Chapter Eleven
After a dozen near-death experiences, Stephano guided his foot to a secure outcrop on the side of the cliff and exhaled so hard dusty bits of rock blew back in his eyes. He blinked and shook his head. His hands were sweaty and crisscrossed with slices from his descent. But his boots were firmly placed rather than dangling beneath him as he tried to copy Spiderman’s rock-climbing skill.
An abandoned city overgrown with vegetation but still achingly beautiful lay beneath him. It rose along the bottom of the ravine, hidden by the overhanging cliffs as it meandered along both sides of a wide river. A white road led up and out of it, another down and disappearing from view.
He quickly finished the climb, landing on the top of a wall with ease. To his left, he could see where Maeve might have fallen if she’d backed out of those brambles. It was higher than he was now, and closer to the cliff face. Plus, it was directly under where he saw a darker, freshly broken side of the cliff. She might have knocked the rocks loose on her way down. If she’d slid part way, then maybe she was fine. He eyed the distance from the top to the bottom, not happy with the result. It was still a fall.
He made his way over to the spot, using the rooftops, careful of the heavy vines and slippery moss. Breathless, he landed where he thought she might have. There was no body, but there was a scattering of small rocks and better, a footprint. Hers, he knew instantly. His relief was so great he had to grip his knees and lean over, trying to catch his breath. She’s alive. She survived the fall. She’s here. The sky suddenly seemed bluer, the air fresher.
Now to find her. He still didn’t think shouting for her would be a good idea. First, even though the city looked deserted, it didn’t mean it actually was. Second, it might scare her more than reassure her. His sense of her was pointing him down, so he scanned the rooftop, trying to locate the best way to the broken street below.
Halfway across a fairly stable wooden bridge with vaulted arches and peeling paint, he heard a sound to his left. It wasn’t repeated, but after several minutes he thought he heard a female cry of dismay.
He was running through the shadowy streets to an ancient golden temple before he’d intentionally registered he was going to move. Once inside, row after row of elegant stone benches, some crowded with statues, stood in his way. He vaulted the benches, slid on the tiles on the far side, and went crashing into a wall. A muffled screech eased the painful landing and the tightness in his chest.
Maeve.
She was scared, clearly amazed he was there, but she was whole, unharmed except for a long, bloody scratch on the left side of her face. All he had time to do was register that then she flew into his arms. He went down, slipping with her to the floor with a crash into something that broke underneath his back. The breath got knocked out of him, and her knee hit him right between his legs, square in the balls, but she was alive and hugging him so hard around his neck he couldn’t complain. He grunted at the greeting, but couldn’t fault her enthusiasm.
“Stephano, you’re here!” Her happy voice floored him more than the painful groin hit. Immediately he wanted to hear her again. I knew she could speak!
She amazed him even more by cupping the side of his face with her warm hand to stare down at him, her expression elated. He thought she might kiss him, anticipated it, but instead she plastered her hand over his mouth. That was okay, because he couldn’t think of a thing to say, especially with her straddling him, panting against his face.
“We need to go. Quickly,” she whispered in his ear, then scrambled off him, barely missing nailing him.
He groaned and rolled to the side but managed to get to his knees, groaning as the ache intensified. He cupped his damaged balls and blew out a breath, tilting his head to watch her almost jumping from foot to foot. “You can talk,” he ground out.
She raced to his side, took hold of his arm and attempted to make him budge. He was in too much pain to get to his feet.
“You can talk.”
“Yes, yes, but that doesn’t matter now.” She tugged him by his armor, clearly in a rush.
“It matters,” he gritted.
She froze, then nodded rather quickly. “Yes. You were right, I can speak. Now, please, please you have to come away,” she said the last with such insistence her fear finally registered past the nausea of getting his balls back where they belonged.
Something was wrong.
He lumbered to his feet, shaking off the pain as he pulled his sword free. She clung to him sweetly, half tugging, half hiding behind his side for protection.
“No. Please. Come away.”
“What is it? Mae, the place is deserted—”
Delighted laughter filled the silent chapel. It wasn’t Maeve’s either. This was feminine but…evil. A shiver of dread settled across his shoulder blades, a clear warning he never ignored.
But he could see nothing, no one to make him so certain trouble had found them again.
“Stephano, please. Come away.” Maeve had hold of him by his leather wrist band, not his sword arm, but he didn’t move as he scanned the area for the source of the laughter. There was no one. Across from him stood a mirror, large, rectangular and ancient. It sat propped up against a wall held up on either side by statues of men who were grimacing at its weight. Or maybe not held up… It appeared as if they were straining to topple it.
