Page 26

ALARIC

I am in a great deal of trouble.

I’ve spent every night over the past two weeks with Dahlia and it is becoming harder and harder to keep my hands off of her. I’d nearly combusted when I’d seen her coming out of the pond that day last week, the silk undergarments she wore hiding absolutely nothing .

I’ve had to find release alone in my bed with her name on my lips more times than I can count simply to stay sane. It’s too much. It’s not enough. It’s torture. It’s bliss.

Every minute that we’re together in that study, in that room that has become my heaven on this earth, makes me long for more, makes my feelings for her deepen and strengthen in ways I never thought possible. The mating bond draws me to her, makes me want to be with her and protect her and see her happy, but it doesn’t make me feel for her, it doesn’t make me…love her. She’s doing that all on her own.

And the feeling is glorious. I want to know everything about her and her life, about her family and her friends and her weapons designs. We talk well into the night most evenings and I could listen to her for the rest of eternity. She’s funny and kind and smart—and a damned con woman.

I’d spied her studying the chess set near the fireplace one evening that first week, her book long abandoned.

“I can teach you,” I’d offered, “if you like.” She turned her gaze on me, a sparkle in her eyes that I hadn’t recognized at the time for what it was—cunning. She’d smiled demurely.

“To be taught by the High General would be an honor indeed.”

I’d explained each piece, the movements they could make, the keys to the game. She’d watched intently, a most studious pupil. She’d tentatively made moves, reaching towards pieces and then changing her mind again.

“And the steed—” she’d said.

“The Knight,” I’d corrected.

“Ah, yes, the Knight , he can move…here?” she’d questioned, biting her lip as she moved the piece in question across the board. I’d tried very hard to ignore how attractive that was. I’d failed miserably.

“Yes, very good.”

We’d played several games, with me beating her rather easily each time, of course.

“Ok, ok, I’m starting to really understand, I think. Let’s play again.”

“Alright,” I’d agreed, enjoying the time we were spending.

“Would you allow me to ride Xerxes?” she’d asked casually as she made her initial move.

“Absolutely not. I know he allows you to pet him, but being near him and being atop him are very different things. He could kill you in seconds.” She’d pressed her lips into a line, that calculating look in her eyes.

“How about a wager then? If I beat you, you allow me to try—with you close by to intervene if necessary—to ride him.”

I’d all but scoffed, knowing how ridiculous the wager was, but deciding to humor her since she wanted to make it for whatever reason.

“Alright then.” Her eyes had lit at my agreement and it had warmed my chest. “And if I win?”

“Anything you want, Alaric,” she’d said and I don’t know that she meant for the words to come out quite so sensually. I’d had to clear my throat before answering.

“A debt to be named at a later time then, agreed.” She nodded and we began playing. I’d found myself focusing less on the game and more on my opponent. On the way the firelight brought out the gold flecks in her green eyes; on the way she twirled a curl around her finger when she was concentrating on the board or ran her finger over the ring on her right hand; on the way she absently ran her tongue along her bottom lip sometimes when she glanced up to my own. It had been all I could do not to throw the chess board and table between us aside and pull her into my lap, to slam my lips to hers until we were breathless.

But then I’d straightened, too late realizing what had happened. I’d narrowed my eyes at her, but she only grinned: I was already beaten and she knew it.

“Check mate,” Dahlia said before leaning back and crossing her arms over her chest, an extremely self-satisfied grin on her face.

“You…you little wench ,” I’d said in genuine astonishment, looking at the board in disbelief. And then, I’d laughed. Lightly at first, and then a deep, full laugh that shook my shoulders and warmed my chest. Dahlia had blinked, her lips parting on a soft exhale.

“What?” I’d asked eventually.

“I’ve never seen you smile,” she’d said, sounding a little dazed. “ Really smile.”

“Oh,” I’d said, clearing my throat. “Well, it doesn’t happen often, I suppose.”

“It should,” she’d said simply. She’d held my gaze and I thought that if it made her happy, I would smile like a lunatic for the rest of my days.

“And where, pray tell, did you learn to play chess like that?” I’d demanded.

“Lord Burren taught me when I was ten. We used to play every week. I got quite good,” she said with a modest shrug, but there was a proud, cocky glint in her eye that made me fall even more in love with her right then and there.

“Though you are a cheating, conning harlot,” I’d said with a smile and she’d laughed out loud, grinning back, “you can attempt to mount Xerxes tomorrow afternoon, but I make no promises past that.”

