Chapter Four
Traveling the passageway at the manor house was certainly the most idiosyncratic crossover Kathryn had ever experienced.
A very long time ago, Morgan le Fae—she must remember to call him Garanhir and not something that was so offensive to him—had broken the crossover passageway in an ancient battle between Isabeau’s Light Court and the Daoine Sidhe. Then Kathryn’s idiotic ancestor had the perfect lack of good sense to build the manor house on top of the broken land magic.
Sophie had figured out the correct path through the broken pieces that would still lead to Lyonesse. It had involved descending into an oubliette and digging a tunnel, which had since been widened and supported with timber beams.
As Kathryn emerged from the tunnel behind Gawain, intense cold slapped her face. Pausing outside the entrance, she took a deep breath and looked around.
It was night in Lyonesse, with lowering clouds and bitter winds. Wilderness slashed across an uneven horizon that was broken with rock. The only illumination came from flickering torchlights and campfires from the troops stationed on the spot.
No halogen lighting. No electricity. No cars, no planes, no asphalt. In response, her Wyr side, the wildest part of her, surged up in fierce joy.
She looked over the tents and the raw timber frames of what would soon be structures. Sophie had kept Kathryn updated on various details of her new life regularly, and according to her emails they had started building the shelters months ago.
But since a fortnight in Lyonesse would take six months or more of Earth time to pass, here they had just begun to build the housing that would be necessary to keep the troops and their mounts in safety.
She followed Annwyn to the largest campfire, content to study the scene with reined-in glee while the general conferred with the soldiers huddling close to the warmth.
Rowan touched her arm. “Would you like to step inside one of the tents? We could get a hot drink for you.”
She hadn’t even resorted to putting up her hood yet and shook her head. “I’m good, thanks.”
“Okay, but don’t hesitate to say if you get too cold.”
“Will do.”
Annwyn turned back to them, frowning. “Robin has refused to stay in the camp, but he must be close by. Rowan and Gawain, circle the clearing and call out for him.” Her frustrated gaze met Kathryn’s briefly. “He’ll show up when he’s ready to, I guess.”
Kathryn nodded as she continued to peruse the area.
Annwyn switched to telepathy. About Robin. Just so you know, he’s a puck—a nature sprite, which means he’s wilder than most.
She noted the other woman made no mention of old resentments or tensions. Was Annwyn unaware of them, or was she simply giving the kind of warning she thought was suitable for a visitor to hear?
Over the years, Kathryn had talked to countless families of patients and had heard and seen it all—justifications, arguments, enablers, outright hostility, love, hate, hope, lies, despair. Who knew what the truth was in Annwyn’s case—and who cared? Kathryn had one job: healing Oberon. Anything else was superfluous.
I appreciate you telling me, she replied, filing the conversation away in case it became useful to her mission.
The troops had started to widen a natural clearing, and raw tree trunks studded the ground along the tree line. Also, she noted, shelter for their cattle had come first. They had already erected one wall of what would be a proper stable, and a rough roof of sorts comprised of pine tree boughs had been piled on top of the building frame. Campfires were positioned at both ends of the partial shelter. In the reflected light, she could see the animals standing close together, draped in heavy blankets.
Horses and cows could tolerate pretty cold temperatures—twenty degrees Fahrenheit or lower if they had to—so the fact that the Daoine Sidhe were emphasizing their safety indicated how bitter the temperatures must get at night.
As if Annwyn had read her mind, the other woman said, “Lyle tells me the bad weather has been coming in waves. I don’t know what that means about Oberon’s condition, if anything, other than he’s still alive. We’re in a lull right now.”
Kathryn nodded again. “Hopefully they’ll get the barn finished before the next wave hits. Then if worse comes to worst, they can shelter with the animals.”
The other woman nodded. “That was their thinking. The cattle throw off a lot of heat. It’s a bit smelly to bunk with the animals, but overall it’s a good survival tactic.”
As they chatted, Kathryn’s gaze fell on the area designated as the woodpile. Several cords had already been cut and stacked neatly, and still more lay in haphazard piles around the trunks that were being used to split the wood.
In the darkest shadow behind the cord farthest from the fire, a pair of eyes watched her.
The eyes themselves were so deep in shadow they were almost as dark as the rest of the night. Someone with lesser eyesight wouldn’t have seen it, but Kathryn’s vision was unusual even among the Wyr. Because of her animal form, she could pick out small prey from very long distances and a rabbit from up to two miles away.
