Chapter Seventeen

Rhys woke, shivered, and reached for Luka’s warmth, frowning when his fingers grazed solid rock. Where… He snapped his eyes open and hurriedly sat up. Predawn light glittered on a dusting of snow and the footprints marching across the glen, joined by horse hooves, and both disappearing into the trees. Damn. Did he have to tie Luka down?

The thought made his lips twitch. As if Luka would hold still long enough for that. And Rhys had been bound and abused often enough not to find any appeal in it. Unless…it was Luka tying the knots. It scared him sometimes how much he trusted Luka.

He climbed to his feet and stretched muscles gone stiff with cold, then shook the snow from his cloak and went to the fire. The wood Luka had added before he’d left had burned down to coals. He must have been gone at least an hour. He’d also left the larger pack behind, the one carrying most of the food and extra clothing.

Bits of ice stung his face and Rhys glanced upward at the gray sky, promising snow.

“We could have traveled together,” he muttered, his breath a puff of white smoke. Out of sorts and more than a little angry with Luka, he stomped out the coals with a heavy boot. He then slung the pack over his shoulder and went to where the white mare nibbled frozen blades of grass on the edge of the glen.

He scratched behind her ears. “Let’s find him,” he told her, and swung onto her back, adjusting the pack to a more comfortable position as she headed along the trail Luka and the stallion had left in the snow. Rhys frowned as the trees closed in around them. Chances were, he needn’t worry about Aethan and Lorin finding him. Luka wouldn’t have left him on his own if they were near.

“But you shouldn’t have left me,” he stated, holding on to his anger to keep the worry at bay. He didn’t fear for himself; his enemies couldn’t do more to him than they already had. But they could drive Luka to kill, and that was intolerable. His gentle soul would be destroyed.

The air grew colder under the trees as the morning progressed, and Rhys hunched into his cloak as sleet stung his exposed skin. He recalled the first time he’d seen Luka, sweeping into that cellar like some avenger warrior of legend, all light and fury. He’d been Aethan’s prisoner for months on end, allowed in the upper story on occasion, but mostly held in the cold stone and moldy underground.

He’d tried to escape many times, caught and punished. But the last time had been a living nightmare. Chained and beaten to his knees, Aethan raped him brutally and whispered in his ear, revealing for the first time their relationship. Dark despair took him, and he had wished for death before Luka found him.

He’d been sitting at the table, chained to the wall by his neck, shackles on his wrists. Footsteps on the floorboards overhead confused him. Aethan had left, maybe for a couple of hours, or days, leaving him with a mug of water and some bread he shared with the rat in the corner growing braver. Was he back so soon? A shudder ran through Rhys. If the monster, his father, touched him again…

A scream rose in his throat when the trapdoor opened with a scrape and thud, and footsteps descended the rickety stairs. But then a stranger came into view, dressed simply, dark skinned, with the most beautiful face Rhys had ever beheld. Youthful yet full of wisdom, dark hair in a braid, with deep brown eyes filled with compassion and sorrow and a swift anger on seeing him.

The man crossed the room in a wave of power, breaking the chains binding him with a touch, his hands infinitely gentle when he helped Rhys to his feet and out of his prison.

“I’m Luka,” he said in low, rich tones that vibrated through Rhys as he aided him to mount the horse waiting outside. Luka swung up behind him, quieted his fears with a soft word and touch. Rhys slept, and didn’t wake until evening was far advanced, and he looked curiously from the horse’s back at the humble cottage they stopped before, with its herbs and roses growing wild in front. A warm fire waited inside, and Luka assisted him to the hearth, stirring up the coals and adding wood while Rhys sank thankfully onto thick blankets.

His face had heated when Luka sat back on his haunches and his thoughtful gaze traveled over him.

“I can offer you a bite of stew in a moment,” Luka murmured. “But a wash first, I think.”

He moved closer, and Rhys sucked in a breath when he removed his filthy stockings. “I don’t think…”

“I sense there are wounds on your body that need attending. Be at peace. I mean you no harm,” Luka told him and continued to undress him, his expression turning grave when he saw the welts and bruises covering Rhys’s chest and back. His touch was firm, impersonal, though color stained his cheeks when he removed Rhys’s breeches. He used a soft cloth dipped in water simmering on the hearth, fragrant with sage, to wash the grime from his body. Rhys cried out when he cleaned the open sore on his neck.

“Forgive me, Rhys. I’m being as gentle as I know how.”

Rhys gave him a close look. “You know me?”

Luka lifted a shoulder. “I dreamed of you, your anguish heavy on my heart when I woke. I felt I knew you, and, of course, came for you.”

