Chapter Eight
While the Wyr physician talked, she let go of the trunk and walked along her branch as casually as if she strolled along the side of a road. Her balance was immaculate.
Oberon almost laughed at her insouciance, but the long, draining years of battling the sorcerer’s assassination spell had killed off any lingering sense of humor he might have had.
Besides, she had a point. He had attacked her once. Part of him still wanted to do it again, wanted to feel her blood gushing between his teeth.
The other part remembered the heat of their shared kiss—not the chaste goodbye she had spoken of so apologetically, but the other one, when he had covered her body with his and fantasized about spearing her with more than just his tongue.
Look at her, strolling so far above his head with a complete lack of fear for any potential fall, her slender form held erect. She was almost catlike in her grace. Watching her made the lion inside him twitch. Her hair looked sleek as a mink’s, and her fine-boned features were chapped pink from the cold.
She was, he realized belatedly, quite beautiful in an understated way. She wasn’t his type. Even before he’d been attacked, he had preferred voluptuous curves and a willing, warm personality that didn’t demand much of his attention after lovemaking.
This woman would never be that kind of sexual partner. She would be spiky, intellectually challenging, and she would never consent to disappearing meekly into the woodwork after the deed was done.
Still… as frozen as he was inside, and as inappropriate as she was to his own tastes, he could appreciate the aesthetics of the view.
“Ticktock, King,” she said.
He refused to let her goad him into replying before he was ready. She would wait until he said something. She had invested too much to fly off precipitously now.
What would get her out of that blasted tree, back down to earth, and treating him again?
“I want to live more than I want anything else,” he said, truthfully. “I want it more than I want my kingdom, more than I want revenge against Isabeau, and more than I want to kill the damned sorcerer who did this to me—and I want all three of those things very badly.”
At that she paused to give him a sober look. But she didn’t leave her perch.
After a moment, he added, “It would be suicidal for me to attack and harm or kill the one person who might help me reclaim my health, and I’m not suicidal.” He met her bright amber gaze. “I find you strange, and you make me angry. You and I might not like each other, and we might not see eye to eye. None of that matters. If you work on healing me, I’ll do everything in my power to keep you safe while you do so. And if you free me of this infernal spell, I will lay the world at your feet.”
As he spoke, she squatted, rested one elbow on an upraised knee, and smiled at him, and it was as fierce as anything he had ever seen. “I’ll take that bargain.”
He grinned back, and for the first time in a very long, dark time, he felt hope ignite. “Excellent. Let’s begin.”
She shook her head. “Not today. We’ll start in the morning.”
In the morning?
He snapped, “Unacceptable! You’ll start immediately!”
“Unimpressed!” she snapped back. “You’re not my king, and I’m not your subject. I don’t take your orders. We’ll start when I say we start.”
As she spoke, he growled in warning. This time she went too far.
Raising one eyebrow, she laughed. “If you think you’re the first Wyr to ever growl at me, think again. Tonight, for the first time since crossing over, I’m going to get my needs met. I’m going to find somewhere safe in the city to build a hot fire, melt some water, and cook a good meal, and I’m going to sleep really well for as long as I can.” She pointed at him. “And if you’ve got any sense, you’ll do the same. You’re facing the fight of your life, and your body needs the fuel.”
Her attitude was so infuriating, he hated the fact that her words made sense. Eyes narrowed, he told her, “I’ve never met a more insufferable woman. Why didn’t you just say so in the first place?”
She did not appear to be distressed by his honest opinion. “Well, we’re even. Hats off to you, Oberon—even after years of dealing with Dragos, now that I’ve met you I’m surprised to say I’ve never met a more insufferable man.”
He bared his teeth at her, then burst out laughing, and that shocked him more than anything else had since he’d woken up. Her eyes widened, and she stared at him in frank astonishment.
“Go,” he told her. “Get your needs met, and I will see to mine. If you’re not back first thing in the morning, I’m coming to get you.”
“Don’t worry.” She shouldered her pack. “I’ll be back. I can’t wait to find out what happens next.” She paused to run her gaze down his form. “Have a good night. You’ve earned it.”
Stepping back, he watched as she shapeshifted into a falcon and launched into the air.
As it happened, he couldn’t wait to find out what happened next either.
Hands planted on his hips, he angled his head back to watch her fly away. He didn’t like it, that she was winging out of his sphere of control. What if she changed her mind and left? Other than an apparent fascination for his case, there was nothing holding her here. As she was so determined to point out, he had no hold over her.
