Anne Bishop - The Invisible Ring

He felt rage building in response to her fear. For one moment, his mind cleared and horror washed through him as he realized how easily he could destroy her right now.

“Lia,” he said urgently. “Lia, I’m in rut. Your fear is making it worse.” Pressing his lips against her temple, he licked the frantic pulse. “Please don’t be afraid of me, Lia. I won’t hurt you. I swear by the Jewels I won’t hurt you.”

“Jared.” She sounded breathless. “Jared, I can’t—”

“I know. I know. Could you . . .” He took a deep breath to steady himself. “Could you hold me? Please?”

The shaking hands that had been pushing at his chest stilled.

Jared waited, hardly daring to breathe.

He stifled a groan as Lia’s hands slowly, hesitantly, slid down his chest and settled at his waist. He forced his hips to stay still. After a minute, she gained enough courage to slide her arms around him and stroke his back.

It wasn’t enough, but as she relaxed against him, it soothed the hunger sufficiently that he didn’t feel so wildly out of control.

After a while, she leaned back and looked at him.

His hands slid up her back and over her shoulders, finally cupping her face. He traced her lips with the tip of his tongue. Since she didn’t protest that action, he kissed her again, this time letting his mouth softly melt into hers.

When he raised his head, he saw confusion in her eyes— and maybe a little hunger.

Looking flustered, Lia turned her head slightly, then frowned at his wrist. “You’re bleeding.”

A different kind of tremor went through him. He wanted her to turn her head a little more, close her mouth over the wound, and lap the drops of blood welling up from his wrist. He wanted to make a small nick in the hollow of her throat and drink from it.

Jared dropped his hands, shaken.

A Queen didn’t accept blood from any but her First Circle.

A male didn’t accept a Queen’s blood unless he was offering to surrender his life to her will. A court contract was a formal, written agreement weighted by honor and Protocol. A blood bond was a lifetime commitment.

“Come inside,” Lia said. “Your wrist needs care and you need something to eat.”

“Lia . . .”

“Come inside.”

She led him inside, walking slowly but more easily. When they reached the kitchen area, she created a small ball of witchlight, enough to see by but not enough to disturb the others.

He stood passively while she used healing Craft on his wrist. He watched her dab an herb paste over the wound. All he could think of as she wrapped some gauze around his wrist to protect it was how good her hands felt and how much he wanted her to stroke him.

“You’re using too much Craft,” he said as she warmed some of the meat left over from dinner and sliced the bread without using a knife.

“Don’t fuss now, Jared,” Lia replied, keeping her voice low. “You can fuss tomorrow.”

“Promise?”

She looked startled for a moment and then sighed. “Promise.”

Pleased by that, he managed to bite back another comment when she used Craft to heat a mug of water for an herbal brew.

A soft stirring. A change in the feel of the room as someone rose and approached them.

Snarling, Jared whirled around.

Thera gasped and took a step back.

The hunger inside him grew knife-edged teeth that savaged his self-control as he caught the slight muskiness in her psychic scent that signaled a sexually mature witch. Lia’s scent was a blend of muskiness and innocence that helped sedate the hunger. Thera’s scent enraged it.

After glancing at Lia, Thera licked her lips. “Lord Jared, if you require—”

“Go away,” Jared snarled. He felt insulted by the offer. Insulted and a little humiliated that she had so little respect for him that she would offer to take him in front of Lia.

Which made him want to hurt her. Badly.

“Go back to bed, Thera,” Lia said softly.

Thera glanced at Lia again and nodded.

Jared stood there, saying nothing, not even daring to look at Lia until Thera was once more tucked in on the mattress next to Blaed’s.

Lia touched his arm. “You need to eat and get some sleep.”

“Do you think I’m such a whore that I’ll willingly go with any woman who snaps her fingers?” he asked harshly.

Her eyes widened. “You’re not a whore, Jared.”

“That’s exactly what a pleasure slave is , Lady.”

She rubbed his arm to comfort him. “Well, you’re not a pleasure slave anymore.” She hesitated. “Thera made the offer out of friendship for you and concern for me. I don’t think it was an easy thing for her to do. Let it go now. You’re not thinking clearly.”

Rage and hurt swirled through him, confusing him. Submitting to her gentle coaxing, he felt a little steadier when she placed the food on the table and then sat next to him, even allowing him to feed her small bites of bread and meat. By the time he finished the meal, he was shivering from fatigue.

“Come to bed now,” Lia said, guiding him to the mattresses. “Can you put a warming spell on the blankets?”

Stretching out on his mattress, Jared nodded.

Her fingers lightly brushed his dark hair. “Sleep, Jared.”

He tried because she’d asked him to. But the spell-warmed blankets didn’t stop the shivering, and the presence of the other males made him tense and angry. He also knew they were all awake now and aware of the reason for his tension . . . and feared it.

Half an hour later, he gave up and crept under Lia’s blankets.

“What—”

“Let me hold you, Lia,” he whispered against her ear. “I need to hold you.”

“You’re freezing,” she hissed, tucking the blankets around them.

He settled her comfortably against his side, offering his shoulder for a pillow. Now that he had his arms around her, the other males didn’t bother him as much. The tension eased. Warmed by the blankets and even more by Lia’s presence, his body relaxed.

Resting his cheek against her soft hair, Jared slept.

“WHAT?” Dorothea SaDiablo shrieked.

Krelis’s fury overwhelmed his usual fear of Dorothea’s temper. “It’s not the Gray Lady. It’s some little Green-Jeweled bitch-Queen who used an illusion web to trick herself out so she could prance into Raej pretending to be the Gray Lady.”

Dorothea’s gown swished like an angry cat’s tail as she paced her private receiving room. Her eyes narrowed to slits. Every breath came out as a hiss.

Krelis watched her, saying nothing, unwilling to pull her attention back to him. While he waited, his left thumb rubbed the palm of his right hand. He’d clenched the two brass buttons so hard while he’d unraveled the spells on them and extracted the message that they’d left a sharp impression in his flesh.

Those impressions would fade. The kind of impression Dorothea would make on his flesh if she decided this was somehow his fault . . .

“Why?” Dorothea finally said, slowing to a more thoughtful pace.

“We know the Gray Lady was hurt in the attack last spring,” Krelis said cautiously. “Perhaps more than we’d realized.”

“But not enough. The Gray is still strong in Dena Nehele.” Dorothea tapped a long, red-tinted nail against her lips. “But if the body had been maimed . . .” She waved a hand at Krelis, as if he had dared to interrupt her. “An illusion web would be able to hide any disfigurement, but a crippled limb wouldn’t function properly and would be quite noticeable, especially since Grizelle’s stride is as well known as her power. What did your pet have to say about the little bitch?”

Watching Dorothea’s hand stroke her rich red gown from breast to thigh, it took a moment for the words to sink in.