Chapter Twelve
When awareness returned, it did so on quiet cat feet. A sense of well-being came first, followed by something strange and warm. He came awake trying to puzzle it out.
Comfort.
It was comfort, something he had lost so long ago he had stopped looking for it. He had, in fact, stopped wanting it. Now it enveloped him in the form of a slender woman curled against his side. Her head rested on his shoulder, and he held her in his arms.
All he had to do was turn his head slightly and he could bury his face in her tousled hair and inhale her scent. The sensation was indescribable.
In the past, he would never sleep with any of his lovers. The act of sex was one thing, but sleeping with another person created an entirely different level of intimacy.
It created this exact situation, where his skin had already grown to know her skin, his hands acquainted with the elegant realm of her body. His body knew her scent, and his Wyr form, the lion, began to identify being with her as home.
What would it be like to roll her onto her back and delve into her mouth with a deep kiss? Plunging into her would be like diving into a deep lake. He wanted to wake her as she had awakened him and steal those first unguarded moments when she would respond to him, before she began to remember why she should not.
Recalling their first kiss caused heat to flash over his skin. It sizzled like lightning, and his cock swelled in response. As he lay there in increasing agony, he wondered how in all the hells she could sleep through something so cataclysmic.
But clearly it was only cataclysmic for him.
Finally he couldn’t take the exquisite torture any longer. After he had checked her again to make sure she was sleeping peacefully, he eased away and stalked to his own rooms to wash and dress. Aside from a heavy, aching dullness that radiated through most of his chest, he felt tired but otherwise fine.
In the King’s apartment, he found that Robin had made himself busy. The debris from the ruined furniture and broken witchlights had been removed. New witchlight globes now adorned the walls, and other furniture had been moved in. The bed was a little smaller than his own had been, but otherwise one would never know that he and Kathryn had demolished the room completely just a few days ago.
Then, of course, he had been utterly enraged, but now, as he thought of the anger sparking in the falcon’s eyes and the way she had deliberately scratched him on the nose, he had to chuckle. She had quite a temper.
He strode down to the kitchens. He didn’t see the puck anywhere, but he did locate more of the pan-fried bread and rabbit stew. Both biscuits and stew were cold, but he wasn’t in the mood to be picky. After separating out a generous portion for Kathryn and setting it aside, he ate all of what remained.
As soon as she gave him the all-clear to hunt, he would do his part to provide fresh meat for their meals. The lion was looking forward to it, but the man knew he wasn’t ready.
Then, propelled by the need to feel fresh air against his face, he strode outside.
Along with the surrounding estates of those most senior in his government, the palace sat on higher ground from the rest of the city. Standing on the wide front steps, he looked out over his destroyed municipality.
From where he stood, the view was more apocalyptic than when he had walked down the hill before, mostly because he could see farther. The damage from nearly fifteen years of magic-fueled storms struck him like a sword to the gut.
This was his ruined kingdom. It had been ruined because he had been too selfish to let go, and his people had loved him too much to rebel against him. Isabeau might have damaged him, but he had done this.
How many lives had he disrupted? How many had he killed? Like a feral Wyr, he should have been put down, and Annwyn should have assumed the throne. If he had transferred power responsibly all those years ago like he should have, he would be looking out at a thriving populace, not a wasteland.
Feeling something other than rage or lust was shocking after so long. Grief and guilt hit him like twin tidal waves and bowled him over. He could never give back to his people what he had taken from them. He didn’t even know how to begin trying.
Slender arms came around him. A strong, slim body braced against his hip and side to bear his weight. “What’s wrong?” Kathryn asked sharply. “Where are you hurt?”
“Everywhere,” he whispered as he went down on one knee. “I hurt everywhere.”
He had fought so hard to be free of Morgan’s icy trap, he hadn’t given proper thought to what might be waiting for him on the other side with his freedom. He had forgotten what a burden emotions could be.
She held his head against her torso. “I told Robin not to let you exert yourself until I could examine you again.” She sounded angry and worried. “What did you do?”
“I saw my country on its knees and realized it was my fault.” Putting his arms around her waist, he turned his face into her silken shirt.