“And left me again,” Rhys muttered now, brought back to the moment by snow falling from a tree limb, striking his face. Some slipped under his hood and down his neck, and he swore under his breath, shivering. Unable to ignore his hunger a moment longer, he slid off the mare’s back and led her to a clear space between the trees. He fed her a handful of grain, then took a packet of dried meat and a few apples for himself and sat with his back to a nearby boulder.

“Luka, where are you?” he asked, looking up into the gray sky, snow slowly sifting to the ground around him. He didn’t expect an answer but became aware of a warmth spreading against his side. Searching his pockets, his fingers brushed against something hard, and he pulled the pink quartz from a pocket, glowing softly, heating his hand.

“You are thinking of me, as I am you,” he murmured, and brought the rock up for a soft kiss. “Know this, my witch. Whatever you have planned, I will catch up before you can carry it out.”

Something moved in the brush across the glen, drawing his gaze. Slipping the gem away, he leaned forward, trying to glimpse… The ferns parted and the sweetest face appeared, a pixie, with large green eyes and hair a wild flame around her head. The woman stepped forth, clad in a thin sheath of gold and brown despite the cold. Rhys drew in a hard breath. She was a creature of the woods, her magic washing over Rhys in a heady wave, her beauty captivating him.

She moved toward him with lithe grace, wild and free as a fawn, her eyes glinting mischief as she approached. Rhys found he couldn’t move, except to lean back helplessly against the stones as she knelt beside him, and her hand burned where it rested on his thigh. She tilted her head and his senses swirled.

“I haven’t seen you here before,” she said in a voice like the chime of a bell, sending a pleasant shiver through him, hardening his cock. Perilous and tempting, she leaned into him, the pink tips of her breasts visible through the thin garment she wore brushing his skin, his blood burning.

Rhys fought the enchantment, knowing the dangers of the Fae to mortals.

“What would you have of me?” he asked, voice choked with the effort to speak.

The creature made a sound of delight and sat back, clapping her hands like a child, smiles wreathing her plump lips. Rhys hungered to taste their sweetness and bit hard on his tongue to clear his head. A pout formed on the wicked mouth and he closed his eyes, blocking out the bewitching sight.

“Stop it,” he demanded, hating how weak his voice sounded, how his body responded to the sensuous creature.

“Open your eyes,” she countered.

Rhys’s eyes flew open to find his vision filled with her large green eyes, brilliant as gems, looking into him, brushing against his points of pleasure, pain, loneliness, with promises of love and carnal delights beyond his imagining. His thoughts narrowed to the feel of her lush body against his and the ache in his cock.

A groan of frustration and anger escaped him, and he shoved her off, scrambled to his feet, to lean, panting, against the boulder. The lovely sprite gazed at him in surprise, and then the fever in Rhys’s blood quickly withdrew as she rose and took a step back, giving him room to breathe.

“You are strong, pretty one. Luka had chosen well,” she murmured, running fingers down his arm as if she couldn’t help the intimate gesture, a sensual creature by nature.

“You know Luka?” Rhys asked as his sluggish thoughts cleared.

She shrugged a bare shoulder. “He passed through here earlier today. I caught a glimpse of you in his mind. You’re as beautiful as he pictures you.”

“And why have you come to me?” he pressed. The mystic creatures of the forests rarely mingled with humankind. He didn’t trust her, sensed danger in her casual mention of Luka. What web had Luka become entangled in?

“I have a message for your beautiful witch.”

“Tell it to me.”

The creature’s full mouth lifted in a smile and she slanted Rhys a sly glance, green eyes glittering. “I’ve been entrusted to deliver it myself.” She looked Rhys over, and the tip of her tongue touched her lips. “You may travel with me, if you desire.”

Rhys nodded curtly, clenching his teeth, angered by his body’s response to her nearness. She played with him, teased at his senses, and would leave him in the blink of an eye, bereft and longing, her enchantments woven into his very being.

“I will travel with you,” he said at last, and sucked in a breath at her brilliant smile. He was most likely a fool but wanted to keep her with him and perhaps warn Luka before the beautiful nymph sprang on his shy witch, perhaps weaving her spells around him before Luka had time to put up a ward against her.

The thought troubled him, as did the unexpected prick of jealousy. Seeing no alternative, he gathered up his pack, stowing the extra food, and climbed back onto his horse. The woman laughed up at him as he held out his hand to help her mount, and she sprang lightly up in front of him, a warm, vivacious body in his arms.

“I’ll take you to your precious lover,” she said gaily, and threaded slim hands through the mare’s white mane. “Hold on,” she warned, and bent to whisper a word to the horse. They were off, a streak of light in the dark forest, and Rhys wondered at the power and magic surrounding them.