Assuming she didn’t leave in the night, how could he get a hold over her? He was an accomplished magic user, but so was she. For every control spell he might throw, she could very well have one that counteracted it—and then if he tried to trap her and failed, he risked alienating her forever. If he broke the fragile trust they had managed to build between them, she would leave, and he would die.
Hmm.
Unable to take her advice and focus on food and rest, he went up to his suite to don shirt, coat, cloak, and gloves. He had no intention of sleeping. He had already been asleep for too long. Besides, Isabeau waited to haunt his nightmares.
After dressing, he headed into the dead city.
His dead city. He poked at himself, like poking at a sore tooth. He had ruined it. It was his responsibility.
It meant nothing to him. He didn’t care. Presumably the man he had once been would have been saddened and horrified to have driven his people away, but the man he was right now liked the desolation, the silence, and the strange twists of ice that the howling wind and sea had wrought over the years. It felt…
It felt like it mirrored the landscape inside him.
Every member of your court that I’ve met is more devoted than I would be. Based on what I’ve seen of your charming personality, I don’t get it.
Annwyn, Nik, Gawain and the others… they were devoted to the man he had once been. A man he might very well never be again. What if the doctor healed him but he stayed exactly the same? What if the Oberon that the Daoine Sidhe had known was gone forever?
If that happens, he thought, the rest of the Daoine Sidhe will have to find somewhere else to live. Because dead or not, this city is mine.
As he lifted his head and inhaled the chill sea air, he caught a whiff of woodsmoke and smiled. Aha. I’ve found you.
He tracked the smell of burning wood to the lower city, which baffled him. The doctor had bypassed all the grand estates that clustered around the palace on higher ground. Instead, she had chosen to go into the lower city. That area had sustained a lot more damage over the years as the sea levels had risen, and he had to pick his way through broken streets.
Finally he located her at the site of what had once been a large, popular inn at the intersection of two major roads. The main taproom had been flooded several times, he saw, when he looked in the broken doors.
But, assuming she’d found an intact store of food somewhere, there were plenty of bedrooms on the upper story that would provide decent enough shelter, and also enough fuel for a wood fire. If she were ambitious, she could even melt enough water in one of the bathtubs to take a bath.
He climbed to the roof of the abandoned shop across the street, and after a time his patience was rewarded. He caught cracks of golden light gleaming from the edges of closed storm shutters at one bedroom, and the woodsmoke took on the rich scent of cooking bacon.
A corner of his mouth notched up, and he relaxed. The doctor wasn’t going anywhere. She was doing exactly what she said she would.
Still, he stayed at his post far into the night, until the scent of cooking bacon gave way to plain woodsmoke again and the last of the golden light faded from the edges of the shutters.
Only when a deep, frozen silence blanketed the city did he make his way back to the shadowed luxury of the darkened palace.
* * *
When Kathryn woke the next morning, she felt like a million bucks.
The night before she had eaten too much bacon, and she wasn’t sorry. What’s more, after eating she revived enough to hack chunks of ice from the thick layers that coated the inn’s roof.
After stacking the ice in a bathtub in one of the bathrooms, she threw a simple heat spell repeatedly until the ice melted and warmed enough for a quick, shallow bath.
To top off her evening of luxurious frivolity, the fire she’d built in one of the bedrooms actually threw off heat until the room turned deliciously toasty. The bedding she had found smelled musty, but she didn’t care. After a while the room was warm, the covers were soft, her belly was full, and her hair was clean again.
After waking, she felt reluctant to leave her nest, but she had promised that blasted cat she would be with him first thing in the morning, so she rose, ate cold, leftover bacon, more cheese and mixed nuts, and dressed for the day in her last clean outfit.
Later, she would have to do something about either cleaning her clothes or foraging for new ones. She would also need to locate more food and possibly a long overdue bottle of liquor. But overall, she was in far better shape than she had been the day before.
After brushing her teeth with minty toothpaste powder from a small tin stowed in her toiletries kit, she packed up her belongings, shrugged on her backpack, and hiked to the palace.
On the return, she caught Oberon’s scent almost immediately. Had he followed her to the inn? That felt creepy, but maybe he had been worried she would go back on her word and take off without telling him.
She was still chewing over how she felt about him stalking her as she rounded a corner and the palace came into view.