She held still and stroked his hair. After a few moments, she told him in a calm voice, “You’re not responsible for any decisions you made while under the influence of that spell. Things look bad from up here, but there’s nothing wrong with this city that can’t be rebuilt, and you have people who are ready and willing to do that. Life never leaves us unscathed, Oberon. You need to count your blessings, not your losses.”
Count your blessings. Yes, that was a good way to begin. Breathing deeply, he tightened his hold on her, then he straightened to his full height.
She had washed her face and slipped on a pair of pants, but her tousled hair was pulled back hastily, and a web of fine lines creased one fine-boned cheek where she had buried her face in her pillow.
In his pillow.
Smiling, he touched her creased cheek. “You slept hard.”
“And apparently in your bed,” she replied, her tone acerbic.
“You wouldn’t wake up. I was worried about you, so I kept you close.” He raised one eyebrow. “Do you have a problem with that?”
She raised an eyebrow in return, mirroring his expression almost exactly. “If I did, it’s a little too late now, isn’t it?”
“Indeed, it is.” A demon of mischief slipped inside his skin. He let his hand drift to her narrow chin and tilted her face up to his. Bending his head so that his lips almost… almost… touched hers, he whispered, “I had such fantasies when I woke up. I would kiss you awake, like you had kissed me. And for a moment, before you remembered how much you dislike me, you would kiss me back. Your arms would wind around my neck, and you would open to me. That first time you let out a sexy, surprised little moan when I covered your body with mine. Do you remember?”
“Dear heavens, no,” she murmured faintly. “Did I?”
“You’re so intelligent, assured, and strong-minded.” He let his lips brush hers lightly, not so much as to frighten her away, but enough to remind her of what they had shared. “The more I think of that noise you made, the more aroused it makes me. It was so uncontrolled, Kathryn. So honest. What I wouldn’t give to make you sound like that again.”
She had put a hand on his wrist. At first he thought she meant to push him away, but instead she gripped him tight, as if she had forgotten how to let go. “You need to stop.” Her lips shaped the words, but they were soundless. “This is inappropriate.”
He let his lips part and touched ever so gently at the opening of her mouth with his tongue. “The surgery is over—which means you are no longer my doctor.”
She was melting against him. He was sure of it. The heat they generated together was blinding.
But when he spoke his last ill-advised words, she stiffened and jerked away. “Not true, King,” she said. She sounded so tantalizingly breathless. “I haven’t conducted your post-op exam yet.”
“Really?” He laughed, half-angry and half-amused. “Then by all means, Doctor… let’s go conduct your post-op exam so you can stop holding on to this pretense of an ethical line that lies between us.”
“It’s not a pretense.” She stared up at him with a gaze that widened. Quickly she slapped both hands to his cheeks, angling his head down and tugging at the same time. “Come here—closer!”
“What?” Mystified by her behavior, he complied.
After studying him closely, a smile broke over her face. “Your eyes are changing. They’re no longer black and white.”
“What do they look like?” He touched his own cheekbone. His eyes didn’t feel any different. “Anything like the dark brown they were before?”
“I never saw what they were like before, but they’re not exactly dark brown. They’re more gold and black.”
He frowned. “I’m not sure I like my body changing without my awareness or consent.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” she replied robustly. “You should be relieved. Your body already changed without your consent when you were carrying Morgan’s assassination spell. Now it’s healing from that. I’m inclined to look at any difference as a good one.” She grabbed his hand. “Come on. Where’s the nearest mirror?”
He liked it when she touched him voluntarily. He liked it very much. Curling his fingers around hers, he replied, “Come with me.”
Willingly, she fell into step beside him as he led the way to a spacious dance hall. The frescoed ceiling needed repair, he noticed as he eyed it with a critical gaze, but Kathryn let out a deep sigh of pleasure as she looked around.
Tall mirrors lined the walls, interspersed with windows of the same height, so that the immediate impression when one stepped into the hall was one of openness and light.
But he wasn’t interested in aesthetics right now. Releasing her hand, he strode to look at his reflection in the nearest mirror.
