what’s proper?”

Female in the military? It didn’t get any less proper; just ask her absent parents. Acourse, holding hands with a royal guest in a moonlit garden wasn’t exactly proper, either. Yet here she stood with her hand in his, close enough for his subtle, musky scent to push the fragrance of the flowers from her awareness. All she could think of was how she wanted to move closer yet. Dazed, she shook her head.

Heat flared in his changeable eyes. “They said this is a wishing fountain. If you make a wish and toss in a pebble, your wish comes true.”

“’Tis true. A legend as old as this city itself. There are faeries with the power to grant it, if the wish is personal and comes from the heart.”

Aryk uncurled his free hand, revealed a stone. With a flick, he tossed it over her shoulder.

Verdeen heard the splash.

“Guess what I wished for.”

“Your destiny would be fulfilled?”

“
Stovak nos briel.
Nay, what I wished for is more personal and out of my hands.”

“What’s that?”

Their gazes clashed, then locked. His eyes narrowed, darkened. “A kiss, freely given, from you.”

What? Her heart skipped a beat. She froze. That was it? Why waste the power of a wish on such a frivolous thing?

He must have read the disbelief on her face. “’Tis a rarer gift than you’d ken. But tonight, in this magical place, all things seem possible.”

They did. They truly did. She should’ve been angry or offended at his outrageous request. She should return to the party. Today had been emotional chaos. She felt raw, vulnerable, in its wake. Tonight, heart ruled mind. She nibbled her lower lip, undecided. Why? Mayhaps ’twas the moonlight, the seclusion of the garden setting. Who would know? Mayhaps ’twas his words, the understanding on his face. The heat in his eyes, the warmth of his hand.

Or mayhaps Cianan was right. Mayhaps the woman tired of the warrior having the say.

Verdeen stepped closer, as if he drew her in, and quivered as Aryk’s free hand came to rest on her hip. She reached up to run her thumb across the rough stubble on his cheek, along his jaw to the cleft in his chin, slid her free hand around his neck. Her fingers tangled in his tawny hair, unexpected softness on such a hard man. His hand tightened over hers, held it to his chest. Her heart pounded in her throat, part trepidation and part anticipation.