Ivy's Choice (The Fey Quartet Book 3) (4 page)

IVY PICKED HER
way slowly through the forest, leaning on her crutch, a basket of food hooked over her left arm. Beside her, very subdued, walked the roebuck. “Mother saved the life of a Faerie child. In return, she was granted wishes, and one of them was that we—Hazel and Larkspur and I—would each receive a Faerie wish on our next birthdays. Your father knows. He swore us to secrecy.” Ivy bit her lip, and glanced at the roebuck. “Did he tell you? Do you remember?”

Hugh dipped his head in a nod.

Ivy released her breath in a sigh and ducked under a low-reaching branch. “For her wish, Hazel chose to be able to find people and things, and Larkspur . . . Larkspur is wary of marriage. Mother was crippled because Father beat her, and it was Father who broke my leg, and Larkspur’s afraid she’ll make the same mistake Mother did and choose the wrong husband. She wished for a Faerie gift that would let her know her suitors’ true natures, and the Faerie . . . the Faerie
tricked
her, gave her the ability to hear people’s thoughts, and it’s driving Larkspur
mad
—”
Ivy made herself pause, made herself take a deep breath and continue calmly. “The gift came in slowly. Larkspur was all right the first day, but the second day it grew stronger, as if it needed to take root before it could flower properly, and since then . . .

“She hears everyone’s thoughts, whatever they’re thinking about, memories, emotions, everything. She can’t shut it out. It drove her half-mad, before we thought to take her into the woods. She’s been living in an abandoned woodcutter’s cottage the past week. Hazel and I visit her each day. It’s where we found you. Larkspur heard your thoughts. She knew you were a man.”

The roebuck glanced at her with dark, liquid eyes. What was Hugh thinking, trapped inside that body?

“Only Hazel and I know about Larkspur’s . . . problem. Mother left for Dapple Weir the day after Larkspur’s birthday—her new husband has family there, and they’ve gone to visit.” Ivy eyed the roebuck. “You know about my mother’s transformation? She has her youth back and she’s married Ren Blacksmith.”

Hugh nodded again, and picked his way delicately over the tree roots.

Ivy blew out a breath. “My birthday’s in four days. Mother will be back for that.”
She wants to see me walk freely again
. “I shall use my wish to save Larkspur.”

They came to a tiny creek, barely more than a trickle of water. Hazel always stepped lightly over it. The roebuck did, too. Usually Ivy managed to cross with dry feet, but today, with the basket of food, she was more awkward than usual. She gave up trying to keep her shoes dry and hobbled through the shallow water, embarrassed by her ungainliness, feeling her cheeks flush.

The roebuck watched solemnly. What was Hugh thinking?

“If Larkspur finds your presence upsetting . . . would you mind waiting for me in the woods? I promise I won’t leave you there.”

Hugh ducked his head in a nod.

“Thank you.” Ivy peered ahead through the trees. “The cottage is just past that oak. Don’t be afraid of the dogs. We won’t let them attack you.”

Larkspur was waiting beneath the oak tree. How long had she known they were coming? One minute? Five minutes?

“Keep hold of the dogs, love,” Ivy called, and then saw that Larkspur was already gripping each hound by the scruff of its neck.
Because she read my mind?

She limped as fast as she could, anxiously assessing her sister. Larkspur had always been slender, but in the past week she had gone from slenderness to a frightening, hollow-cheeked fragility.

Ivy put down the basket and hugged Larkspur.
Know how much I love you, Larkspur. Know that I would do anything for you
. She released her sister, and smoothed the white-blonde hair back from her face. “How are you, love?”

“Fine.”

Hugh had halted half a dozen steps back. He eyed the red-brown hounds warily. They eyed him back with the tense eagerness of hunters seeing prey.

“Bartlemay, Bess . . .” Ivy waited until she had both hounds’ full attention, then pointed to the roebuck and said firmly: “Friend.”

The hounds lost their taut-muscled intentness.

“Stand still,” Ivy told the roebuck. “Don’t run.” And then, to Larkspur,
Release them
.

The hounds advanced on Hugh, Bess suspicious, Bartlemay with eager curiosity. They were both as large as the roebuck.

Hugh stood very still, his ears pricked stiffly, his eyes wide. The hounds circled him, sniffing. Satisfied he was no threat, Bess trotted back to Larkspur. A moment later, Bartlemay followed suit.

“Does his presence disturb you? He’ll wait back in the forest, if it does.”

