Chapter Twenty-Five
Some force had taken over Raith, and he was powerless to resist the exquisite creature sitting beside him on the bed. She had run to him across the sandy desert—how had he gotten there in the first place?—and then taken him back to her little home on wheels and told him she loved him. This woman, this indescribable, glorious woman, had crossed the desert to find him because she loved him.
It seemed impossible. He was likely dreaming.
If so, he was determined to enjoy every second of it before he awoke to whatever dismal reality awaited him. The woman called Harrow melted in his embrace, moaning softly like his touch was her greatest pleasure. It floored him.
It encouraged him. He deepened the kiss, pushing her lips apart with his own to dive into her mouth with his tongue.
He had done this before, he realized. Somehow, he knew what she liked. He knew how to cradle her head in his hand in the way she craved, trapping her against him. He knew what the curve of her waist would feel like as he ran his other hand down her back. He knew how firmly she liked to be gripped on her voluptuous hips, and when he did so, he was instantly rewarded with another soft moan.
Excitement coursed through his blood. Confidence filled him.
Maybe he could actually give her what she sought from him. Maybe he could be good enough for her.
He gripped her waist and hauled her into his lap, her shapely legs straddling his hips. Forgetting he was naked beneath the blankets until they slipped down, he was about to cover himself again when she rocked against his hard shaft with another moan of pleasure, nothing but her thin dress between their bodies.
His eyes fell shut. This pleasure, this familiarity… It felt like coming home. It felt like the only place he ever wanted to be, the only place he was meant to be.
So why did he still feel such debilitating grief?
It didn’t matter now. He couldn’t let anything distract him from this precious moment. Harrow rocked against him again, clutching his shoulders with soft hands, and he forgot everything else. He slid her dress up to grip her bare thighs, moaning at the feel of her supple flesh beneath his fingers.
She pulled back, looking at him with so much desire, he affirmed again he must be dreaming.
Then she tugged the whole dress off and threw it over her shoulder.
He sucked in a breath, his hungry gaze devouring her. The fullness of her breasts, the softness of her belly, the thick curves of her backside and thighs…
Goddess, he wanted to grab all that flesh at once and feel it spilling over his hands. He wanted to feast on every inch of her until she was crying out his name—
What was his name again?
“Raith,” she said, squirming beneath his hungry gaze. “You’re teasing me.” Her eyes were playful as she stretched her arms up to gather her hair in a wild bundle atop her head.
He nearly died at the sight.
Fisting a hand in those lively curls, he pulled her in to kiss him again, pressing her lips apart with his own to conquer her mouth with his tongue. The way she moaned and writhed against him set his lust ablaze.
Releasing her hair, he bent his head to suck her perfect nipples. She threw her head back, her spine a sensuous arch, her fingers clutching the muscles of his shoulders. He palmed the breast not in his mouth but froze suddenly, lifting his head to study the contrast between their bodies.
Her skin was tanned, like the color of sand. His was…shadow itself, absent of all color. The sun’s glow shining through the windows didn’t reflect but seemed to be absorbed into it. Nothing else in their surroundings reacted similarly to light, and it struck him as strange. He straightened abruptly, holding his arm out and staring at it.
“Raith?”
“What am I? Why do I look like this?”
Harrow’s grip tightened on his shoulders. “You look perfect to me. The most beautiful man I’ve ever seen. And I, for one, have my memories.”
He tilted his head, meeting her gaze. “Does anyone else look like me?”
“You can change your appearance if it bothers you. But don’t do it on my account.”
He noticed she’d avoided answering the question, but he was too intrigued by what she’d said to care. He stared at her earthy, tanned skin and then willed his own to match it.
And…it did. Amazing.
Harrow gasped and then laughed. “That’s a neat trick, but I think you should change back.”
“Why?”
“Because I want you to always remember that I love every part of you, exactly as you are. And I don’t want you to feel you ever have to change yourself for me.”
He leaned in to kiss her again in response and then quickly forgot what he’d been so worried about in the first place. Being with her made him feel like he belonged. Who cared about anything else?
He promptly engaged in his prior task—sucking on her nipples. They hardened to peaks amid her soft moans as he held her at the curve of her waist, his hands nearly meeting in the middle. Encouraged by his ministrations, she began rocking her hips again, and a growl rumbled from his throat when her soft core, already wet from arousal, stroked against his shaft.
“Raith—”
He lifted his eyes to hers in question.
“Change back.” Her words were breathy.
“Why?”
“Want you…as you are.”
He shrugged, not understanding why this was important, but obliged her. His skin reverted to shadow, and then he pulled her in again for a kiss.
She wrapped her arms around his neck, holding him close, and continued rocking herself against him, the movement of her hips driving him mad. Her arousal coated his shaft where they pressed together, and the sound of her soft moans flooded him with a sense of desperation. He needed this. He needed to see her come undone.
Tightening his fingers around her waist, he pulled her even closer. His erection, aching and hard, stood up between their bodies, as Harrow worked herself faster and faster against him, riding along his length without taking it inside her.
If he only tilted his hips, he would penetrate her, but he didn’t. He wanted to see her climax like this, to watch her pleasure herself with his body. She was as desperate as he was, and he loved it.