The lowering, malevolent presence had lifted from the city, and it was shortly after dawn. With the lifting of the unnatural cold, outside it felt like a normal winter’s day. She guessed the temperature was around thirty degrees Fahrenheit. She felt quite comfortable in her winter coat, and she carried her fur-lined cloak draped over one forearm.
Brilliant early-morning sun underscored the moody clouds in the winter sky. The dawn light poured rosy beams over the pillars of the golden palace façade and the immense alabaster lion reclining on the palace steps.
Her stride hitched. The lion was magnificent. What a shame the man was so detestable.
Oberon’s impenetrable, cracked-ice gaze tracked her progress as she climbed up the broad steps to him.
“Good morning,” she said. “Did you sleep?”
No. Since he was in his animal form, his blunt reply was telepathic. Your vocal cords have healed.
“I told you all I needed was hydration and rest.”
Very good. Then you are ready to begin.
“I am. Where would you like to go? I assume you don’t want to be examined here on the front steps of your house.”
Leisurely, the lion stood. The tiny hairs at the nape of her neck prickled, and she had to force herself not to jump back. Standing, he was as big as a horse. If he managed to land a direct blow on her, he could crush her with one of those immense paws. She had already seen for herself that he was blindingly fast for his size.
She was much smaller, much lighter, and faster. That and the fact that she could go airborne were her two major advantages. If he took her by surprise, she wouldn’t stand a chance.
He paused when she did. Is there a problem, Doctor?
The heavy sense of his presence, like dark chocolate, poured over her. She repressed a shiver. She loved dark chocolate. “Not at all,” she told him in her best crisp, professional voice. “Please lead the way.”
When the lion padded ahead of her, she felt marginally better. Trailing behind by several yards, she followed him through a part of the palace she had not yet explored.
When he pushed open double doors to a large office, she looked around with interest at the large room. Windows overlooked the back gardens. Bookcases lined the walls, filled with all manner of books, interspersed with paintings coated with the patina of age.
There were a couple of sitting areas that had been created with heavy, comfortable furniture along with rich, thick rugs, a large marble fireplace at one end, and a massive desk at the other. This was Oberon’s personal office.
Like most of the palace, the room had an air of neglect about it. Dust coated the furniture, and the artwork needed a good cleaning, but a new large pile of firewood had been stacked on the hearth. He had prepared for their meeting.
As the lion strolled toward the fireplace, he changed shape and became the man. Oberon wore a different outfit as well—leather pants, boots, and a white shirt underneath a dark gray jacket that had been fitted to his large, powerful frame. He looked almost urbane, until she glanced at that strange cracked-ice gaze that was so like the lion’s.
He squatted in front of the fireplace and quickly, competently stacked the wood for a fire. With a flick of his fingers and a tingle of magic, he set the wood ablaze.
Then with a powerful grace that belied his size, he rose to his full height and turned. “What now, Doctor?”
She realized she had been staring, and she tore her gaze away from him to focus on one of the bookcases. “Do you have a blank journal I could use?” she asked. “I’d like to take notes.”
Wordlessly, he went to his desk and pulled out a leather-bound notebook from a drawer. As she took it from him, she looked at the priceless workmanship of the tooled leather. She flipped through the empty pages. They had all been hand pressed. She passed her fingers over it lightly, savoring the quality. If she had been in New York, she would have grabbed a disposable legal pad.
“There’s something wrong with it?” He frowned.
“Not at all. It’s beautiful. Thank you.” She looked up. “Let’s start by talking for a while, shall we? We did a lot of sparring yesterday that didn’t get us very far. Today I want to discuss your symptoms.”
His expression tightened with impatience. “Is that really necessary? We already know we need to extract the needle from my chest. Talking isn’t going to solve anything.”
“That’s certainly one point of view,” she acknowledged. “Here’s another one: you have an immensely sophisticated magic spell that you’ve been battling for years, yet despite your obvious magical talent, you haven’t managed to defeat it.”
“Neither have you, yet,” he pointed out.
She decided to ignore that dig and told him quietly, “I think it’s naïve to expect there haven’t been consequences. So, while we certainly need to get that needle out, I want to see if we can bring you back to the man you were before you were attacked. I want to eradicate any trace of Isabeau’s influence on your life. To me, that would be the real triumph. But you’re the patient. What do you want to achieve?”