Larkspur shook her head. “He’s much calmer today.” And then her eyebrows rose sharply. “He’s Hugh Dappleward?”

Whose head had Larkspur plucked that knowledge from? “Yes,” Ivy said. “He returned to his own shape for a few hours last night.” And, despite her best efforts not to think of it, memory of their frenzied lovemaking leapt to the forefront of her mind.

Larkspur’s eyes widened with alarm. Her lips parted.

Don’t!
Ivy said silently.
Don’t speak of it
.

Larkspur closed her mouth and bit her lip. She glanced warily at the roebuck.

What was Hugh thinking right now? That he’d forced her into something she hadn’t wanted? That he’d been rough and unrestrained? That he’d hurt her?

He is ashamed of last night, but he has no reason to be,
Ivy told Larkspur silently.
I wanted it as much as he did, and I enjoyed it as much as he did
. And even though she tried not to feel embarrassed making that admission, she did.

She looked for censure on Larkspur’s face, and instead found deep worry.

Don’t worry about me,
Ivy thought firmly. She held out the basket, and managed a smile. “I brought some food. Are you hungry?”

THEY STAYED FOR
only an hour; an hour was the longest Larkspur could cope with having other people’s thoughts filling her head. “Do you think Hugh will change into himself tonight?” Larkspur asked, when Ivy reached for her crutch.

“It’s possible.” Ivy looked at the roebuck. He lay curled up in the sunshine, watching them. “I don’t know whether to hope for it or not. It
hurts
him so.”

“If he does . . . will you be all right?”

Ivy glanced at her, and saw anxiety in her eyes. “I shall be perfectly safe,” she said, giving her sister’s cool fingers a reassuring squeeze. And if Hugh did become human again, and if he had the same fierce need for sex, she would be glad of it.

Larkspur eyed her uncertainly.

It’s true,
Ivy told her, and felt her cheeks grow warm with embarrassment, but along with the embarrassment was an edge of defensiveness. Why should she not enjoy sex? She was a grown woman.

“Take one of the dogs. Please.”

“No.”

“But—”

“If he
does
change . . .” She remembered Hugh’s agonized screams, the way he’d flailed, thrashed, convulsed. “It would terrify the dogs. Best that they stay here with you, love.”

Larkspur’s face became even paler. “Is it that bad?” she whispered.

Ivy grimaced. “Yes.” She climbed to her feet. “Take care of yourself, love. I’ll come and see you tomorrow. And remember to
eat
.”

Larkspur stood, too. So did the hounds. So did Hugh.

Ivy hugged Larkspur tightly. “Only four more days.”

HE WAS DYING,
being ripped apart, his skin flayed from his flesh, his muscles shredding, bones snapping. Hugh screamed, and screamed, and screamed again.

After an eternity, the agony waned and became merely pain. Hugh lay panting, gasping, sobbing.

The pain faded until only an ache remained.

Hugh’s senses sorted slowly through his surroundings. He lay on a floor in a dimly lit room, curled up on his side. Rushes pressed against his right cheek. Someone held him from behind, arms around his ribcage, hands splayed across his chest, forehead pressed to his shoulder blade.

Where am I? Who am I?

His breathing steadied—and his awareness of himself firmed. He knew who he was, knew where he was. And he knew who was holding him so tightly.

Hugh swallowed. His throat felt raw from screaming and his voice, when he spoke, was little more than a hoarse whisper. “Ivy?”

“Hugh?” Her breath caught in a sob. She sat up and leaned over him. “Are you all right?”

He rolled over slowly, stiffly, trying—and failing—to choke back a groan. Every muscle in his body hurt. He saw Ivy’s face in the firelight, wet with tears. “Don’t cry,” he whispered.

“It was worse that time, wasn’t it?”

His mind flinched from the question.
No, don’t think about it
. “Don’t cry,” he said again, reaching for her.

Ivy didn’t recoil from him. She came into his embrace and let him gather her in his arms.

Hugh held her, while the ache faded into nothing. His body began to wake up. He was aware of Ivy’s cheek pillowed on his chest and her soft hair tickling his throat.

He couldn’t stop himself stroking her hair. Such beautiful hair. The color of midnight, dark and mysterious. Silky soft. He pictured Ivy’s face—her ivory skin, her cool, green eyes, her full, sweet mouth. Heat flushed through his body. His cock stirred.

Hugh stopped stroking her hair. He released her and turned away, fumbling for the blanket on the floor. “Ivy, go back to your room.”