He loved her.
Was that ridiculous for a man whose entire memory spanned the length of several hours? Maybe. Did he care? At that moment, not in the least.
Faster, she moved against him, bracing her arms against his shoulders for leverage, her thighs trembling from the force she exerted. The way she reveled in her sensuality, unashamed to take what she needed to achieve her pleasure, was beyond the most intoxicating thing he could have dreamed of. She was a goddess, and he worshipped her.
Again, that feeling of familiarity seized him. He knew she was nearing orgasm by the way her breath raced and her moans escalated in volume. He knew how she would respond if he grasped her hair and demonstrated his strength. Full of anticipation, he did just that, pulling her head back so he could feast on the column of her throat.
She cried out and writhed faster, grinding furiously against him. When her cry turned to one of frustration, as though she hovered on the brink but couldn’t quite reach the peak by herself, he knew just what to do to push her over the edge. He met her thrusts with his own, syncing the pace of their movements, tightening the hand in her hair to show his dominance.
Her ecstatic cry filled the cabin. Her head dropped back and her whole body shook with tremors. His own climax came suddenly, his control shattered at the sight of her ecstasy, and he erupted in the space between their bodies, slicking their skin with his release.
Harrow went limp and sagged against him, so he gathered her in his arms and held her close. His own body trembled, every nerve tingling with life. His lust may have been sated, but his passion burned on. He didn’t think it would ever cease with her.
The way she laid her head on his shoulder with a soft hum of contentment made him feel like the most powerful being in the world.
For a man with no memories, it should have been impossible to feel such belonging so soon after experiencing isolation, but he couldn’t deny it. It was not a fleeting sensation, brought on by the frenzy of their ardor. It was deeper than skin and bone, deeper even than thought.
Whatever it was, whatever strange twist of fate had landed him here, he would not squander his blessings. He would cherish and protect his Harrow, shower her with love and affection.
Yet it was she who lifted her head and stroked his hair back, telling him how wonderful he was, how strong and capable. And in the end, all he could say of his feelings was, “You are mine.”
“Yes,” she agreed. “I’m yours, and you’re mine, and I’m never letting you go.”
Eventually, they rose from the bed to wash. Harrow cooked them a small dinner with what little remained of her food supplies. He tried to help, but she insisted he rest, though he no longer felt weak.
While they ate, she told him how she’d spent months in the desert searching for him. He couldn’t believe the loyalty this woman demonstrated, couldn’t fathom what he’d done to deserve it, but he swore he would do everything in his power to be worthy of it.
If only he could figure out why his chest still ached. If only he could understand why he still felt he was missing some crucial detail.
Tomorrow, they would travel north, Harrow said, out of the desolate South into fairer lands. From there, they would decide together where to go, but Harrow said she wanted to intercept the circus she’d once worked for to visit her friend Malaikah. Raith would go wherever she wanted to go. He didn’t yet know where he fit in the world and looked forward to discovering it by her side.
He just wished he could understand the aching hole in his chest.
He knew he had done something wrong. Something terrible. Something that might be unforgivable.
But he couldn’t remember what it was.
How could he move on with his life with Harrow if he couldn’t find forgiveness for his terrible deed? How could he ever let this go if he didn’t know what haunted him in the first place? Despite her constant assurances, he couldn’t shake the feeling that he didn’t belong in Harrow’s bed—that she deserved so much more. He couldn’t shake the feeling that he’d hurt her in some horrible way.
Looking at her sleeping beside him later that night, a gentle smile touching her lips, he couldn’t imagine how he could ever do such a thing. He loved her. He wanted her safe and happy.
So why would he hurt her?
But he had. He was certain of it, and it tore him up inside like a knife stirring his guts. If he’d hurt her before and couldn’t remember it, what was to stop him from doing it again? How could he ever trust himself in her presence? He should leave her now and spare her from the harm he might inadvertently do her.
No. His arms tightened around her, a growl rumbling in his chest. He was never leaving her. Never. His cold, dead arms would have to be pried from around her to separate them.
Still, the thought haunted him. How could he trust she would be safe with him if he didn’t remember what he’d done?
Finally, he drifted into an uneasy sleep, praying to the Goddess he wouldn’t accidentally hurt his love while he rested. As he slept, nightmares plagued him.
He woke with her lifeless form in his arms, blood dripping from her mouth. He had crushed her in his sleep. He screamed.
No! It was just a dream. He was still asleep.
He awoke again. Wet blood soaked everything. He had stabbed her with his claws in his sleep. His cries of horror filled the air.
No! Still a dream. He awoke.
Her neck was torn open—he had ripped it open with his teeth in his sleep. Dream. Her throat was slit. Dream. Her body was burned to a crisp. Dream.
Her blood was on his hands. Always, her blood coated his hands.
…
“Harrow!”
Harrow drifted on a cloud of bliss, annoyed at the panicked voice trying to drag her from the realm of pleasant dreams.
“Harrow!”
It was Darya’s voice. Go figure.
“Harrow, hear me now!”
