Blood of the Guardian (35 page)

A hand touched her hair.

She jumped, until she saw Emery. He lay next to her propped on one elbow. “I’m here.”

She fell into his chest, and he held her and stroked her hair. His heart beat strong against her cheek, and his breath came heavy and slow.

She pushed from his chest. He stared at her, intense. Before she could speak, he leaned down and touched his lips to hers.

Her breath caught as their lips moved, slowly at first, then picking up speed. Strong hands laced in her hair, pulling her face to his. Her mind clouded, disoriented, as his kiss deepened.

Abruptly, he rolled over, taking her with him, positioning her on top of him. She gasped as he pulled her body full against him. She tried to speak, but his kisses continued, with hardly a moment to breathe.

His hands met her neck, reaching for the buttons on her dress. Unlike this morning, when he fumbled against them, his fingers expertly traveled down her spine.

She trembled as his hands brushed the skin of her back, exploring, touching. All the while, his lips moved against hers. He broke away, and his mouth closed on her neck.

“Oh, Emery,” she whispered.

“Shh,” he said, his lips touching the hollow in her throat.

Everything moved so fast. Her heart raced, but it was not only from desire. Her memory was too fresh; fear tainted her thoughts.

He came up, pulling her face to him, looking her full in the eyes.

“Don’t worry,” he said. “I won’t hurt you.”

She nodded, unable to talk, and once again, his lips closed on hers.

Her head swam. What had gotten into him? All his fear was gone. She gasped as his hand went up her dress, traveling up her leg.

The door pounded. Megan jumped, yet Emery didn’t seem to notice. He pulled at her dress, pushing it off her shoulders. Megan’s face heated.

“Mistress Megan,” a voice said. It sounded like Greer.

Megan clutched the garment to her chest. “Emery,” she hissed.

Emery’s eyes focused. He yanked away as if she’d grown scales.

The door pounded again. “Are you all right, Mistress Megan?”

Emery looked away, ashamed. “Forgive me, my lady.” He bowed, straightened, then slipped from the room, closing the door behind him.

Megan stared at the door. What had just happened? She put a hand to her swollen lips, then inspected her dress. He’d nearly had her undressed without her knowing it.

She pulled off the dress, chucked it to the ground, and climbed under the thick blankets. She closed her eyes as her body trembled. She’d wanted this, hadn’t she? She’d been dreaming of Emery coming to her in this way. But now that he had, she wasn’t so sure. Too much, too soon.

Finally, the door opened, and Emery entered. Megan froze, gripping the blanket tight against her chin.

“You’re in bed?”

She didn’t answer. What would he do?

He went to the fireplace, and soon a warm crackle filled the room. He turned, worry lining his expression as violet light flared in his eyes.

She flinched at his brief inspection.

“Megan, what’s wrong?”

She shook her head. How could she tell him she was upset at him for trying to make love to her when she’d been complaining for weeks? If he knew, he’d never touch her again.

“Megan?” He stepped closer then stopped when he saw her dress crumpled on the ground. His face flickered a multitude of expressions. “It would be easier to talk if you were clothed.”

“Talk?”

He released a long breath. “You wanted to talk. I’ll talk.” Then he turned around.

Was she supposed to talk to his back? Then she remembered the dress; he was giving her privacy to change. She slipped out of bed, trembling as the cool air hit her skin. The fire helped, but it hadn’t yet filled the room.

She slid into her dress; it was crumpled and wrinkled from when Emery had tried to undress her. After she put her arms through, she cleared her throat. “I might need your help with the buttons again.”

“Why don’t you wear clothing you can put on by yourself?”

“Ask your seamstress. She’s the one who made it for me.”

“Ah, yes. Well, we can talk to her. She likes to make complicated clothing.”

She stood there, waiting. “The buttons?”

He sighed and turned. “All right then.”

She waited, and then finally, his hands touched the base of her spine. He moved slowly, carefully avoiding her skin. Any time his finger brushed her, the sensation nearly took her breath away.

“You’re much better taking the buttons off than putting them on.” She gave an awkward laugh. She wished he’d just hurry up. He was driving her crazy.

He hesitated, unmoving. “What did you say?”

She looked over her shoulder at him. He stared at her, his head tilted to one side.

“W-when you took this off. You did it so fast.”

He yanked his hands away. “Took it off?”

Her face flushed. “Yes. You know … ” She lowered her voice. “While you were kissing me.”

“I only touched your shoulders.”

“Only my shoulders?”
What in Brim’s name is he talking about?
“I suppose you didn’t have a hand up my skirts either.”

He stepped back, his eyes horrified. “Megan, it was a small kiss. And I only held your shoulders. Even if we were … like that, I wouldn’t grope you in the open throne room.”

“Throne room? I’m talking about in here, just a short while ago. You had me on the bed, my dress nearly off, right before Greer knocked and called you away.”

He exhaled, giving her a sad smile. “Oh, Megan. I think you had a bad dream again.”

“Bad dream?” she snapped. “I think I know the difference.”

Emery’s sympathetic smile flattened. “Apparently not. After we talked, I met with Greer and Rikar. After that, I went straight to Nolan. And from Nolan, to here, just now.” He pointed at the door. “If you don’t believe me, ask Nolan. He’ll tell you how long we spoke.”

If she hadn’t experienced it, she could almost believe him. She searched her brain, thinking. She
did
have a dream, but Alcandor and Maska were in it, not Emery. Her time with Emery was
real
.

A frantic knock sounded at the door.

Emery stomped over and flung it open. “What is it?”

A female Rol’dan flinched. “Y-your Majesty. Uh … I’m so sorry to interrupt you, but we have some trouble.”

The scowl fell from his face. “What sort of trouble, soldier?”

