Bewitched & Betrayed (8 page)

Connecting us. Bonding.

I tried to sit up, but Mychael’s hand on my stomach held me still, gently, but firmly enough that I wasn’t going anywhere. Damn, I was still weak as a kitten. I did manage to pull the sheet up to restore some semblance of modesty, though he’d already seen—and probably touched—everything I had, so I didn’t know why I bothered. Maybe I was still delirious.

I took enough of a breath to get the words out. “Your bedroom?”

“It is. I brought you here because it’s better warded than almost any other room in the citadel.”

“You carried me here?”

“I did.”

“And undressed me.”

A corner of his lips quirked upward. “I certainly wasn’t going to let anyone else do it. Now, lie still.” His voice lowered. “I’m not finished healing you yet.”

Firelight gleamed on his smoothly sculpted chest and taut stomach—and on several dark, angry stripes running from his shoulder to his ribs. I instinctively reached out, but Mychael’s hand around my wrist stopped me.

“Try not to move,” he told me.

“Reapers did that to you?” My voice was barely a whisper.

Mychael nodded once.

I frowned at him. “Because of me.”

“No, because I wasn’t going to let them take you.”

“Still my fault.”

“You didn’t do it; they did.”

“You know what I mean.”

Mychael smiled, very slightly. “I do and I’m ignoring it. I’ll heal you, but if you want to argue, you’ll have to do that by yourself.”

My hand reached his chest before he could stop me. My fingers tentatively touching, gently tracing the burn across his chest. My hand tingled at the contact, and Mychael went utterly still.

“Who’s going to heal you?” I asked quietly.

“I can heal myself now that you’re out of danger.”

My fingers stopped. “How much danger?”

Something flickered in his eyes that I’d never seen in them before. Fear. “More than I ever want you to be in again.”

Fear of losing me.

If I’d been close to death, I really didn’t want to know how close. Regardless, Mychael had obviously drained himself to bring me back.

“Thank you,” I said simply. My voice was raspy and raw. I dimly recalled screaming while covered in Reapers. Mere thanks wasn’t nearly enough, didn’t even begin to be enough for all the sacrifices Mychael had made for me since we’d met.

He sat up and leaned over to the bedside table where there was a pitcher and two glasses. He poured me a glass of water. I winced and eased myself up on the pillows, pulling the sheet up with me.

“Careful,” Mychael cautioned, gently holding the glass to my lips. “Drink slowly.”

I took a sip. The water was cold, nectar- of-the-gods cold; I resisted the urge to gulp.

When I’d finished, Mychael took the glass and turned to put it back on the table.

That was when I saw the lash on his neck. It was worse than the ones on his chest, much worse. Dammit. He could claim otherwise, but if it hadn’t been for me, none of those burns would have been there, and his very life wouldn’t be in danger from mages who not only wanted him removed as paladin; they wanted his head removed from his shoulders.

And every last bit of it was my fault.

Mychael had stood steadfastly by my side from the very moment the Saghred had sunk its figurative claws into me. While nearly everyone else wanted to kill me or lock me up, Mychael had fought to save and protect me. He knew who and what I was—the Saghred’s bond servant and a Benares, a name synonymous with criminal. He was the top lawman in the seven kingdoms. I was trouble of the worst kind for him in more ways than one. He knew it, and he didn’t give a damn.

He was willing to take that risk, take it and not look back. Saving my life more than proved it.

Mychael and I had a link, a magical bond of the most intimate kind. Just over a week ago, with a single touch of his hand, Mychael’s magic had merged with mine. My magic had surged forward to meet his, matching him, and for a few intensely intimate, breath- stopping moments I had been keenly aware of his every pulse, every muscle, the surging of blood through his veins. Two people with one body, and magic pulsing like a single heart that we shared.

He had been just as aware of me—all of me. We didn’t know what had caused it, and right now it didn’t matter.

Not with what I was about to do.

“Mychael, healing me . . . like this. What did it do to our link?”

“Probably made it stronger.”

That was what I thought. “Is that a good idea?”

“I think it’s the best idea.”