“Mae, what happened here?” His head felt odd, as if he’d spent a night out drinking warlock brew.
“Stephano!” Maeve’s sweet voice whispered over him. Her face had paled, her eyes had grown too wide, frightened, he realized. “Please, won’t you listen? Come away with me. Now.”
Her sweet voice lulled him, but he had a hard time making sense of her words. “Did you hear that laughter?”
She grimaced and tugged at him. He took a step because she seemed so distraught. Her relief was immediate. She still tugged at him though. It was adorable, as if one hand could move him. Her other hand hung limply at her side. He thought that odd. She held it almost as if it weighed her down. If she really wanted me to move, why not use both hands? He frowned at the thought, trying to figure it out. Well, of course, even with two hands she couldn’t move me.
His mind seemed to be working slowly, as if his brains had been knocked out when her knee had hit his groin. He shook his head, trying to clear it, smiling as he recalled she’d nailed him the first time they’d met, but he’d been aroused, and his hard-on hadn’t been impacted. He was always hard around her though. The thought of her smooth hands, her hot breath on his skin, her bare breasts swaying above him—
“Stephano, come, hurry!”
He had to force himself to concentrate. Her eyes were so beautiful, he immediately got lost in the shifting colors. They would glow with arousal when he touched her, growing slumberous with lust, even out of focus, as he pushed her to reach fulfilment. The taste of her. He wanted to kiss her. Kiss her until he’d had his fill. Will that ever happen?
“Stephano, please, please, come away.” Her voice came to him as if from a distance. He wanted to hear her say please when he was over her, when she wanted more and only he could give it.
She licked her lips. They were so pink, so perfectly shaped, even when she spoke he watched the way they formed the words, making him sigh in envy. He’d kissed those lips, knew how incredible soft they were…
“Stephano! We need to leave!”
Why leave, he wanted to ask. This place is perfect. So beautiful. The entire town empty except for them. Didn’t I want her to myself? Didn’t I need to get her alone?
A voice seemed to whisper in his mind, reminding him he had her now. She was alone. Her heart-shaped lips so close to his all he had to do was pull her closer and he could kiss her until he was drunk on her sweet taste. He bent his head. The sudden feeble smack to the side of his head, followed by another had him ducking with a laugh.
He blinked and his eyes seemed to clear. His groin still burned dully from her hello. He caught her hand when she tried to slap him again.
“What are you doing?” He laughed at her indignant huff. She tried to pull her hand away and hit him again. What is going on? “Why are you hitting me?” He watched her small frown deepen as she continued to struggle with him.
“Stephano—”
“You’ll hurt your hand.”
“Please, come out of here, with me, and…and I’ll kiss you! For an hour, more, if only you’ll come with me now!”
Kiss me? He was instantly interested. The last kiss had been hotter than any he’d ever received. “Are we bargaining?” He had some ideas on other things they could bargain over. Her hands in his hair, her body full on his, pressing down so he could feel every inch of her as he slid deep in her sweet pussy…
“Yes. No! Come with me now, otherwise I’ll go kiss…Ajax.”
Instantly the fog lifted his fantasies aside. Kiss Ajax? “What? What kind of thing is that to say?” She couldn’t be serious. No one chose Ajax over him! He went to grab her but she backed away, sniffing at him. “You want to kiss Ajax?”
“Yes. Ajax. He’s nice to me. He listens to me.”
“Is he?” he growled, thinking of methods for ensuring Ajax never walked again, let alone was nice to Maeve. He tried to catch her, but she backed out of his reach.
“Yes, he doesn’t try to bed me whenever we are alone!”
He shoved a stone bench aside to reach her.
“You were alone with Ajax!” His bellow had birds taking flight above them. It also echoed oddly. Wait. Something’s not right. She’s clearly lying, to get me to do something. Why am I angry? The thought disappeared along with his misgivings as a dark, seductive laugh rippled along his skin. It was like an erotic mist. It continued, smoothing down his flesh and caressing his groin to the point of pleasure. It’d been way too long since he’d felt such a thing. The mist rose, increasing the tantalizing sensations. He shook his head and blinked, spotting Maeve backing away from him.
She allowed another to touch her, to taste her, experience her heated embrace. The laughter mocked him with the knowledge he wasn’t enough for her. She chose another.
Rage burned his vision red. Not again. Never again.
Stone crumbled under his fingers as he shoved another bench aside to reach her. Her back hit the wall. She had nowhere to go. He would show her. He would prove to her that he was more than she deserved. Then when she knew what she could have had, he’d ensure she never had it again.
The laughter filled his ears, assuring him his pleasure would soon ease his rage. Take her. Take her and show her.