“Why?”

“Because I said so.” Hugh drew the blanket around him, hiding his nudity. His cock stirred again, and began to harden. It had been like this last night, too—the uncontrollable arousal, as if his body had thought itself dying, and now finding itself unexpectedly alive, wanted sex. Affirmation of life at its most basic.

Hugh gritted his teeth. He might not have control over the arousal, but he had control over whether he surrendered to it or not. “Ivy, go to your room.”

Ivy didn’t move. “Do you . . . um, do you need sex?”

“No,” Hugh said firmly. “Please go to your room.”

Still, Ivy didn’t move. He heard her take a deep breath. “Because if you do need it—if you
want
it . . . I wouldn’t mind.”

Gods
. Hugh squeezed his eyes shut.
Don’t tempt me
. His cock was fully hard now, rising from its nest of hair. He thought of the sweet slenderness of Ivy’s body, thought of her mouth, so soft, so kissable.

And then he remembered last night. He’d rutted her like an animal, straining for release, rougher than he’d ever been with any woman in his life.

Shame rose in him. “No,” he said harshly. “Go, Ivy.”

Ivy still didn’t move. “We’re both adults. Why shouldn’t we do it, if we both want to?”

Because his need was too urgent. Because he was afraid he’d be rough again. Because even though he wore his own body, a remnant of the beast still lingered in him.

“There would be no obligation between us.”

Hugh opened his eyes and turned his head and stared at her in disbelief. No obligation? His obligation to Ivy was already more than he could repay. He owed her shelter and food, safety and sanctuary. He owed her kindness. He owed her physical pleasure that was sweet and tender.

He owed her marriage.

The muscles in his groin and abdomen clenched. His balls contracted with painful need. Hugh gritted his teeth and struggled to breathe.

“You think that what happened last night is something to be ashamed of,” Ivy said seriously. “Well, it’s not. It was something perfectly natural that both of us enjoyed.” Her cheeks flushed, and her gaze dropped slightly. “I see no reason why we shouldn’t do it again tonight . . . if . . . if both of us wish to.” Her blush deepened, and she looked down at the floor and picked up a rush and turned it over in her fingers, and said diffidently, “Do you wish to?”

More than anything in this world.

Hugh unclenched his jaw and dragged a ragged breath into his lungs. “The beast is still in me a little.”

Ivy looked up and met his eyes. “You didn’t hurt me last night. Or frighten me. And you won’t tonight.”

HUGH SPREAD THE
blanket on the rushes. His hands trembled and his heart beat fast in his chest. He knelt and looked at Ivy, seated in front of the hearth, watching him. Gods, but she was beautiful—the sweet mouth and cool, dark eyes, the quiet composure. His body craved her. His heart craved her. His soul craved her.

Hugh swallowed the lump in his throat and reached for her slowly, giving her the chance to draw back. She didn’t.

He dipped his head and kissed her.

He’d kissed Ivy last night—that, he remembered—but his kisses had been fierce and unrestrained. Tonight, he kissed her as she deserved to be kissed: softly, lovingly.

Ivy kissed him back with shy, trusting eagerness. The shyness, the trust, almost undid him. How could Ivy trust him when he barely trusted himself?

Gods, give me strength,
Hugh prayed silently, and pressed his lips to Ivy’s mouth, her cheeks, her throat. His trembling need became more urgent. He laid Ivy down on the blanket.
Slow, slow, slow
. But slowness was beyond him; the best he could do was to dampen his urgency to polite, fumbling haste.

He slid the linen smock up, baring her slender legs, the triangle of dark hair, the curve of her waist. His cock strained.
Slow, slow, slow
. Hugh ignored the temptation of those dark curls and laid one trembling hand on Ivy’s midriff. Such smooth skin.

He pushed the smock higher, choking back a groan at the sight of her breasts. Never had he seen more perfect breasts, beautifully rounded, gilded by firelight.

Hugh touched one of them with reverent, shaking fingers, stroked up the soft curve to the taut pink nipple, and bent his head and kissed where his fingers had been. The scent of Ivy’s skin pushed him close to the edge of his fragile self-control. Urgency overtook him. He kissed her breasts greedily, using his teeth, his tongue. He kissed her belly, her hipbone, her inner thighs. Muscles fluttered beneath her skin. Hugh slid his fingers through the dark, curling hair—
slow, slow
—parted her nether lips and delved inside her. She was hot and tight and slick with juices.