“Freedom,” he growled. There was repressed violence in the long, taut lines of his body. He made the large, airy room feel small and closed in. “I want to be completely free of that evil bitch, and then I want to destroy her and spit on her grave.”
She didn’t know him well enough to predict what behavior might result from such volcanic anger. Subtly, she checked behind her to make sure she had a clear path to the open door if she needed it. “Excellent,” she said. “So, let’s talk, shall we?”
He expelled a sharp sigh. “Fine. We’ll do it your way.”
She gestured to his desk. “Do you mind if I sit at your desk?”
“Whatever, Doctor,” he snapped, his icy gaze filled with storms. He prowled the expanse of the room. “Just get started.”
She didn’t waste any time but slipped behind the desk. Setting her backpack on the floor, she sat in his chair and opened the journal. Damn it, she needed something to write with, and the pencils she had found a few days ago presumably still lay scattered and broken on his trashed bedroom floor.
When she cleared her throat delicately, he whirled to face her. She raised her eyebrows inquiringly and indicated his drawers. He sliced the air impatiently with one hand, which she decided to take as permission to poke around.
Quickly she found an inkwell still holding plenty of ink, a stylus, and a blotter. Being well acquainted with all three tools, she soon situated herself to her own satisfaction.
“Tell me what happened when you were attacked,” she said. As he stared at her, she added, “Help me to understand how you got from there to here. I know that spans a huge amount of time and you’ll need to summarize, but I want to hear anything you think is relevant—what you sensed and what you felt along the way and any physical, mental, or emotional symptoms you’ve had. You can clearly feel the magic working inside you, and you were able to gauge it well enough to know that you needed to put yourself into stasis. What does it feel like?”
He didn’t answer at first. Instead, he paced through the spacious office as if it were a cage, even though the door stood wide open. At first she sat poised to take notes, but after a few moments she set down the stylus, stripped off her winter coat, and sat back in his chair while she waited.
Reluctantly, pity crept through her. She might not like him very much, but chronic illness or injury were very difficult things to cope with, especially when one had previously been gifted with the abundance of long life and health that so many of the Elder Races enjoyed.
Friends and family of those afflicted didn’t know how to cope either, and often those battling with adverse physical conditions also had to contend with isolation, judgment, and lack of empathy from those they had previously felt close to.
Was that what had happened between him and Annwyn?
Finally he turned to face her. “I won’t bother telling you what happened. Instead, I’ll show you.”
She sat very straight. What did he mean? If he intended to initiate some kind of deep telepathic bond to share imagery with her, she wasn’t comfortable getting that close to him.
But he made no move to approach. Instead, he unfurled one long, big hand in her direction. For a brief moment, she felt a tingle of his magic, and then a scene appeared in front of her.
It wasn’t a telepathic connection that occurred inside her own head. Instead, it looked like a pale, transparent holographic image that overlaid the landscape of the office.
Instantly entranced, she rose to her feet as she stared at the scene.
A transparent image of Oberon himself stood at the edge of what looked like a dance floor. The Oberon of the past was dressed in a severe black coat, pants, and boots. His dark hair was longer and tied back in a queue, and his richly embroidered coat glittered with jet.
After taking in his appearance, her gaze swept over the rest of the scene. Snow appeared to cover the ground at his feet, and the dancers that swept by were fantastically dressed in brilliant costumes, their faces obscured by elaborate masks. Behind him, nearby bonfires blazed with light.
She had read accounts of how splendid the Daoine Sidhe King’s masques had been. Even though everything in the vision was transparent, the detail was so precise she could almost hear a far-off tinkle of music and feel the roaring heat from the fires.
When the past Oberon turned to face the dance floor, her attention snapped back to him. His masculinity was so raw and overwhelming she was surprised at how elegant he managed to appear.
Smiling, he held out his hands, and snowflakes of ice, glittering with reflected gold and silver from the light of the nearby fires, fell over the scene. Dancers stopped, and everyone looked up. Silent laughter flashed over their faces, and they applauded.
She barely took it all in before staring at the vision of Oberon again. The difference between this past version of him and his present self was striking. Quickly she strode around the edge of the desk to get a closer look.
It was undeniably him. The man in the vision had the same bold, intensely masculine features with strong bones, a neatly trimmed beard, and that astonishingly sensual mouth. But the resemblance ended there.
This man’s smile was keen and bright, and it lit up his face. He was enjoying himself and the people around him. His dark eyes sparkled.
His dark eyes…
She was so caught up that when he slapped a hand to his neck and spun around, she jumped.
