Yet for once, she took my advice. That infernal mouth shut, the seam compressing like a line that dared to be crossed, the skin darkening to an insolent rosy hue that should be outlawed.
The sight played havoc with my pulse. What would it take to crack that seam wide open? To provoke a different type of noise from her lungs?
And where the devil was this coming from?
My gaze lurched from her lips to those rebellious pupils. Renewed fury pounded in my skull. Despite my every confidence in Aspen’s fighting skills, she could have been slaughtered out here. Raped. Taken captive. Held for ransom. For mercy’s sake, I could bludgeon her.
Nicu as well. Superior rank or not, my livid state hung by a thread.
Search troops had not ventured this far yet. No other disturbances lingered in our midst, other than the cold bite of eventide.
With a twitch of my blade, I compelled her to move, indicating the direction. Grinding her molars, Aspen trounced ahead. Her hips gyrated in an exaggerated fashion meant to illustrate her indignation, as well as her obstinance.
To my increasing misfortune, it also accentuated every womanly facet beneath that cloak. Seven years hence, Aspen had blossomed to her best advantage. The proof caused a disruptive amount of damage, an anarchistic jolt streaking to the head of my cock.
An uncivil noise scraped from my chest. Liar. Blasphemer. Off-limits. Out of bounds. Bad. Very Bad. To accompany this mantra, I went so far as to conjure sacrificial altars and religious hymns. Anything to deflate the impressionable appendage between my hips.
Grumbling, I led the pair to my courser, the hungry animal clicking his teeth in annoyance. Short bursts of travel without sustenance made the equine irritable, among numerous grievances the creature nursed on a daily basis.
The warhorse’s ears had been pinned. Yet as Nicu approached and murmured something, the stallion perked up and nickered.
During the trek, none of us spoke. Within minutes, the temperature dropped to frigid levels. West of The Fox Dell, a morass of brambles stretched into the void.
Twilight lacquered the sky by the time we reached The Pumpkin Wood. Thick squash crowded the underbrush, their husks pulsating.
Aspen’s pace slowed. The edibles multiplied in every direction, their luminescence breaching the hood and casting sweltering light over segments of her face. Recognition flickered across her pupils, coating them in a haunted glaze.
Concern slowed my footfalls. Few things scared this woman. Fewer things provoked a retreat. Yet she wavered, her fists contracting as they often did whenever she encountered a challenge. Then she relaxed her fingers and trailed us deeper into the forest.
Beyond a winding avenue of interlaced hedges, a cottage materialized. The picturesque cabin stood two levels high, its steepled roof pitching to the clouds. Casement windows with frosted plates offered privacy, a water mill abutted the neighboring pond, and a modest stable rose beside an herb plot.
The Royal Retreat.
Poet and Briar enjoyed this refuge during celebratory occasions and rare interludes away from their duties. It had also been an outpost during their infiltration of the Masters, prior to the guild’s slaughter in the castle courtyard.
Tomorrow, I would escort Nicu home. Until then, we would wait here in peace.
Because my liege was familiar with this property and possessed an unparalleled knack for tempering my horse’s mood swings, I entrusted him with the chore of retiring the stallion.
As I studied the retreating pair, my skin tingled. I caught Aspen studying me and lobbed an imperious gaze her way. Tension chaffed my flesh, the abrasion spreading like an infestation, hot and restless.
Stalking toward the threshold, I fumed at the lock. “Shit.”
Patting myself down would accomplish nothing. Since we hadn’t planned to venture here, none of us had brought a key. Muttering under my breath, I wasted time shaking the brass handle.
A smoky voice cleared. “Need help, soldier?”
“No,” I griped.
“You know, huffing and puffing like a grizzly bear won’t do any good.”
“I am not a grizzly bear. Nor a stubborn bull, belligerent ox, peevish wolf, or whatever other likenesses you’re currently thinking of.”
Aspen fluttered her fingers toward the door. “If you ask me—”
“I did not.”
The female waited as I investigated the facade, overturning plant pots in the hopes of a spare key. Muttering, I rammed my shoulder into the door, but the deadbolt held fast. I could smash through a window, but that would be vandalism. And it would invite the cold into the house, so perhaps if I—