She snapped to awareness, but not awakeness—she was in a dream vision. Back in the room of fountains, she was seated across from the Water Queen, who looked even more haggard than she had during their visit six months ago. Her skin was paler than before, the shadows beneath her eyes darker, her hair messier, and her dress seemed to hang limply off her.
“What happened to you?” Harrow asked before she could stop herself.
“Good to see you too.” Darya lifted a brow. “I see you’ve reunited with your wraith and things have gone well.”
“Yes, they have.” Harrow flushed. How much had Darya seen?
“You didn’t tell him everything.”
She sighed. “I know, but I wanted to give it a day or two. If I can show him how much I love him before he remembers, then maybe—”
“Right now, he dreams over and over of waking to find he’s accidentally killed you in his sleep. He realizes he’s dreaming, falls asleep, and awakens again in the same scenario.”
Harrow covered her mouth with a hand.
“He knows he’s hurt you in some way he deems unforgivable, but he can’t remember how or why. He can’t imagine why he would ever hurt you and is afraid of himself and what he might do. You’re torturing him by withholding critical information.”
“I didn’t— I had no idea. I just thought he was confused.”
“I warned you he would have subconscious memories. I warned you he needed to know.”
“I know.” Shame filled her. How could she have ignored something this crucial?
Because of her own selfish fears, she realized. She didn’t want Raith to remember her leaving him. She didn’t want him to experience the hurt of remembering how she’d betrayed him. She was afraid he wouldn’t forgive her.
“You’re right,” Harrow said. “He has to know everything. And not through me telling him. You have to restore his memories now.”
“I agree.” Darya smiled sympathetically. “I know it’s hard, child, but you’re making the right choice for your mate, and that’s what’s important. Now, I’m going to dissolve our dream spell so I can focus on weaving the memory spell for Raith, which—”
“Wait.” She stared at the Water Queen. “You really did it. You made him a new body, and you’re really going to let him go.”
Darya frowned. “Of course.”
“You don’t hate him anymore.”
“On the contrary, we bonded during our six months together.”
“You did?”
“Oh yes. My child, if I’d wanted to kill him, I could have done it on the first day.”
“How?”
“As soon as Raith realized where he was and what he’d done, he solidified himself, as wraiths can do for short periods. As you know, I once tortured him for years, trying to force him to do that very thing so I could kill him, and he never broke. But this time, as soon as he was strong enough, he did so.”
“Why?”
“Harrow… He begged me to kill him for what he’d done.”
Harrow’s eyes filled with tears.
“I didn’t, of course, for I had made a promise to my daughter of the Water. Instead, I told him how furious she would be if she heard him talking such nonsense.”
“You did?” Harrow wiped her eyes roughly.
“I did. And I told him my daughter was not only beautiful but stubborn. And she had her heart set on him and would not take kindly to anything happening to him, especially while he was in my care. Your Raith and I shared much over the last six months and grew to know each other. Already I miss his company. You have chosen your mate well. He will be a perfect companion for a Seer.”
“I thought the embodiment process would be torture for him.”
“It wasn’t pleasant, certainly, but I couldn’t always be blasting him with magic. And this time, he was working with me, so it wasn’t as difficult. While I rested, we passed the time together.”
Several things finally sank in fully. Darya had truly kept her word. She had embodied Raith solely to give Harrow and him a future together. She had not only relinquished her desire for revenge, but she had also found friendship with the man she’d once wanted to kill.
“Thank you,” Harrow whispered.
“There’s nothing to thank me for, child. I can’t undo my mistakes, but I can try to make amends.” Darya rose from her perch on the sofa and smoothed her skirts. Her dress was elegant, but the way it hung from her gaunt figure detracted from its loveliness. “Since I’ve done it before, this spell will take less effort, and I can do it tonight. Go back to your sleep, and when you awaken in the morning, Raith will remember. Be prepared.”
“Okay.” Harrow was still studying the Water Queen. “Are you…okay?”
“Of course.”
“Are you sure you can do this tonight? Last time you said it took days.”
“As I said, the second time is always easier.”
“You should get some rest after. You look exhausted.”
Darya smiled tiredly. “We go up against my sister soon. With any luck, we’ll be successful. I will rest then.”
“When was the last time you slept?”
“Several decades ago.”
Harrow stared at her. “Are you serious?”
Darya flicked a wrist. “Don’t concern yourself with me. I’ve been around for countless centuries and will remain for countless more.” The way she said this made it seem like a wearisome burden. Harrow supposed that if she was immortal and alone as Darya was, she might feel the same.
She decided that, since Darya had made an effort to heal the rift between them, she would do her best to stay in contact with her. “Thank you. For everything.”
“Providing for you is something I should have been doing from the beginning. I’m only sorry it took me this long to discover how to do it properly.”
“Well, for what it’s worth, I’m glad you’re in my life now. And even if you had the wrong motives in the beginning, it was because of you that I met Raith in the first place.”
Darya smiled. “Such wisdom for one so young. Go now, child. Go and find your happiness.”
With that, Harrow slipped away, back to the cradle of darkness in the realm of dreams.
She would need her rest. When she awoke, she and Raith would be facing a very different battle.