There, not ten feet away, stood a man dressed in plain black, holding a reed. Even though he wore a black domino, she recognized him immediately. It was Morgan, of course.
The Oberon in the vision appeared to shout, and he lunged forward before crumpling to the ground. Everything in the vision whirled. Staggering from the optical illusion, she had to clutch at the edge of the desk to keep her balance. For a brief moment she saw everything as if she were lying on the ground, looking up.
Then the real Oberon clenched his hand into a fist, and the vision stopped.
Only then did she realize how rapid her breathing had become. Forcing her lungs to stop working overtime, she stared at him.
“Have you seen enough?” His tone was cold and bored.
“I certainly saw more than I expected to.” Forgetting any discomfort with his proximity, she strode over until she stood toe-to-toe with him and peered up at his face.
His strange irises looked even more unsettling close up. They resembled ice and snow on black rocks—or no, more like an iced-over lake fractured with deep cracks.
His heavy, dark brows drew together. “What are you doing?”
“Oberon, what color are your eyes?”
Quick impatience flashed across his hard features. “Isn’t it obvious?”
“It would be logical to assume so,” she murmured. Reaching up, she touched his hard jaw and gently urged his head from side to side. Despite his ill temper, he complied, looking first at his desk and then at the fireplace. “Please humor me and answer the question.”
Jerking his chin out of her grasp, he snapped, “Brown, of course.”
She turned away and strode to her backpack. As she knelt to open it and rummage through the contents inside, she remarked, “I gather you haven’t looked at yourself in a mirror since you woke up.”
He took in a deep breath. “Doctor, kindly explain what the fuck you’re going on about.”
Even when he agreed to cooperate, he had to argue and fight with her at every turn. Shaking her head, she finally located what she sought and pulled out her toiletries kit. Inside, she kept a small fold-up mirror.
Opening it, she stood and held it out to him. “Look at your eyes.”
Striding over, he snatched at the mirror and held it up.
As his silence stretched out, she asked, “Not what you were expecting to see?”
He clicked the mirror shut and handed it back to her. “No.”
Fascinating. She almost leaped back to the desk to start taking notes. “What other symptoms have you experienced since the attack?”
Reluctance evident in every word, he replied, “I don’t feel cold, but I thought that might have been from my transforming into full Wyr. The lion is a very warm animal.”
Every alpha male patient she’d ever had hated to discuss symptoms, as if confessing to them meant they were admitting to some weakness.
She shook her head, writing furiously. “Maybe it’s because you’re Wyr now,” she told him. “You’ll certainly be warmer than you used to be. But maybe it isn’t. Do you feel heat?”
“No,” he told her. “Not without directly putting my hand into flames.” As she looked at him quickly, he added dryly, “I know because I’ve tried it.”
“Okay.” She made another note. “What else?”
“Over time, as the spell got closer to my—to its target, I stopped feeling other things.” He began to pace again while he recited the words as if the experience had happened to someone else. “I stopped… caring. That love and loyalty you say that members of my court have toward me—I remember feeling that for them. I remember having the emotions, but I no longer experience them. In fact, I only feel two things anymore: anger and lust.”
She stopped writing, suddenly inundated with the memory of yesterday’s encounter. The feeling of his mouth moving so urgently over hers as he speared her with his tongue. The delicious sense of weight as he shifted to lie on top of her, and the thick, heavy feeling of his erection pressing against her hip.
For one shocking, mindless moment it had been glorious.
His voice sounded softly in her ear, deep and dark as the ocean and rough with the lion’s purr. “But I do feel anger and lust very deeply, Doctor.”
She had gotten so lost in her reverie she hadn’t noticed he had come around to her side of the desk, and she nearly leaped out of her skin. “For crying out loud, Oberon! Back up and give me some personal space!”
She listened to her own exclamation with deep dismay. That was supposed to have come out much more sharply than it had. Instead of sounding disapproving and offended, her voice had sounded as breathless as a gasp.
“Are you sure that’s what you really want?” Callused fingers traced the line of her jaw, down the side of her neck, and lightly pressed against the very spot where he had sucked so hungrily at her pulse. She remembered. Oh, she remembered it all too well. The shadow of his body fell over hers on the desk as he bent over her, and his lips brushed against the sensitive shell of her ear as he whispered, “Or wouldn’t you rather experiment with just how deep and hard my feelings can really go?”