CAIRN
First watch is mine.
I lean against a tree at the edge of the clearing, staring out into the darkness between the trees. I could have just set wards and slept, but I prefer this. Standing watch keeps my instincts sharp … and even though I’ve been free for weeks now, I still feel the need to remind myself. Standing here, breathing in the night air, and listening to the sounds of the forest—it helps.
Or it would if I couldn’t feel her through both the blood bond I forged,andthe Nightwild magic.
She’s cold. The temperature has dropped since the sun set, and she’s curled tight on the bedroll, arms wrapped around herself, shivering hard enough that her teeth click. The Nightwild bond wants me to do something about it, and it’s becoming increasingly difficult to ignore its demands.
By the time I became the Eldráfn, the Nightwild magic was already ancient, and magic that old often develops a will of its own. It’s the magic that chooses who becomes part of the Guard, linking them to me so I can find them and offer them a place in our ranks. If they accept, their thread spreads from me to the restof our warriors, binding them to us all and us to them, ensuring their loyalty belongs to the Nightwild Guard, giving them both protection and purpose.
But she’snotpart of my Guard. She’s human.
Not that the Nightwild magic seems to think that’s relevant. It chose her, wove her in without asking for permission, and now her discomfort grates against my mind. It doesn’t give a damn that she’s human. It chose her, and until she accepts or rejects the Guard, it will treat her comfort as my responsibility.
I ignore it, and watch the tree line. An hour passes. Her shivering gets worse. Through the bond, I feel the cold settling deeper into her. The Nightwild thread pulls harder, becoming more insistent, until ignoring it takes actual effort.
By the time I wake Therin for his watch, I’ve spent four hours fighting magic that doesn’t understand why I won’t just go to her. He sits up when I approach, takes one look at my face, and has the sense not to comment. He just takes his position at the edge of the clearing while I cross to where she lies.
She gasps when I lower myself behind her, her body jerking against mine. My arm locks around her waist before she can twist away, pulling her back against my chest. Through the bond, I feel her shock, the war between pride and cold. She wants to shove my arm away, and prove she doesn’t need anything from me.
But my heat is already bleeding into her, and she’s been freezing for hours. After a half-hearted protest, she stops fighting and settles against me.
The Nightwild magic goes quiet, satisfied with my actions. I, on the other hand, have to lie there, with her fitted against me, while theotherbond—the one that should have allowed me to see through her eyes only—sends fragmented images and flickers of heat that have nothing to do with body temperature.She’s dreaming about my mouth on her body, my hand between her thighs … about what might have happened if Therin hadn’t walked in.
I close my eyes, and try to block it out.
It doesn’t work. The memory rises anyway, of the way her back arched, and the sounds she made. I clench my teeth, shoving it away, while the bond hums, and I stare at the night sky trying not to think about how close I came to burying myself inside her.
I’ve spent three hundred years being wanted and used. Being the thing that satisfied someone else’s hunger while my own turned to ash. I learned to cut need and want out of myself, because wanting things only gave them power over me.
But she’s pressed against me, warm and soft, and my hand is spread across her stomach. I’m hard against the curve of her back.
And I want.
I want to turn her over and kiss her. I want to feel her come apart under my hands. I want to know what other sounds I could draw from her when there’s no one to interrupt. I want?—
I close my eyes and breathe through it. The wanting doesn’t go away.
Fuck. This is going to be a very long night.
I must have drifted off at some point, because the next thing I’m aware of is her mouth on my throat.
She’s turned in her sleep, her face pressed into the curve of my neck, her breath warm and slow against my skin. Her lips are moving in a soft, unhurried exploration, her tongue tracingthe pulse beating at the base of my throat.
I go hard between one breath and the next, every nerve ending lighting up.
Her body is pressed along the length of mine, one leg hooked over my thigh, her breasts pushed against my chest, while her lips move along my throat. My hand finds her hip, intending to push her away. Then her teeth find my pulse and bite down, and the sensation sends a jolt straight down to my dick. She makes a sound, low and satisfied, and does it again.
Memories try to surface. Of mouths I didn’t want, bodies pressing me down. But she’s not them. She’s asleep, and she’s reaching for me.
My hand fists into her hair and I pull her head back.
Her eyes fly open, confusion fills them, followed by a slow awareness of where her mouth was, what she was doing, and the hard length of me pressed against her.
We stare at each other, and through the bond I can feel the need roaring through her, the want she can’t hide. She was dreaming, but she’s awake now, and she’s looking at me with hungry eyes.
My hand tightens in her hair. Her breathing picks up speed. With her head tilted back, and her throat bared, I can see her pulse jumping beneath her skin.
