Touch of Passion (7 page)

And yet despite that, Loris found herself physically aware of Kian. Even drawn to him, though she would never tell him so. Sometimes, she admitted, the mere sound of his voice could capture all her senses and send shivers tingling down the length of her body.

And then there had been the kisses, which Loris could only describe with a measure of embarrassment. Why she told her friend at all she wasn't entirely sure, save that she'd held the feelings inside for so long and felt a measure of relief in confessing them aloud.

She had enjoyed the kisses, she told him. At least while they had lasted.

Kian had taken her into his arms numerous times since she'd come to live at Tylluan; some of the embraces had been tempestuous, driven by a determination to prove something to her, while others had been achingly tender and gentle.

But no matter how well the encounters started, they always ended badly.

The first few moments made Loris senseless, almost dizzy with pleasure, but then it all changed. Pleasure became pain; her lips burned and her skin prickled wherever he touched her, as if she were being tormented by sharp needles.

Loris always came away from the embraces shaken, and Kian always came away angry. And frustrated, though it had taken Loris some time to appreciate that part of it.

“We seem to always be angry at each other these days,” she told her friend. “I don't want to fight with Kian, but he purposefully does what he can to bait me, and I simply can't control my temper with him. He tells me that he can't bear my coldness, that he would rather have my anger than nothing at all. But if he finds my manner so unpleasant he should strive to keep from being in company with me so often, and spare us both a good deal of grief.”

Her friend listened and murmured sympathetically. He didn't lecture Loris or tell her that she was wrong or argue with or embarrass her. He offered thoughtful advice and encouraged her when she'd had a hard day. Or when Kian had been particularly unpleasant.

She never told anyone about her nighttime visitor, though Loris felt certain Kian must know. He was far too powerful a wizard, far too aware of what took place at Tylluan, not to know. Yet he said nothing, apart from occasionally mocking her with comments regarding her dreams. He certainly never attempted to stop the stranger from coming.

After several months, Loris began to wonder what she would have done without her friend. She asked him time and again who he was and what his name was, and he always
gave her the same answer, that when she knew the truth he would no longer be able to come to her. And since she didn't want him to stop coming but needed to be able to call him something, they came to a compromise. He told her to decide upon a name that she liked and he would answer to it. After a great deal of consideration, Loris had chosen Liw Nos, because it meant “by night.” And that was who he became.

Then, on the night of her eighteenth birthday, everything changed. Liw Nos came to her, as usual, but he was different. He didn't wish to talk but drew her into his arms and slowly, very slowly, kissed her.

And then he pulled away and looked at her, as if waiting for something to occur.

Loris had been stunned. The kiss hadn't been unpleasant, but it was strange to be touched in such an intimate manner by someone other than Kian. And, though she knew it wasn't, it felt wrong, too.

But there was no pain with Liw Nos. He kissed her again, longer this time, and then again. His hands moved over Loris gently, encouraging her to move even closer, so that she could feel the strength and warmth of his body.

Again he pulled away, breathing a little more harshly, and gazed at her.

“Liw,” she murmured. “We shouldn't . . .”

“I love you,” he said. “I must be near you, Loris. Please. I'll not hurt you. I would never hurt you.”

He kissed her again, more fervently, and Loris became lost in the sensual discovery of what an uninterrupted kiss could be.

She didn't know his real name, wasn't even precisely certain what he was, whether angel or demon, and yet, as he kissed her, she felt as if they were connected in some unfathomable way. There was a feeling of wholeness, of rightness . . . and of intense pleasure. If he hadn't brought the embrace to an end, she never would have done so.

“God forgive me,” Loris whispered when he'd at last gone, her hand moving to cover her heated cheek. She was
ashamed to think of her response to him. And a little frightened, too.

He couldn't come again. That was clear. It was one thing when they had only spent the nights talking, but if he came again and began to kiss her . . .