Of course, the damned horse had not only let her ride him without so much as a huff of annoyance, the two of them seemed to have some strange connection I can’t even comprehend. It was as if she had been made for the horse, and he for her. They were perfect together, moving as if they were one creature without a shred of shared blood between them. Of course, they were connected in a round-about way with her being my mate, but it was more than that. This was simply something of the divine that couldn’t be explained, a connection between souls.

We’ve ridden several times together through the rolling hills and thick forests surrounding the camp and they’ve been some of the best times of my life. I don’t know if that’s pathetic or not, but it’s true. The feel of my horse beneath me, the air and beauty of my home surrounding me, the sight of Dahlia beside me, taking it all in and seeming to love it as much as I do—it’s damn near perfect. When we rode just last night the thought hit me like a lightning bolt as I watched her gaze in wonder at a hidden waterfall I’d found years ago.

I love her. I really fucking love her.

Things have most definitely changed between us. I don’t know that she could possibly feel the same as I do, but she seems to genuinely enjoy our time together and that’s enough for me. It has to be enough. There are very few people in this world that I let see my true self: Elias, of course, Sebastian, and Fiona. Even my other siblings are more like acquaintances than family or friends and though I’m less rigid with them than I am with most others, my inner circle as it were consists of only three. Four now, I suppose.

So, needless to say, I have no real fucking clue how to navigate this new…relationship with Dahlia.

She, on the other hand, seems to have no trouble at all in adapting to our new circumstances. I’m not surprised, of course. Everyone that crosses her path seems to fall in love with her. I am nothing special in that regard. But there have been moments. Heavy moments. Moments where it took every ounce of strength I possess not to give in to what I so badly wanted. Moments that I knew without a doubt that she wanted almost as badly as I did. I know the blood I gave her is somewhat responsible for that, but…I don’t think it’s only that. It may be wishful thinking, but I believe that she might want me all on her own. She’s slowly moved closer each night on the couch, inching ever closer, testing…and I’ve only craved having her closer. I should stop this, should make her keep her distance, but I can’t . I physically can’t force her away. It’s too hard, it hurts too much.

Now, I make my way towards the ring where Dahlia is working on weapons training. I’ve been getting regular reports on her progress, but I can’t help but want to see it for myself. They’ve been using one of the older training areas, not used by most of the soldiers, so the area is nearly deserted as I approach. She convinced me that her guard doesn’t need to follow her around every moment within the camp, and I grudgingly agreed that she was safe within the walls and that they only need to escort her outside. They are also to watch her any time I’m away from the camp, though discreetly, but she doesn’t need to know that.

My entire body reacts the moment I see her. She’s in training gear, the pants and top cut close to her body so as not to interfere, but a softer material than leather to allow for easier movements. They hug her in all the right places, and make me wonder why I haven’t been watching every session before now.

They’re working on throwing knives at a dummy stuffed with straw, and based on the number of blades scattered on the ground—and the lack of ones actually sticking into the target—this may not be my mate’s forte. I stay in the shadow of the nearby shed, watching as she pulls her arm back to let another blade fly. It sails almost a whole yard wide of the dummy.

“Fucking hells,” she yells in frustration, kicking out at a nearby bucket of water. The bucket flies a few feet, water sloshing over the sides and splashing on Nova’s legs. She watches the water and then looks up pointedly at Dahlia with a quirk of her brow. “I’m not sorry,” Dahlia says a bit peevishly, making me grin in my shadowed hiding place.

“You need to release later,” the female vampire says, clearly amused by Dahlia’s response.

“Really? Because five minutes ago I needed to release earlier. And five minutes before that I needed to move my arm more this way, and before that ?—”

“Ok, ok, calm down, Clayburn.” Ravenswood—Wesley. I’m trying to remember to use their given names since they are friends of Dahlia’s and she speaks of them often—collects the fallen blades and strides towards Dahlia.

“Don’t tell me to calm down, you mule’s arse,” she snaps. “I can’t do this.”

Wesley rolls his eyes. “Yes, you can. Look, fix your feet. With your balance off, you can hardly expect to throw straight. There you go, that’s better. Now,” he says as he sidles up behind her, placing his body far too close to hers. He places his arm behind hers, guiding her body with his in the movements. Though I know that there is nothing between the two of them—Dahlia seemed to make a point of telling me that fact more than once—it doesn’t matter: instincts flare and I suddenly want to tear Wesley’s head from his body and use his spine as a candle holder on my mantle. My claws and fangs flash out and rage boils in my chest, melting my bones. I have just enough wherewithal to think logically and not murder one of my most promising young soldiers.