“It’s the Guardians, Your Grace. They’re fighting. They are tearing your conference room apart.”

Chapter Thirty-Four

NOLAN MOVED THE BLADE in front of his face, letting the light trail behind it like a ribbon of flame. He thrust, then blocked, and finally slid it into the scabbard that lay on his bed. Even touching his sword used a little of his power; Guardian steel reacted to him. Even so, Nolan would practice. He’d been caught unaware once, and drugged and hauled away for his ignorance. He wouldn’t let it happen again.

Leather straps lay across the table in his room. Three of them were filled with metal spikes. Nolan strapped one to his right thigh, one to his left arm, and the last across his chest. Lastly, he strapped his sword around his waist. Standing in front of the mirror, he examined himself. He’d make people think twice before trying anything.

He sat, calming the anger that never seemed to go away. He thought of his conversation with Emery moments ago. His friend seemed tired. Of course, running a kingdom would make anyone tired. But he knew Emery’s thoughts were also on other things—which had nothing to do with running a kingdom. Nolan wouldn’t pry, wouldn’t force his way into his friend’s mind. If Emery wanted to share, he would.

They’d both been through a lot since Alcandor had fallen. Sometimes Nolan wondered what good it had done. The Rol’dan still killed. The people of the land didn’t seem to care; they ignored the stones or any possibility of having a Shay. And if the people kept refusing, like they had been, the Nass would take over again. It was easy to forget the Nass in Faylinn, where those who’d taken the light no longer created them. But every time he stepped from the walls, reality came back to him in full force. Everywhere else, the Nass were reemerging, covering the sky once again. And nothing he said to the people seemed to change their minds. Even the prospect of gaining a power did nothing to persuade them. If they continued, Nolan would have to eliminate the Nass again. Could he survive another cleansing? Without the stones, he most likely wouldn’t survive another week.

At least Jezebelle had left a large, arrogant trail. The next time she struck, they would find her and get the stones. But who knew where, or when, she’d strike next. Hopefully, she would move before it was too late for Nolan.

He squeezed the pommel of his sword. He’d never hated anyone so much in his life, even if she might be his sister. She’d been a spear in his gut before she’d even captured him. Her mutiny at Renfrew had nearly killed him. Then the kidnapping. Now the attacks. Worse yet, the theft of the stones. He pursed his lips tight. He’d get them back, and then he’d lock her in the dungeon—if he didn’t kill her first.

Nolan ran a hand over his face. He should go find Greer instead of obsessing about revenge. Those kinds of thoughts weren’t healthy for anyone, especially with so many other pressing matters at hand … such as Rikar.

Emery had told him Rikar had arrived, which was one reason Nolan kept to his room. Part of him wanted the truth. The other part, the terrified part, wanted to cling to a sliver of doubt. He didn’t want Rikar to be his father. He already had a father—a terrible one, he admitted, but a father nonetheless.

A rapid knock sounded at the door. Nolan stood. It was probably the dinner Emery promised he’d send. But when Nolan opened the door, instead of a servant with a plate, a small group of soldiers stood outside with Emery.

“Emery? Everything all right?”

“I don’t know,” Emery said, his expression confused. “But I may need your help.”

Nolan stepped out, closing the door behind him. He got a few stares from the soldiers, their eyes dropping to Nolan’s throwing spikes. Fear pulsed from them. A few of these soldiers probably had a personal connection to Nolan’s spikes.

They went down the hall, walking briskly, matching Emery’s pace.

“What’s going on?” Nolan asked.

“The Guardians are—”

The building trembled.

Emery caught Nolan’s eye, and they both broke into a run. As they rounded the corner, Nolan pulled out his sword, and light sprang from the blade. They raced inside the throne room, where twenty or so Rol’dan stood around the door to the conference room. The thunderous crash sounded again, and then silence. They all stared at the door.

“Emery?”

“Apparently the Guardians aren’t getting along.”

Confusion, then realization fell on Nolan.
Greer and Rikar.
Nolan sighed. “I’ll handle this.”

Emery’s eyes darted to the door at another rumble.

“It’s okay,” Nolan said. “They’ll only hurt each other.”

They approached the door with Nolan in the lead, and the soldiers parted for them. As soon as the door cracked open, they heard the commotion.

“How dare you!” a voice thundered.

The conference table was crushed into splinters. Greer stood, his chest heaving and his huge hands clenched into fists. Silver blood painted his knuckles.

Lying on the floor, with his hands supporting him in a sitting position, was Rikar. White light sealed a wound on his face.

Nolan’s heart lurched when Rikar met his eyes. Emery entered with him and shut the door.

“What is this?” Emery asked.

“Rikar,” Greer growled. “Would you like to answer the king?”

“I did nothing—”

“
Nothing
?” Greer roared. “The only reason you did nothing was because I stopped you!”

“She was in no harm.”

Greer reared back to strike him again.

Emery stepped between them. “Greer! I order you to stop this now.”

Greer’s arm fell at his side. He lowered his head, submissively; however, the fire of anger flared across every line of his spotless face. “Forgive me, Your Majesty. It was wrong of me to lose my temper.” His white eyes locked with Emery’s. “So you are aware, Master Emery … Rikar attempted to bed your wife this day.”

Emery blinked, staring, his mind working as if pieces of a strange puzzle were slowly being worked together.

Nolan’s mouth opened, his jaw hanging slack. “You mean Megan?”

“He took your form,” Greer said. “Then he visited her in your bedchamber. I found him before he could do more damage.”

Rikar’s face fell, his expression resembling a scolded child. “I am sorry, Lord King. I meant no harm.” He looked to Greer, his brow furrowing. “I told you to let me be.”

“We needed to discuss things,” Greer said, his teeth clenched. “I did not suspect you would attempt to bed someone the moment you set foot in Faylinn!”