Chapter Two

Luka sat on the stone steps of the cottage and breathed his fill of the crisp morning air. The storm had passed in the night and a pale sun glittered off the snow blanketing the forest floor and weighting the pine branches. A mug of tea warmed his hands and he smiled, recalling the touch on his face that had come with it, sweeter than the honey Rhys had added.

“We need to fatten you up,” Rhys teased, but there had been concern in his eyes. Luka hadn’t taken care of himself, but the years had grown lonely, waiting for Rhys to return.

He missed his lover, though he’d been the one to send him away. Luka had wanted him to find a better life than he could offer, a solitary witch bartering his potions. And he had wanted Rhys safe from his enemies. But he may as well have cut out his own heart when Rhys had left.

Luka sipped his tea, enjoyed its comfort, then heat flushed his skin as he recalled his dream last night, the feel of Rhys in his bed. Rhys had been tender and passionate and welcoming. Luka had cried in his arms, overwhelmed with the joy of it. Had wept again on waking to find himself alone on the hearth, Rhys across the room, reading a book in the morning light spilling through a window, as far away as the years that had separated them.

A bird fluttered past, calling his attention, and Luka’s spirit flew with it, soaring into the sky. The rush of air exhilarated him, and he dropped with a smile back into his body. After hastily setting aside his tea, he pulled a crystal from a pocket and held it up to the faint winter sunlight. He marveled at the earth reflected in glass. Focusing his gaze, his essence slipped easily into the encapsulated world and flew along the pathways, flitting between trees and brush. He scampered with a family of squirrels along a branch, leaping with wild glee from limb to limb.

Hearing the waterfall, he rode with a bee to the river’s edge, and spotted Rhys perched on a boulder, naked, his ivory skin pebbled from his brief swim. Luka thrilled at the beauty and strength of his body. Rhys stretched, leaned back on his hands, and Luka’s caressing gaze traveled over the long length of his form.

He drew a puzzled breath. This was not the body he remembered, the one he’d dreamed of last night. He’d tasted every inch of Rhys’s skin, once upon a time. Drew his tongue along every plane and line and curve. The form before him was stockier, more muscular. Luka missed the lithe limbs that had twined around him, pale against his dark skin, and held him close on the small pallet before the hearth during the glorious nights they’d shared.

He laughed, the unhappy sound floating on the warm air. Maybe his memory was growing faulty. It was five years, after all, and they’d been together for far too short a time. Less than a year. Rhys was bound to have changed.

Rhys stretched again, but Luka wouldn’t allow his gaze to drop lower than his waist. He knew the length and taste of that delight as well, but there was little use in awakening a longing for the pleasures he’d pushed away with both hands.

He moved off, but Rhys looked up, and a gentle smile touched his wide mouth. He raised his hand and Luka landed in his palm. Rhys stroked his thumb over his back and pleasure rippled through Luka. “I’ll be home soon, my sweet,” Rhys said with a fond laugh.

Luka brushed Rhys’s cheek as he left, letting the breeze carry him. Reluctant to leave the sunlight, he nevertheless flew toward the dark shadow spreading in the forest. Feeling a rapid heartbeat, his spirit fell into the rabbit hiding in the brush and snow. Terrified, scattered images flashed into his mind. Danger! The trap snapped; searing pain as it smashed the bones of his foot. In agony, he looked through blurred eyes at the forest crowding in around him. The thick ferns hiding him wilted as if with blight. Dead limbs twined with the green of the towering pines.

He flinched back when a figure approached, cloaked, the leering face looking into his with a gleam in its eyes. “Always the fool, Luka.”

Luka fought the waves of pain, struggled to leave the rabbit and fly home. But his spirit beat against an invisible wall, escape barred to him. “What do you want?” he asked, his mind touching on the man bent over him.

He shuddered at the cold, calculating thought in return. “I want the Well of Hope. You know this.” Aethan drew a hard breath, then Luka felt a hand caress his face. The sorcerer’s voice changed, becoming seductive, wheedling. “We can be allies, Luka. Share the energy pulled from the Well. Join me. We can master all others.” His thumb brushed Luka’s lips, his voice thrumming with passion. “Every desire fulfilled.”

The tendrils of Aethan’s potency wound through Luka’s head, so alluring. They would be lovers and leaders, nature itself bowing to their whim. But Luka had no use for power. He wished only for his quiet life, and Rhys’s love.

“This will never be,” he murmured, and braced. Aethan’s fury crashed into him, bruising his mind. The sorcerer tore at his thoughts, seeking entrance. He pushed on his wounded foot, and Luka screamed in anguish. But then a wish touched him, bound in love, and his consciousness soared on the wind, reaching for Rhys.

“Come to me,” Rhys begged, a whisper of longing on the wind. Luka clung to the tendril of thought, let it wind around him, pull him to his beloved. But it stretched taut as if from a great distance, broke before he reached him, and he fell into his body with a cry. Rhys held his splayed form against his chest. There were tears in his eyes, and Luka swore under his breath. He never wanted to hurt him, but it seemed all he accomplished.

“I am well,” he said, pushing up into a sitting position.

Rhys clung to him a moment, then let him go, brushing a kiss against his cheek. “What happened?” he asked, his concern easing Luka’s distress.

“Aethan caught me.” Luka hurried to add at his sharp breath, “Do not worry. I told him nothing of your presence.”

“Luka,” Rhys chided. There was a note of censor in his voice. “I worried for your safety. I returned to find you here, lying so still. It took all my will to call you back. I’m thankful you found your way to me.”

Luka ignored a sharp prick of jealousy. Who had been Rhys’s teacher these past five years, that he had such power? The witch in the village hadn’t this talent. “You’ve grown strong, my heart. But please, Rhys, listen to me. Aethan is coming. He will be here before nightfall. You must go.”

Rhys’s lips tightened with his anger. “I won’t desert you.”

Luka’s heart pounded in a rush of adrenaline. “You don’t understand! Aethan means to use you against me.”

“Then you must be strong and not let him.” Rhys rose to his feet and held out his hand. “Come, my dear witch. It’s time we faced our monsters.”

Despite the circumstances, warmth flooded Luka’s chest, hope and apprehension trembling in balance. Rhys would stand with him! He had found Rhys broken and bleeding in Aethan’s cellar, his spirit a mere flicker in the darkness. But now Rhys burned, his life-force a flame of passion and resolve.

Rhys helped him stand, and power sparked between them where their hands touched. Luka gasped at the bite, clasping Rhys’s fingers tighter, keeping him at his side when he would have moved away. He swallowed his absurd pride, the answer important.

“You’ve grown strong, Rhys. Who was your teacher?” Did you find him handsome? He knew he flushed, heat in his cheeks, but held Rhys’s blue-eyed gaze. Something flickered in the pretty depths, a secret, and Luka’s heart stumbled with dismay. But then Rhys smiled, his eyes once again guileless, clear.

“Widow Ravan took me in. Said she felt the power in me.”

Luka nodded, disheartened by the false answer. “I know the witch. Wise and knowledgeable. Rhys, I’m glad you found a safe haven when you left here.”

Rhys lifted a shoulder, his gaze shifting to the side. Luka stifled a sigh. He’d known Ravan since she was a fair-haired child growing wild in the woods. Later, when her woodsman husband died of fever, she turned her capable hands to herbs and potions, learning the ways of healing. She prospered, but that didn’t account for the fineness of Rhys’s clothing nor his strength in magic.

His lover kept secrets.