She said nothing about the presence behind the woodpile. Instead, she positioned herself to face it and looked back steadily.
I see you. She didn’t say it, either aloud or telepathically. She didn’t have to. She merely waited.
Her patience was soon rewarded.
There was a flicker of barely seen movement. Then a figure in the shape of a tall, thin teenage boy detached from the shadows and walked toward the campfire.
Any potential resemblance to youth ended as the creature grew closer. Kathryn inspected him with interest. He had spiky, nut-brown hair, a thin, wild face and ageless, feral eyes.
While everyone else was bundled against the cold, he wore pants, boots, and a woolen coat left carelessly open. He also wore a rather odd scarf, royal blue with gold buttons, but he wore no gloves on hands that had too many fingers, and when he smiled he had too many teeth as well, and they were sharp and white.
Whatever form he might choose to wear, those teeth revealed something useful about his real nature. Those were a predator’s teeth.
“You must be Robin,” she said as he drew near. “I’m Kathryn Shaw.”
“I am indeed,” Robin said. “And I am a host of other names besides. I’ll be betting you have other names and titles too. But which is the truest?”
As the only heir to an English title, it so happened that Kathryn did have other names and titles, but the only relevant title she cared about was the one she had earned through her own sweat equity.
His question was probably nothing more than playfulness, but it still caught at her. Which one was the truest—falcon or doctor? She didn’t know.
“Thankfully,” she replied, “we can be more than one thing simultaneously.”
Annwyn had turned away to talk to the spokesman from the local troops again, and she spun back around. “Robin! There you are. The troops are already mustering. We will be ready to ride shortly.”
The puck ignored her, his attention focused on Kathryn. “My Sophie knows a Dr. Kathryn Shaw and loves her.”
My Sophie—both affectionate and possessive. She smiled. “Yes, that’s me. And my Sophie knows and loves a puck named Robin.”
Flinging out one narrow hand, he bowed. “’Tis I, although I was not in this form when we met, nor was I capable of any speech at the time.” As he straightened to his full height again, his smile had disappeared. “She saved my life, at much risk to hers.”
“She’s very brave,” she said. “And generous. I just finished having tea, sandwiches, and scones with her. I know she would love to see you again, whenever that becomes possible.”
The strange creature’s expression shadowed, eyelids lowering. “Perhaps there will be time enough again for that one day.” When he looked up again, his gaze pierced her. He said, “I will carry you.”
It was an assent to a question that Kathryn had not realized had been asked. She wasn’t quite sure how to respond, so she kept it simple. “Thank you.”
At that he shapeshifted into a huge black stallion with fiery eyes and long, feathery black hair at the fetlocks that covered massive hooves. The transition was so abrupt and the stallion’s presence so Powerful, Kathryn fell back a step before she could catch herself.
According to the others she had talked to, Robin was a great many things, but at the moment he was simply magnificent.
“I have two bags,” she told him apologetically. It didn’t seem right for this wonderful creature to be used as a beast of burden, but he had offered.
He shook his head impatiently. “They mean nothing. Put them on my back.”
“All right.” She already had straps she could use to connect her packs. While the twenty troops who would travel with them gathered with their mounts, she knelt and buckled the packs together, then slung them over the stallion’s neck.
He stamped one great hoof and snapped, “I will not tolerate a saddle or bridle.”
She looked into his ferocious eyes. “I would never dream of suggesting it.”
“Then climb on.”
When she started to, a hand on her arm stopped her.
Annwyn said, “Robin can’t teleport like the Djinn can, but when he chooses to, he can move very fast. Falling at such a speed would probably be fatal.” She said to the puck, “Robin, please rethink the saddle and bridle just this once.”
“No,” Kathryn said. When they both turned to stare at her, she told them, “I won’t fall. It will be okay.”
“I don’t want to take the time to argue with you,” Annwyn said impatiently. “You know how much is at stake here.”
Kathryn regarded her and said again, “I won’t fall.”
The other woman pulled a sour expression. “Prove me right, and if the fall doesn’t kill you, I might.”
Then one of her men called to her, and she pivoted on one foot to stalk away.
Kathryn looked at the puck. “Did I refrain from rolling my eyes at that?”
The stallion tilted his head as if he wasn’t quite sure what he had heard.
She added, “I couldn’t tell. I was too busy trying to control myself.”