His eyes… He frowned. They were definitely different than they had been before. The cracks in the irises were still present. They seemed as if the damned sorcerer’s magic had cracked him open from within.
But Kathryn had been right too—instead of the white between the jagged black lines, some color had bled back. It was a lighter brown than it had been before, but even though it was different, it was far better than the alienating white.
He touched the mirror with the tips of his fingers. Somehow, seeing the physical change brought home the fact that the surgery had really worked.
He had won his freedom, and Morgan’s spell was finally eradicated forever. Whoever he managed to be from this point on—and whatever choices he would make, mistakes or otherwise—would all be on him.
* * *
Kathryn had woken up alone in the unfamiliar bed, but even so she had known immediately that she had slept with Oberon. His scent was all over the sheets and on the pillow where she rubbed her face. On her body.
He had held her in her sleep. She didn’t remember it, but the evidence told her it must be true—and she was sorry she didn’t remember it. Rattled by the realization, she splashed her face, dressed, and went downstairs.
As she ran lightly down the stairs, she was very aware that she carried his scent along with her. She should have taken more time to wash properly. Would he notice? He was Wyr. How could he not notice?
But when she found him bent over on the palace steps and in such evident anguish, her preoccupation with the intimacy they had shared fled, and she leaped to see how she could help.
Now in the beautiful dance hall, she drew close to his elbow as he stared at his reflection. His hard face was impassive. There was no way to gauge what he was thinking.
His reflection regarded her. “It’s not the same as before.”
“It’s just pigmentation,” she said reassuringly. “At least I think it is. I’ll know better when I scan you properly. Where do you want to do the examination—your office?”
“Go to the kitchen and eat something first,” he ordered. “Whatever changes I might be undergoing, they aren’t creating a medical crisis. You need to get your own needs met, Kathryn. You were very depleted last night.”
“I know.” She frowned. It wasn’t like her to have to be told by someone else to look after her own needs. Years of working as a doctor had taught her that already, and she had started out on this journey with all her barriers fully intact. What was happening to her? “You’re right. I need to eat.”
He gave her a short nod. “I’ll be in my office when you’re ready.”
Then he turned and walked away, and she was left staring after him in bewilderment. Where was the heated, sensual man who had whispered so tantalizingly against her hypersensitive lips just a few minutes ago? And why did she care so much that he had vanished?
It made no sense. After all, she was the one who had pushed him away. She had awakened with too many uncertainties and questions this morning.
Focus, Shaw! she admonished herself severely. As soon as you finish your job, you’re going home… and you’re really close to finishing your job.
The admonishment seemed to echo in the empty hall. Shaking her head at her own unruly thoughts and emotions, she went in search of breakfast. What she wouldn’t give for a hot cup of coffee, but coffee was apparently one of those Earth commodities that Lyonesse didn’t have. She had to content herself with a hot cup of herbal tea, the leftover stew, and the pan bread.
Robin was nowhere to be found. He must have had an entire, rich life here, she thought, with a home that probably now lay in ruins, and he would have to contend with his own memories of a happier time from long ago. She wished him well, but he wasn’t her patient, so when she had finished she went to Oberon’s office.
She found him feeding his letter to Annwyn along with the advance directive to the flames of a newly started fire. With a flicker of expression, he acknowledged her presence and walked over to a nearby armchair. “I assume your examination will be magical?”
“Yes,” she said, walking closer. “I wish you had stayed in bed for another day or two for a proper rest.”
There—there was that heated, sensual man from before. He wasn’t gone at all. He had merely retreated momentarily.
“We can always go back to bed, if you like,” he drawled. “You’re still looking tired yourself.”
For some reason her heart began to pound. She told it that it was an idiot.
“We’re not talking about me.” She kept her voice steady as she walked toward him. “We’re talking about you, the man who had major surgery yesterday and lost a lot of blood. I just had a long day at work. There’s nothing wrong with me that good food and a lighter schedule for a few days won’t fix.”
He let his eyelids fall and watched her approach with a hooded gaze. “If that is the case, you must be looking forward to a hot bath and perhaps a bottle of wine.”