But I can’t stay in the shadows and watch any longer. In a heartbeat I’m beside the two of them, trying desperately to keep my temper in check. It would be disastrous if someone guessed what Dahlia truly means to me.

“High General,” Nova gasps, quickly snapping to attention. Wesley wisely steps away from Dahlia, standing at attention as well.

“High General,” he says, inclining his head. “An honor to have you here, sir. We’re working on throwing knives.”

Dahlia stares, a soft heat warming her cheeks. Her hair is in a thick plait on the side of her head, but a few strands have escaped and curl against her temples. She’s got a smudge of dirt across her cheek and my fingers twitch. I barely resist the urge to wipe it away and grind my teeth at how ridiculous that is. I hold Dahlia’s gaze, but direct my question to Wesley.

“And how are we faring?”

“She’s shit, if I’m being honest,” he says, a hint of a smile on his lips. My own curl up slightly as her mouth pops open in utter outrage. She whirls on him, every bit the firebrand I know she can be.

“You traitorous little weasel!” She pummels him in the arm and he lets her, laughing. He dances around, evading her but letting her get a few licks in. Their comradery is palpable and I’m happy that she’s found something like it here at the camp. Nova chuckles and steps towards me.

“She’s not really, sir” she says. “Just needs a bit more practice and needs to mind her balance. She’s done very well with hand-to-hand.”

“May I?” I ask, loud enough to interrupt the fight, and Dahlia finally stops hitting Wesley, turning to slowly stare at me.

Wesley bows to me and offers one of the knives to Dahlia, hilt first. She takes it, seemingly having forgotten all about his traitorous words from a moment ago. She swallows hard but steps up to her spot.

“Go ahead,” I tell her. She eyes me for a moment and I nod, and she finally sighs and turns back towards the target. She steps and throws, the knife bouncing off the ground at the dummy’s feet.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck ,” she grits out, running her hand over her hair, tossing her braid angrily off her shoulder. I hold my hand out to Wesley who places another blade in it. I take a deep breath and step forward, putting my body behind Dahlia’s as Wesley had done moments ago. I grit my teeth as my eyes slide closed for a long, blissfully agonizing moment. To have her so close, to feel the heat of her against my chest, to have only to lean down a few precious inches to run my tongue or fangs along her throat. She inhales sharply, her heart racing, and my mouth waters and my cock pulses.

I clear my throat quietly and force every thought from my mind except what I know best: battle. I place the knife in her hand and reach down, settling my hands on her hips. Her heart stutters for a second and then slams against her chest so violently I think it might just burst through her body. I bite the inside of my cheek, the pain and blood grounding me for the moment. I use my grip to shift her hips and use one of my feet to shuffle hers farther apart.

“There. Shift your weight…that’s better.” I leave my left hand on her hip and guide her right arm back with my own. In a low voice, I say, “Now, you need to relax.”

“That’s…much easier said than done,” she says, voice breathy but amused, and I can’t help but huff out a small laugh.

“Try your best. Now, when you release, don’t flick your wrist, just release the blade as your hand moves downward. You aren’t throwing the knife, you’re guiding it to its target.”

“Is that not the same thing?”

“No, Keeva, it is not,” I say, fighting a smile. This is…fun. I’ve always enjoyed training my men, sharing knowledge and skill and watching them learn and improve, but sharing it with Dahlia is an unexpected thrill. I slowly move our arms in tandem, showing her the way her body should move and stopping where she should release her grip. “There. That’s where I want you to ease your grip on the blade and let it fly towards the target. Are you ready?” She nods and, through great effort and personal loss, I step away. She takes a deep breath and then throws the knife.

It sticks in the dummy’s right shoulder and she whirls, grinning.

“She can be taught!” Wesley shouts, looking to the heavens with arms spread wide in prayer and gratitude.

“Give me another knife,” Dahlia says, eyes narrowed at her friend. Friend , I remind myself again as the image of him pressed against her flashes, that terrible rage clawing at my chest once more. They are just friends. “I found a new target I want to hit.”

“Big talk from the girl who hit one out of thirty-seven attempts,” he mocks.

“You two are as bad as children, do you know that?” Nova says, stepping between the two, hands out to try to keep the peace.

“Well, I beat you when we were children and I’ll do it again!” Dahlia calls, trying to duck around Nova.

Wesley scoffs. “That was one time! And I was sick, if I might remind you.” He dances away and Dahlia chases him.

“Are they always like this?” I ask Nova.

“More often than not, sir,” she confirms, lips curling up slightly, and I find my own doing the same.