Stamping one hoof again, he snorted. It sounded quite like horsy laughter. He told her again, “Climb on.”
Not all the other troops had mustered, so it seemed a bit too soon to subject him to her weight. Still, she was beginning to feel the cold, and sitting on his back would be warmer than letting her feet turn to blocks of ice, so she turned and strode away, then whirled and raced toward him. With a leap, she landed on his wide back.
From somewhere nearby, someone let out a low whistle and slow clap. Suppressing a smile, she edged closer to the stallion’s shoulders and arranged the weight of her two packs so that they fell on her knees on either side.
The stallion shook his head and arched his neck. “You may hold on to my mane.”
“That would be helpful,” she said gravely. Wanting to experiment with how much of a handhold would be comfortable, she gathered together a decent amount of the coarse raven hair and gripped it in one fist.
Without warning, the stallion leaped forward.
“Whoa!” she said sharply, more from surprise than anything else, and clamped down with her knees to maintain her seat. She caught a brief glimpse of Annwyn and other soldiers turning to stare, their faces filled with shock and dismay.
Annwyn roared, “ROBI—”
The wind snatched away the last of his name.
Powerful muscles surged underneath Kathryn, and the wind bit into her skin. The land plunged by so quickly, by the time she looked over her shoulder, the encampment at the crossover passageway had already disappeared.
What. The. Hell.
She didn’t know what was going on, but she knew for certain this was not what Annwyn believed would happen. They were supposed to travel as a group, but for some reason, Robin had decided to forge ahead on his own and leave the others behind.
The bones in her face were beginning to ache, but she didn’t want to risk letting go with one hand to pull her hood up. It might be impossible to sound calm while breathless, but she gave it a try. “Robin, I don’t like this. We weren’t supposed to leave them behind.”
The puck said, “That was not what I promised.”
There was a vicious note in his voice, and her heart sank. She had heard all too many tales of bargains made with ancient creatures that hadn’t been worded carefully enough. “But it’s what Annwyn believes. Turn around and go back. It’s not too late to fix this.”
This, whatever this was. This kidnapping?
He ignored her. Where was he planning on taking her?
She was tempted to wait to find out, but just as it wouldn’t have been fair to explore the manor house while the others waited, it didn’t seem fair to prolong whatever this was either.
Crouching low over the stallion’s back, she shapeshifted, and as soon as her body had transformed into a falcon’s, she launched. She thought of her packs regretfully as she flung upward, most especially her physician’s bag and the fire-starter kit she’d had for so long, but sometimes you just had to let go.
As she gained in height, she looked back at the puck. The stallion plunged around in a circle, completely at a loss, just as Annwyn and the troops had been moments ago. Rearing, he screamed at her in wordless rage and frustration.
She almost laughed except he was too dangerous, and she didn’t know what he would do next. For all she knew, he could shapeshift into a bird and follow her. From Sophie’s stories, he had been a small dog, and then a monkey as well as the horse.
Besides, flying away into the night wasn’t what she had come here to do either.
With an inward sigh, she wheeled on the wind and arrowed back to the puck. Landing some distance away, she shapeshifted back into her human form, put up her hood, and crossed her arms.
He had wheeled to face her and stood, head lowered, almost as if he were a bull and she a red flag.
“Why did you leave them behind?” she asked.
He said nothing. Every line in his body was furious and recalcitrant, as if he were a two-thousand-pound, stubborn child. Gods, what a thought.
Cautiously she walked forward. “If you don’t talk to me, I will fly away and not come back. Is that what you want?”
“Of course not.” He gnashed huge teeth at her.
“Did you ever have any intention of taking me to Oberon?”
His pause went on a little too long for her liking. “Yes. Eventually. Probably. Annwyn might have studied you. She might have decided you were safe to have around our king. But I haven’t, and I don’t listen to what Annwyn or anyone else in the Dark Court says.”
Sophie had been right. There was a long-held resentment, and possibly even jealousy, vibrating in those words.
In the meantime, the wind had grown even colder, and now both her cheeks and toes had gone numb. “I need my cloak, and it’s in one of the packs on your back,” she said. “Do you mind?”
He glowered. “No.”
Warily she approached, but he held still while she dug in the right pack to pull the cloak out. Shaking it out, she draped it around her shoulders and pulled the hood over that of her coat. Heaviness settled around her, but it was without warmth.