“You mustn't let it happen, Loris,” she instructed herself firmly, gazing at her reflection in the mirror. “Liw is still so much a stranger to you, after all. It's terribly wrong.”

She believed herself and vowed to resist him if he came the next night. But in her heart she knew she wouldn't.

Moonlight streamed through the open window, giving enough light for Kian to see himself in the full-length mirror. As many times as he'd made the transformation, he hadn't yet grown bored of watching the changes that came over his face and coloring and clothes. It was so odd, becoming someone who didn't exist. But it was necessary.

For years he had done everything he could possibly think of to lift the curse, to no avail. He had tried to do something to make recompense for killing Gregor Foss but hadn't been able to find anyone to make recompense to. Gregor Foss had no family to aid. Nor did he have any friends. He had left behind only enemies and victims. Kian had done what he could for the victims, with some help from Malachi and Niclas, quietly using his own measure of the Seymour fortune to better their lives. But the curse hadn't been lifted.

Next, Kian had applied himself studiously to doing whatever the Guardians and his family asked of him in the way of preparing to become the next
Dewin Mawr
. He had practiced the various magical arts, learned of mysticism and astronomy and healing. He had made visits to the spirit realm under the guidance of his cousin Steffan, the most powerful mystic among the Seymours. And he had avoided getting into any trouble, especially while in London.

But none of this had been sufficient to move the Guardians to lift the curse. Kian would simply have to keep striving
and seeking. Unfortunately, he also had to continue living at Tylluan, with Loris, and find a way to keep from going mad.

He had to be near her. No, not just near, for he was close enough each day to feel the coolness toward him that the curse had placed in her heart. But she was his
unoliaeth
. His oneness.
His
, no matter how often or soundly she rejected the fact. If the curse kept her from recognizing him as her true mate while he was Kian, it didn't seem to stop her from at least liking him in another guise. For more than that he didn't hope.

She'd let him kiss her last night and, better still, had kissed him in return. Kian had thought he might reel from the sheer wonder of it. That was how it would have been between them if the curse had never been placed. Loris was his by right, and if it wasn't precisely noble of him to take her affection by deception, then nobility would have to go by the wayside. His need for her smile, her touch, her companionship, was akin to obsession.

The change took but moments. His already lengthy blond hair grew slightly longer and darkened until it was almost black. The lightness of his blue eyes faded until they were the same color as his hair. His finer features grew bolder, his nose lengthened, and his shoulders widened a fraction. He looked a little like one of his dark-haired Seymour cousins. Kian's garments took a few moments longer to complete the transition, taking on a mien similar to that of the fair folk who dwelled in the woods. It had seemed a good choice when he'd first decided to make these secret visits to Loris. It wasn't unusual for faeries to sneak into the dwellings of mortals at night, either to take something they desired or to lay blessings or curses upon the family within. Or even to simply cause mischief.

Fortunately, Loris had immediately made the assumption he'd hoped for and hadn't pressed too long or hard about him being a wizard. He'd told her the truth when he'd explained
that once she realized who he really was he would no longer be able to come to her. The transformation enchantment that he'd bought from the
consuriwr
of Llangoren came with certain conditions. The moment Loris discovered who truly came to her, Kian's ability to transform into Liw Nos would come to an end.

Kian thought of the embrace they'd shared the night before and imagined what the coming hours would bring. The conjurer had told Kian that it might be thus, that his transformed self might be free from the effects of the curse, but he'd not believed that the Guardians would allow such a powerful magic to be so easily deceived. Desire had finally driven Kian to test the matter, and it had been true. As Liw Nos he could touch her for as long as he wished without giving her pain. The knowledge made him giddy, and expectation made his breathing quicken.

The night was dark and cold as he made his way to the small balcony outside his window. A fitful wind lifted his hair at the ends and fluttered the edges of his tunic. Kian took a deep breath and let the anticipation within him rise.

She was waiting for him. He could feel it.