“I don’t see how that could possibly be good—especially for you.”

“The Saghred has nothing to do with our bond,” he told me. “I think that the closer you are to me—and the closer we are to each other—the better you’ll be protected from the Saghred.”

“Or the better the Saghred can get its hooks into you.” I hesitated. “Mychael, right now I am the Saghred. I don’t want to hurt you.”

“And you won’t.”

Mychael regarded me with calm, confident eyes. He had no doubts, no fears. He didn’t need any; I had enough for both of us.

“Raine, I’ve only felt myself being drawn closer to you. I haven’t sensed the Saghred at all.”

“Nothing?”

“Whatsoever. Just more of you.” In the firelight, his eyes had darkened to the blue of ocean depths. “And I think that’s a very good thing.”

Protecting Mychael from the Saghred was an even better thing. The stone’s presence had been like a weight behind my breastbone since it’d bonded itself to me. I didn’t know if it was Mychael’s healing, the Reapers’ attack, or something else entirely, but right now I had no sense of the Saghred at all.

If I was going to do this, I needed to do it now. My pulse quickened at the thought of what I was about to attempt. No, not attempt. Do. I didn’t know how it would affect me, but I wanted to do this for him.

Mychael noticed a burn remaining on my right shoulder. He reached out once again, to touch me, to heal.

I caught his hand in mine, quickly curling my fingers through his. The power he held in readiness to heal me thrummed through my skin and raced up my arm and into my body. I gasped with the sheer strength of it. I took one deep breath, then another, holding his magic tightly inside of me as my own awakened and responded, spiraling upward from the deep core of me where it ran like molten heat.

Mychael knew what was happening and tried to pull his hand away, but our magic had already fused us.

“Raine, no.” Mychael’s voice said no arguments.

For once I wasn’t going to argue with him.

I was going to heal him.

“I can’t do them all, but I can do one.”

“Raine, you’re not—”

I gave him a small smile, confident and sure. “I’m stronger than you think.” My voice dropped to an intense whisper. “Mychael, please let me do this for you. Your knowledge, our magic. I don’t want you hurt because of me any more.”

I didn’t wait for a response. I placed my hand on his neck, my palm flat against his pulse point. Our combined power surged out of me and into him, and now it was Mychael’s turn to gasp.

I felt the burn beneath my hand—not just felt it; I became a part of it, flowing down through the layers of damaged skin and muscle, the touch of my hand absorbing the heat and pain, and sending cool, healing magic in its place.

Mychael’s strength, my will. Our magic.

But it didn’t stop there. The power that coursed through me into Mychael surged through him and slammed back into me. Hard. The flow of magic was like water released from a dam, barely controlled. It picked up speed as it went from me into Mychael and back again, a breath-stealing, stomach-clenching cyclone of power.

As quickly as it caught us up in its current, the magic slowed, receded, then left us both in a cool rush. I kept my fingers clenched through his until the last tremors of magic between us faded. I didn’t think I could have let go even if I’d wanted to.

I didn’t want to.

Mychael’s hand dropped from mine and I fell back against the pillows. Mychael was leaning against the bed’s headboard. Both of us were breathing heavily, but I didn’t feel exhausted, not in the least. I was exhilarated.

Mychael looked at me and laughed low in his throat. “I would ask if you’re all right, but it’s obvious that you are.”

I was a little light-headed, but in a very good way. I glanced at his throat. The burn was gone. My eyes were drawn down to his chest. Smoothly sculpted and muscled—and no trace of the burns that had marred it minutes before.

“The burn on your shoulder is gone,” Mychael noted.

“We do good work,” I managed between pants.

“You shouldn’t have risked that.”

“I wanted to.”

He hesitated, not quite sure how to respond. “Thank you.” “My pleasure.”

His eyes gleamed. “I can tell.”

There were two polite taps on the door.

“That would be breakfast.” Mychael took a shuddering breath and blew it out, then he laughed, warm and deep. “Let’s see if my legs will hold me up long enough to get to the door.”