She was going to have to use one of her body warmers. Digging into the pack again, she pulled out a packet. Once she opened that and tucked it inside her coat, it began to put out a welcome heat that sank through her layers of clothing. Wrapping her arms around her chest, she hugged it close.
After a few minutes’ thought, she said, “I’m not on Annwyn’s side.”
He lifted his head to stare at her. “Whose side are you on?”
Nobody’s side. Not Annwyn’s. Not yours. She rejected each possible answer as it occurred to her, as she tried to figure out what he wanted to hear.
Then she told him the truth. “I’m on Oberon’s side. That’s always true whenever I take on a patient—I’m on their side, especially the children and those who can’t speak for themselves. Not their families. Not the courts. Theirs.” She paused. “Your king is going to die unless something is done for him.”
“Can you fix him?” Despite how he obviously wanted to keep his guard up, hope and need slipped into his voice.
“I don’t know. I can assess his condition, and I can do what is best for him—I will do everything I possibly can, but there’s no way I can know what that might be without examining him. And the truth is, I might not be able to do anything. Only one thing is certain, Robin. Your king is going to die unless something is done for him. Why didn’t you want to bring Annwyn and the troops with us?”
He stamped at the snow desultorily. Other than tangling his mane and tail, the wind and the massive cold didn’t seem to affect him at all. “I wanted to judge you for myself while they weren’t around. If you were a threat, I would take care of you.” He looked at her sidelong to see how she took his words.
He might be old, unpredictable, and dangerous, but he had nothing on a cantankerous, bullheaded dragon. She said gently, “You were looking after your king.”
“He told me to guard his place and watch them. A long time ago, Isabeau took me and held me captive for years. I failed him once. I won’t fail him again.”
Holding back a sigh, she thought, in the meantime, while you play out your guilt-ridden power fantasies, he is going to die unless something is done for him.
She bit back saying that too. Instead, she asked, “How long will it take them to reach the city on their own?”
He gave an equine equivalent of a scornful shrug. “Perhaps a fortnight?”
“Okay. You know what? I think you should pay attention to what your Sophie thinks, not what Annwyn says or does. Your Sophie would want you to take me to Oberon. You can shadow me all you like. You can ask whatever questions you need to ask, and you can watch any procedure I might need to do. And I can explain everything I need to do before I do it. How does that sound?”
“That’s a bargain I’m willing to accept.” He bared his teeth. “And I can be there to stop you if you try to harm him in any way.”
Annwyn would be beyond furious of course, but Kathryn had told Robin the truth when she’d said she wasn’t on Annwyn’s side. She was on Oberon’s side, and this was the fastest way she could get to see her patient for the first time.
“Of course.” She shrugged. “That too.”
* * *
Sometimes you could slog away at something for months or years and never seem to make any headway. A long project, a difficult situation, a challenging surgery. In a way, Kathryn’s journey to get to Lyonesse was like that—there had been so many moving parts, it had seemed to take forever.
And then suddenly life speeds up. You make a breakthrough, end the project, complete the difficult situation, finish the surgery. For Kathryn, that came the closest of anything she did to the feeling of flying while she was on the ground.
Until now.
Land streaked by as the stallion raced at a breakneck pace. She caught glimpses of the ever-changing landscape—sometimes it seemed like Scotland and at other times like Spain. It was its own unique place. Now she wanted to stop and sightsee. She couldn’t imagine when she would have the time. She would probably never get the chance.
At one point they raced along a seemingly endless shore while dark thunderclouds larger than cities towered overhead and the howling of the wind sounded like a live creature full of viciousness and teeth. Robin’s speed was incredible. They were traveling faster than she could fly.
And she loved it.
Leaning forward, she shouted, “Go faster!”
There was the slightest hitch in his stride. She had surprised him. Then he tossed his head and bugled in response. Stretching his body out, his long, powerful legs a blur, he raced faster. In that moment she forgave him everything—his recalcitrance, duplicity, obstructiveness, everything.
Just before dawn, as a knifelike light began to silver the restless shore, they came upon a dark, ruined city so quickly she could only snatch at details. Like the bones of an immense creature, the shadowed columns, roads, archways, and buildings flashed by, leaving behind an impression of broken grace and beauty. Half of it lay underwater, and what was left was covered in gargantuan swaths of ice and frozen icicles. It was a gorgeous, tragic place.
Once he stepped into the city, Robin had to slow down until he walked, picking his way along ruined causeways and climbing sides of aqueducts. Neither spoke, the eerie, howling wind ever present. She thought about offering to get down to walk but staying clenched in the same position throughout the long hours of the night had made her stiffen, and she decided not to mention it if he didn’t.