She had locked the windows and bolted the doors, but Loris knew it wouldn't do any good. He would come, and, apart from running away, all she could do was wait. Minutes passed, and then an hour. She was weary from a day filled with keeping the castle and longed to lie down upon her soft bed. But she couldn't bring herself to do so. It would make her feel too . . . vulnerable.

Weariness at last won out, and she settled into one of the large chairs near the fire. Leaning her head against the cushions, she closed her eyes and let her thoughts drift. Sleep beckoned, but she was too wary to follow.

“When will he come?” she murmured aloud.

“I'm here, Loris.”

She opened her eyes and saw him standing there, having
suddenly and silently appeared, as he was sometimes given to doing. The balcony doors were closed; she'd neither heard him open them nor felt the cold night air that surely would have entered the room had he done so. He was already at the mantle, leaning against it in a relaxed pose, gazing down at her.

The fact came to Loris once more that she knew almost nothing about him or what powers he possessed.

“It isn't good for you to come here anymore, Liw,” she said, looking fully into his dark eyes. “It isn't safe.”

“Why?”

“Because I don't know you. Because I don't know what you want, to be my friend or . . . or something else.”

He smiled. “You know what I want.” He pushed from the mantle and straightened. “You're tired, Loris.” Slowly, he moved to kneel before the chair and took her hands in his own. “You've had a difficult day?”

She ignored the question.

“I
don't
know what you want,” she repeated, searching his face by the dim light of the fire. “I don't even know who you truly are. Or what you are.”

“Is it Kian Seymour who wearies you so?” he asked. “He's cruel and unkind. I know how greatly you hate him.”

“I don't hate Kian,” she told him firmly. “He can be difficult and obstinate, but I have never hated him.”

“Then perhaps it's his brother, Dyfed. Or Lord Tylluan. They're too demanding in what they want of you.”

“It isn't any of them,” she said impatiently. “But if it were, at least I would have an honest name to accuse them by.”

“I'm not your enemy, Loris,” he said, lifting one hand to stroke the backs of his fingers gently down her cheek. “I mean no harm to anyone at Tylluan. Most especially not you.”

With a sigh she pushed his hand away and stood, pulling her dressing gown more tightly about her waist and stepping around Liw's kneeling form.

“You should go,” she said. “And never come back.”

He didn't move. Didn't rise to his feet. Didn't even look at her. Loris bit her lip and turned away, toward the fire, and prayed that she wouldn't start crying.

“Do you want me to go?” he asked in a low voice.

She didn't answer. Silence stretched out for a long moment, and then she heard him rising to his feet. His hands, warm and strong, fell upon her shoulders and gently turned her to face him. Searching her face, he asked once more, “Do you want me to go, Loris?”

“I want to know who you are, Liw. Who you truly are.”

He lowered his head and softly kissed her lips, a brief and tender caress. “In your heart, you already know who I am,” he murmured.

Loris shook her head in denial, but he kissed her again, more deeply, and she felt once more the rightness between them. It was so very like what she fleetingly felt with Kian before their embraces came to an end, not as powerful or compelling, but similar enough to be a shadow. She pressed closer to the solid warmth of his body, sliding her arms up about his neck.

When it ended they were quiet again, holding each other, swaying slightly back and forth. His cheek was pressed against the top of her head, and she could feel his breath against her hair.

“Won't you tell me something about yourself?” she whispered. “Please.”

He pulled away to look into her eyes and stroked the hair back from her face.

“I am one who wants to be near you always, Loris, just as I have always been,” he said softly. “I will never harm or dishonor you. I want to come to you freely, without fear, without shame, and give you pleasure and respite. I want to go on being the one you tell your secrets to, your dreams, all of the things that you can tell no one else. I want to hear of your days and be part of your nights, to hold and touch you, to be touched by you in turn. I want to hear your voice and
carry the memory of it away with me until I'm with you once more.” He kissed her again, slowly, deeply. “This is who I am, Loris.” His hand cradled her face. “Is it enough?”