Mychael rolled out of bed and padded barefoot to the door. From what I could see, his long, leanly muscled legs were holding him up just fine. He wasn’t naked, though with what little he was wearing, he may as well have been. Silken sleep pants were tied low on his hips, leaving almost nothing to the imagination.

He opened the door and accepted a tray from someone on the other side, and exchanged a few words, their murmurs too quiet for me to make out what they were saying. Mychael had brought me back from death, and if that coffee was as strong as it smelled, it’d bring me the rest of the way back to life and beyond. Though I didn’t know how it could possibly improve on how I felt right now. When my nose told me what was on that tray, my stomach growled in approval.

Mychael stood over me, his eyes sparkling. “So you’ve worked up an appetite, too.”

I flashed a grin. “I think I can put a respectable dint in whatever the kitchen sent up.” I sat up and the sheet fell down.

Oh crap, my nipples were hard. It was the cold air, definitely the cold air, though Mychael wouldn’t believe that; he’d probably think that I . . . because he was . . . because we had . . . Dammit.

I sighed and just left the sheet where it was. No use bothering now. “You wouldn’t happen to have something I could wear, would you?”

Mychael winked and sat the tray down across my lap. “Got just the thing.” The silk sleep shirt he retrieved from the back of a chair was the match to the pants he was wearing. He held the tray while I put it on.

I buttoned the shirt. “Perfect.”

Mychael grinned crookedly. “Now you can eat, retain your modesty, and prevent any
cold
-related . . . issues.”

I tucked the sheet around my waist, and lifted the cover off one of the two plates on the tray. There were eggs, bacon, cheese, fried potatoes, bread, and butter. “And my appetite would like to thank you in advance. How did you know when to have food brought?”

“I asked that it be brought in ten hours.”

I stopped with a fork of eggs halfway to my open mouth. “We’ve been in bed together for ten hours?”

“The minimal length of time for healing injuries as severe as yours is seven hours. I allowed another three for sleep for both of us.”

Meaning I’d been naked in Mychael’s arms for ten hours—and during seven of those hours, his hands had been all over me.

Since that image struck me pretty much speechless, I stuffed a forkful of eggs in my mouth.

Mychael pulled the nightstand over next to him and put the second plate on it. He had the same breakfast as mine and dug in with gusto. I imagine healing a naked woman all night and half the morning combined with what we had just done would give a man one hell of an appetite.

Mychael scowled at me between bites. “I know the answer I’m going to get, but I have to ask. What possessed you to throw yourself into a nest of Reapers?”

“Those things went after Dad. I—”

“A man who has been protecting himself against Reapers for centuries. Your father’s had plenty of practice. You, on the other hand, have not.”

I stopped chewing, and the fire crackled in the silence.

“So I tried to save someone who didn’t need saving,” I finally said.

“Someone who was trying to save
you
. That you’re still alive after what you did is nothing short of a miracle.”

I just stared at him. He didn’t know. If he couldn’t see Reapers, that meant he didn’t see the souls that tore their way out of the Saghred through me.

“Mychael, when I started screaming . . . did you see what was happening?”

“You were surrounded by Reapers.”

“You could see them?”

“No, but I could sense them.”

I took a breath and slowly let it out. “Mychael, four souls from inside the Saghred . . .” I stopped, my food suddenly like a rock in my stomach. “They came out of me and went into a Reaper.”

Mychael froze. “The Reapers took them out of you?”

I shook my head. “No, the souls wanted to go. They were . . .” I fought down the sensation that I’d felt, could still feel. “Squirming inside of me. They wanted to get out. They ripped their way out; it was like someone grabbed a handful of my guts and pulled.” I put my fork down, and made myself take another breath. “When they were out, the Reapers took them. I couldn’t stop them from going or the Reapers from taking.”

“Vidor Kalta told me he’d seen something moving between you and the Reapers, but he didn’t know what it was.”

Fear seized me as I remembered Kalta looking at my dad, recognizing what he was, what he’d been. “Kalta knows about Dad.”

“Vidor is the finest nachtmagus I know; I fully expected him to know your father for what he is.”