Soon they left the submerged part behind as the puck picked a route that led uphill, and something else began to intrude on her awareness. The crazy wind was getting to her. She shook her head, but the feeling persisted. Covering her ears with both gloved hands, she tried to concentrate.
A sense of danger slid icy fingers down her spine. There was a Power that resided here, and it felt dark, vengeful, and awake. Like a predator, it tracked their progress through the streets but chose not to attack, at least not yet. It felt like it was biding its time.
Twisting, she studied the empty streets around them and took in deep lungful of the briny air. She caught no scents other than land, stone, and sea.
Robin, she said telepathically. Something is tracking us. Do you sense that?
Yes. He sounded strangely peaceful. He knows we’re here.
Holy hells. For the first in what seemed like a very long time, she felt seriously shaken. That predatory, malevolent-feeling Power was Oberon?
I don’t get it, she thought. When all the members of the Dark Court spoke about Oberon, it was with a combination of love, pain, and respect, as if he was some kind of missing goddamn hero. How could they love this? It felt like a monster contemplating a slaughter. Oh Shaw, what have you gotten yourself into now?
“Wow, do I feel welcome,” she muttered.
The puck appeared to miss her tone of sarcasm completely. “You should. When Annwyn and the troops arrive, the storms will rage through the city until ice shards drive through glass, and midday will seem black as night. You will want to shelter in place when that happens.”
Surprise took her over. “What’s the difference between our arrival and theirs?”
“Me,” Robin said simply. “Maybe because I was the last one he saw before he fell to his sleep. Maybe because he gave me orders that I’m supposed to follow. No one knows for sure.”
Fell to his sleep.
The puck’s odd wording snagged her attention. It sounded ominous, like falling to his death. “Well, I’m glad I took you up on your offer to bring me. I had no idea just getting to him was going to be so difficult. What would happen if we split up?”
“I suggest you do not leave my side.”
Oh, no worries about that. She had no intention of doing so.
By the time they came up to the palace, it was almost anticlimactic. The structure was, she decided, very palace-y—a large sprawl of a stone building with crenellations along the top, turrets at each end, and rows of columns and arches along the front.
The design seemed almost Moorish and looked both attractive and defensible. A long scar along the ground that bordered the front of the building might once have been a functional moat. Now that area was nothing more than a slick-looking, frozen smear.
Many years of doing her job had taught her one thing: to grab any chance available to get her needs met while she could. As they approached the building, she dug into a pack and pulled out a piece of jerky to chew while she considered what came next.
“Would you take me directly to him?” she asked.
The surprise was back in his voice as he replied, “I thought we might rest? It has been a long journey for both of us.”
“I know you’re tired, and I am too,” she told him. “But from everything I was told, Oberon is supposed to be unconscious, yet his Power feels aware, and it appears to be reacting to stimuli. I would rather introduce myself right away in case he might be aware enough to take it in.”
“He is asleep.” The flat, uncertain note in the puck’s voice persisted.
She explained, “Comatose patients can be more aware than people think. Sometimes after they awaken, they report hearing voices and conversations that occurred around them while they were in their comas. I don’t know that Oberon is in a coma exactly, but I’d like to see if we can tell whether he will accept my presence. I don’t want to be attacked by some freak bout of weather while I’m trying to sleep.”
“You make a good point,” he said after a moment. “We will go to see him straightaway.”
“Thank you.”
They had reached the wide, icy palace steps. When Robin drew to a halt, she slid off his back and dragged her packs off. Stiffly she bent to unbuckle them while the puck shapeshifted. As she pulled them apart, one of his thin, strong hands came into view.
Wordlessly he took the lighter pack. He had born her weight plus both packs through the night, so she wasn’t about to complain. Straightening, she shouldered the other one. Then she followed him into the palace.
The interior was grand and abandoned. Normally she would have pored over every detail with intense fascination. Now she had neither the time or the energy. Spacious hallways, wide stairwells, and corridors all went by in a blur.
The sense of being watched by the dark Power intensified until the tiny hairs stood up on the back of her neck. Every Wyr sense she owned was screaming: Danger. Run.
But she did no such thing. She followed Robin down a wide, richly appointed corridor to a set of double doors made of a glossy, very dark wood. She almost expected Robin to pull out a key. Instead, he merely turned the knob and pushed the door open to a deeply shadowed room.