Oh, wine. Gods, yes.
Something must have shown in her expression because his smile widened, and she could tell he knew he had scored a hit. “I could wash your back,” he said gently. “I have rare wines in my cellars that are over a thousand years old. We should open one of those bottles to celebrate.”
The atmosphere around him was electric. Why hadn’t she given even a thought to who he would be after the surgery and how he would behave? This was not the abrasive, off-putting asshole she had been wrestling with over the past few days.
This man—she didn’t know who this man was. She couldn’t predict what he would do, and she didn’t dislike him, which made him far more dangerous than he had been before.
Warily, she hooked a foot around one leg of the ottoman and dragged it close to his chair. “Let’s just pay attention to the task at hand, shall we?”
“As you wish, Doctor.”
He sat back in his chair, the very picture of indolent relaxation, but the air around him felt more charged than ever, as if the watchful lion merely waited for its moment to pounce.
Before yesterday, that feeling would have made her look for the closest exit. Now, honesty forced her to acknowledge it made him sexier than ever. There was nothing sexier than a man who knew how to be patient.
Leaning close, she held a hand over his chest for a moment before she allowed herself to touch him. “Light tingle of magic,” she reminded him.
Nodding, he rested one hand over hers. No other patient had ever done such a thing, and it almost knocked her out of her concentration. Frowning, she pulled herself together and sent her awareness into his chest.
She took her time and inspected every angle of every place she had made an incision. He was healing very well, and he could, in fact, hold a few more healing spells now that he’d had a little time to recover.
He was also in more pain than his demeanor had showed. She poured healing energy into him along with a spell for pain relief. When he sighed and his powerful body relaxed, she could tell that the pain relief had taken effect.
“I did a damn good job,” she said, pleased.
“How did you finally remove it?”
“Morgan’s needle wasn’t just one spell. It was a combination of spells, and I had to use a combination to trick it into thinking your heart was someplace else. As soon as it moved away from your real heart, I grabbed it.” She told him the four different spells she had used to leverage the needle out and grinned as he laughed. “Hold still, let me check your eyes.”
He allowed her to place a hand over his eyes and waited patiently while she scanned there too. The last thing she scanned was his Power. Now that he had called his magic back to himself, he carried it like a thundercloud wrapped around his body, but there was an essential shift in that too. It felt like the other Wyr males she knew, dangerous but at rest, and no longer malevolent.
Finally she sat back and smiled. “You’re textbook perfect,” she told him. “You’re exactly where you should be a day after major surgery. Now listen to me, because I am deadly serious. If you don’t want to suffer a setback, you’ll make sure you do no heavy lifting for a week and no extraordinary exertion for two weeks.”
“Define extraordinary exertion,” he murmured as he captured her hand.
She couldn’t help but laugh even as she snatched her hand away. “I mean, no matter how you might be tempted by anybody, don’t resume sparring or physical training of any kind. I know you’re eager to go after Isabeau, and I get it—I really do—but the bones in your chest need to finish knitting together. If you don’t want them to be shattered by one of your knights bashing you with a sword, you will follow my instructions to the letter.”
“What about after two weeks?” He had lost his playfulness when she’d mentioned Isabeau.
“Then you can resume training, as long as you listen to your body. Normally you’re very healthy and extraordinarily gifted with strength and stamina, so when you get achy—and you will—your first instinct will be to push through it. Don’t do that for the first four weeks. You’ve got to ignore that voice in your head. After four weeks, you should be fine without any further repercussions. You can push and train and fight all you need to. Four weeks is your magic number. Okay?”
“Very well, I understand.”
“As far as mentally and emotionally, only time will tell you who you are now.” She gave him a crooked smile. “So you’ve got to give it time. Have faith that you’ll figure it out. And don’t beat yourself up for what happened when you were under the influence of Morgan’s spell. Those actions weren’t an authentic representation of who you really are.”
“That’s harder to do than one might think,” he muttered, looking away.
