Coreene Callahan - Knight Avenged

Finally. ’Twas about time.

Taut muscles relaxing, Henrik exhaled in a rush, thankful as tension loosed its grip one talon at a time. Rolling his shoulders, he held Xavian’s gaze and tipped his chin. The quick gesture carried a silent message. One wrapped in gratitude . . . sent by him, and received on cue by his friend. Xavian accepted his thanks with a nod. Seconds later, he was gone, leading the others across the courtyard, footfalls quiet, voice hushed as he doled out individual duties. As his comrades disappeared into the city, Henrik swung Cosmina into his arms.

She went rigid against him. “Hey.”

Her sharp tone lightened his mood. Ah, good. There she was . . . the smart-mouthed hellion he knew and loved. “Humor me, iubita . We need to talk and there are too many ears and eyes here.”

“Oh.” Brows drawn tight, her attention strayed to Nairobi and Cristobal.

“They’ll be fine.”

She stared at the pair an instant longer, then looked back at him. Green eyes brimming with uncertainty met his. The impact hit him like a sucker punch, knocking the wind out of him. He went stone-still, wanting to say more, needing to explain. The compulsion to convince her nearly overwhelmed him. He forced himself to remain still instead, waiting for her to decide. Stay or go. Run away and hide . . . or hear him out. ’Twas her call. Not his. He couldn’t force her to listen. He didn’t deserve a second chance, not after the way he’d betrayed her in the Limwoods. But as the silence stretched, nerves got the better of him. His chest went tight. Henrik swallowed, combating the burn as pressure squeezed around his torso.

Jesus help him. Mayhap it was too late. Mayhap he couldn’t fix it. Mayhap having her in his life was too much to—

“All right then,” she said, voice so soft he barely heard her. And yet, it restored his faith, making him believe, infecting him with the possibility forgiveness existed a conversation away. Buoyed by the prospect, his gaze strayed to her mouth. Desire slammed through him. Unable to help himself, he leaned in. A quick kiss. Just one taste. ’Twas all he needed. But as he got close, Cosmina denied him, pressing her finger to his lips, shaking her head, warning him with a look. Looping her arm around his neck, she pointed to a building beyond the courtyard’s half wall. “Talk first. The shoemaker’s cottage is closest.”

Cradling Cosmina against him, Henrik nodded, then put his feet to good use, and got moving. No time to waste. She’d agree to talk. He accepted the terms—no kissing until she allowed it. He could live with that. At least, for a little while. Pace even, he crossed the quad, skirted the wall, and stopped in front of the cottage door. Juggling her in his arms, he palmed the peg doubling as a handle. He lifted it free of its cradle. Wood scraped against wood. Neglected hinges squeaked as the door swung wide. Dipping his head beneath the lintel, he strode over the threshold and into a cobbler’s paradise.

Tools lined the walls. Shoe molds sat in deep wooden bins, sharp tacks in shallower ones. Rolls of felt were stacked in one corner. Piles of tanned leather lay scattered in another, as though the shopkeeper had left in a hurry. No doubt close to the truth. The desertion of White Temple after Ylenia’s death hadn’t made for a tidy retreat. More of a mass exodus, by all accounts. So aye, the mess made perfect sense. So did the dust on the large table occupying the center of the room. Stepping over a pair of abandoned clogs, Henrik headed straight for it. Cosmina tensed as he set her down on the table edge. Taking the cue, trying to respect her space, he backed up a step.

“Nay,” she whispered. “You don’t get to back away, Henrik. Not yet.”

Henrik blinked in surprise.

Hooking her calf behind his thigh, Cosmina brought him back, keeping him close, refusing to allow his retreat . . . messing with his head as she wrapped both of her legs around one of his. Her heat bled through his leather trews. Desire went on the rampage, elevating need until he throbbed with it. Taut muscles pulled at his hip bones. Unable to stop himself, he reached for her hips, pulling her closer as she raised her hand. Gentle and sure, her fingertips touched down, then drifted, tracing his cheekbone.

“You came back.” Her voice shook a little. Swallowing hard, she cleared her throat. “I didn’t think you would.”

That made two of them. “I tried so hard to stay away, but . . .”

She raised a brow, asking without words.

Henrik gave it up without a fight. “I want you too much. I can’t stay away.”

“Good to know,” she said, nearly breaking his heart. Jesus. For all her strength, she looked so vulnerable right now. “I seem to have a similar problem when it comes to you.” She frowned. Her fingers stilled, then drew a gentle circle on his temple. “I could live without you, Henrik. I am strong enough to go on without you if need be, so be honest. Tell me true . . .”

She paused, her hesitation palpable.

“Ask,” he said, heart thumping, hope rising. “Ask me anything.”

“Did you mean it?” Looking worried, she released a shaky breath. “What you wrote in your note . . . did you mean it?”

“Every word. Every last one.” Cupping her hand with his own, he turned his mouth into her palm. “I love you, Cosmina. I want to stay and build a life with you. I don’t care where we live—here, Drachaven, the Limwoods. It doesn’t matter. Please forgive me. Please take me back. Please be mine, iubita . I need you too much to ever let you go.”

“’Tis forgiven . . . forgotten.” Fingers playing with the hair at his nape, she tugged, bringing him even closer. Nestled against him, she whispered, “I love you too, Henrik.”

“Then you’ll have me as husband?” Bumping her cheek with his own, he turned his head and stole the kiss he craved. It wasn’t much. The barest brush of his mouth against hers. Not even close to what he wanted, but ’twas enough for now. Raising his head, he met her gaze, trying to gauge her reaction and his chances of success. A pang tightened his chest as tears pooled in her eyes. So strong, yet undeniably soft too. She was a gift. One he didn’t deserve, but he couldn’t resist. “Will you wed me, Cosmina?”

“Anywhere. Anytime,” she said, smiling through her tears. “Just tell me when.”

Awe circled deep as gratitude hit hard. Inconceivable. Mind-boggling in so many ways, but he saw the truth in her eyes. She loved him. His throat went tight. He was lucky. So goddamned lucky to have found her. To be loved. To be accepted. To be wanted, valued, and needed. Naught compared to that, and as he set his mouth to hers—and she opened to accept him—Henrik thanked God for his good fortune and pressed deeper. Cosmina responded, tangling her tongue with his. Hot. Wet. Delicious. He accepted everything she gave, then demanded more. Kissed her hard. Skimmed over her curves. Craved without conscience as she caressed him back, pushing him past arousal into explosive need.

Breathing hard, he lifted his mouth from hers.

She grumbled, protesting his retreat.

“Goddamn, I want you.” Sucking in a desperate breath, his love for her spilling into uncontrollable desire, Henrik looked around the cottage. Shit. Of all the rotten luck. No cot shoved into any of the corners. Nothing soft to lay her down on at all. “I cannot wait, Cosmina. We need a bed.”

Eyes full of mischief, her mouth curved. “Well then, lucky for you . . .” Trailing off, she fingered the links of her necklace. With a tug, she pulled the delicate chain from beneath her tunic. Impishness blooming into a full-blown grin, she rocked her hand, making the chain—and what it carried—swing like a pendulum between them. “I have the key that unlocks every door inside White Temple.”