Oberon was in there. She knew it. She could feel it in the goose bumps raising on her arms and legs. This was the culmination of her long journey.
Here, the presence of the dark Power was almost unbearably intense. It felt like a thunderclap about to break against her skin. She half expected lightning to shear across the dark interior space.
Robin was looking at her as if he expected her to do something.
Setting down her pack, she sat down carefully on the floor at the edge of the doorway. Then, because she was who she was, she multitasked and pulled out a bag of the high-calorie, high-fat trail mix.
Shaking some into her hand, she popped it in her mouth. After chewing and swallowing, she said, “Your majesty, my name is Dr. Shaw, and I’ve traveled a very long way to meet you. I’m here to help you if I can, but I won’t attempt to do anything against your will. If you understand what I’m saying, please give me a sign that you consent to an examination.”
Then she paused. Nothing happened. Her wary gaze shifted sideways to Robin, who had squatted by her side. The puck stared at her intently. She tilted the bag toward him.
Slowly, his feral gaze never leaving her face, he reached into the bag and took a handful of the trail mix.
She turned her attention back to the shadowed room. “Sir, I have to ask you again, do I have your consent to examine you? Give me a sign, Oberon, or I’m going to go away. I was led to believe you were unconscious, but you’ve got too much raised Power to be completely unaware, and I’m not going to risk my life just to examine you. I’ll make this simple—do you want to live, or do you want to die? Because you’re headed for death just fine on your own, and you don’t need me to be here for that.”
She ate some more trail mix while she waited. Mmm, chocolate.
Nothing happened.
Disappointment made her shoulders sag. Okay then. Pushing to her feet, she said, “I’m going… Going…”
Just as she was about to say gone, the unbearable intensity in the Power shifted. It didn’t go away, but as she carefully assessed the change, it no longer felt like it was going to ram like a spike down her throat.
Suddenly magic arced like lightning, and light flared in round witchlights positioned around a richly appointed bedroom. The figure of a large man lay on the bed. His shape was a dark, heavy shadow against the crimson-and-gold bedcover.
She was going to ignore the fact that she had almost jumped out of her skin. She and Robin stared at each other, eyes wide.
“All right,” she whispered. “I’m going to take that as a consent to enter.” Even as she spoke, an unusual case of anxiety attacked her. Stepping inside that room felt like walking into the open mouth of a giant.
“I will enter with you,” Robin replied softly.
“Sure, okay,” she muttered, unimpressed. Oberon liked Robin.
Pushing to her feet, she left her pack in the doorway and slowly walked inside.
Then lightning bolts hit her after all as several realizations struck at once.
He was a big, hard behemoth of a man. It was difficult to tell with him lying down, but she thought he might easily be the size of one of the gryphon sentinels, if not larger. He sprawled in a casual pose on the massive bed, as if he had just laid down for a nap.
She glanced at the rich but plain masculine furniture and the luxuriously thick rug underneath as her mind flashed through rapid calculations.
A fortnight in Lyonesse roughly equaled six months on Earth, and on Earth Oberon had been in a comatose state for two hundred years. So that would be four Lyonesse weeks for each Earth year, and four times two hundred meant he had been unconscious in Lyonesse for eight hundred weeks.
It was silly to think Lyonesse might have fifty-two weeks in a year just because Earth did, she thought, but for the sake of compiling a completely useless statistic, let’s say there were. That meant Oberon had been in a vegetative state for almost fifteen and a half years.
The entire room, even Oberon, should be coated with a layer of dust, but everything was pristine. His muscles should have wasted, but they hadn’t. He looked fit, vital, and his skin was deeply burnished as if he spent a lot of time out in the sun. He had a strong, mature face with a short-clipped beard, and thick, packed muscles wrapped around a long, masculine frame.
It was a hard face, a dangerous face, with an outrageously sensual mouth. The severe cold invaded even this room, but he wore nothing except a pair of black pants and boots. A sprinkle of dark hair dusted the broad muscles of his chest and arrowed down to disappear into the waistband of his pants.
Studying him outside the sterility of a hospital examination room felt inappropriately intimate. Every detail struck her like bullets and burrowed underneath her skin. She felt invaded just by looking at him.
But none of that delivered the sucker punch.
That blow came when she took in her first breath after stepping into the room. For the first time, she breathed in his scent and reeled.
Oberon was Wyr.