“I know.” Resting her elbows on her knees, she laced her hands together and looked down at them. “I think you should tell yourself it’s going to take a good year before you fully shake off the effects of such a long magical battle.” She looked up at him. “I just made that up, but as a mental exercise it would do you good to remember there’s no such thing as an instant full recovery—not even when you have the self-healing capabilities of the full Wyr.”
His gaze narrowed. “What symptoms should I look for?”
“Honestly, I have no idea.” She shrugged. “Maybe six months from now you’re going to be frustrated because you need an hour’s nap in the afternoons when you never needed to nap before—I just made that up too, but I’ve seen similar things happen to other patients who’ve been through something catastrophic like this. Maybe you’ll end up feeling like you’re too emotional for a while. That might be a reasonable effect after having been numbed for so long. Whatever it is, be patient with yourself. It should all even out over time.”
“I see.” He studied her. “Is there anything else?”
“Aside from my bill for the surgery, no.” She almost smiled. He had no idea how much inflation had changed economies over the years, and she could guarantee the amount she was going to charge him would shock him to his boots. Then her impulse to smile died. “I’ve done everything I can for you, and now I need to go home.”
While he appeared to make no physical move, the atmosphere around them tightened. She took a deep breath. Perhaps she should be looking for the nearest exit now.
In a soft, biting voice, he asked, “Is it your habit to abandon your patients right after major surgery?”
She pursed her lips. “Actually, yes. After an initial checkup after surgery, long-term follow-up or care is usually transferred over to another physician.”
“At present, there is no other physician here.”
That point was indisputable, but… Agitated, she thrust to her feet and paced. “Of course, but as long as you adhere to my instructions, you don’t really need the follow-up care at this point.”
“How do you know that for certain?”
“How do you think I know?” she retorted. “I’m the doctor. You weren’t in a messy accident that mangled your limbs—you were in a carefully controlled operating room where every incision I made was to maximize your healing afterward.”
As she came to the end of the room and swung around to pace back the other way, she discovered he had risen to prowl after her. He was so light on his feet she hadn’t heard a thing. Realizing it sent a shiver down her spine.
“I don’t accept your assessment,” he told her. “I think you’re trying to run away.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” she snapped, backing away. “Run away from what?”
“Not from what—from whom,” he replied as he came after her. “From me, and you, and that second kiss we have not yet shared.”
“Oberon…” She backed up against the edge of the desk. “Nothing is going to happen between us. Don’t you understand? It’s the definition of impossible.”
“I don’t buy that,” he growled.
“It is! Even if I were to stay and provide follow-along care until one of your own physicians arrives, you would be my patient—and that’s a line I told you I won’t cross.”
A bladelike smile creased his hard features. “There it is again—that pretense of an ethical line you’re trying to hide behind. But I can see you just fine.”
What did he mean by that?
She found that her breathing had quickened and tried to force it to slow the hell down. The effort made her words unsteady. “As soon as you’re not my patient, I need to go. For every day I spend here, approximately thirteen days pass on Earth. Today is my ninth day in Lyonesse. That means a hundred and seventeen days have passed on the other side of the passageway. Even as we stand here and argue, my life back in New York is slipping away.”
“You knew that when you left, and you accepted it.” He advanced until his thighs brushed hers, and his expression turned ruthless. “You made arrangements. That’s no excuse for running now.”
He was too close, too hard, too big. His scent invaded her senses, and his Power wrapped around her like a thundercloud. Everything about him was taut with aggression.
She loved flying in thunderstorms.
She knew without trying that if she slapped a hand on his chest to keep him at bay, he wouldn’t force her. And she considered it. She really considered it.
Gripping the edge of the desk with both hands, she bared her teeth. “I don’t run away from anything.”
He laughed and stroked a light finger down the side of her neck. The sensation ricocheted through her body. “Then you’ll stay.”
Pushing his hand away, she lifted her chin. “I’ll stay, but just until another physician arrives. Annwyn and her troops should be here in five or six days if Robin doesn’t decide to go help them. Two weeks was what I had planned for my trip to Lyonesse, and two weeks is what you’re going to get. That’s all.”
He whispered, “We’ll see, Kathryn.”