Embrace the Mystery (The Blood Rose 3)

She’d become life and sex to him, setting a fire in his veins.

The moment he felt he had himself under control, she’d looked at him and begged for something of his to suck. He wanted his c**k in her mouth, but his thumb had worked almost as well and he’d been rock-hard for her.

He ached in his groin, a sensation that lit up his abdomen and chest. Even his pecs flexed and un-flexed wanting her large br**sts against him, wanting them in his mouth. He wanted to feast on every part of her body for hours, to suck, tongue, nibble, bite, and drink from her repeatedly. He felt insatiable.

Yes, that’s how he felt, as though no matter how many times he drank from this well, he’d come back thirsting for more.

And all the while, he despised Batya for having this kind of power over him, that though he’d ordered his feet to move at least a dozen times since leaving the tent, he remained right where he was.

A shout of triumph from the forest drew his attention away from Batya as several trolls, spears waving in the air, hauled a deer carcass between them.

The spell broken, Quinlan could finally move and he headed in the direction of the main camp, around which most of the brigade had pitched their tents. A waiting spit had been erected, a pot in which beans, onions and savory herbs cooked. The troll in charge of camp meals, as well as his minions, had the venison hoisted up on another tripod of poles and went to work, skinning and carving up the flesh for the brigade’s meal.

Forty feet past the food-prep area, a steady stream of trolls hauled deadfall in and out of the nearby forest, feeding a growing bonfire.

A clearing kept the meadow safe and camp chairs had started appearing along with drums.

He hadn’t been on maneuvers with the troll brigade for some time, but former memories always made him smile. The masculine bond among trolls spoke to something inside him, of what he loved best about realm-life, something apparently Batya didn’t see or hadn’t yet experienced. If she had, how could she have ever abandoned Grochaire in favor of free-clinic work in Lebanon?

A small cluster of trolls had already started up their music, with two guitars, several drums and even one lyre. The sound was magical.

He felt Batya move up beside him. She even took his hand and held it in a light clasp, though releasing a frustrated sigh.

I’m being a pain, he confessed.

Me, too. I’m sorry.

He turned to her and spoke quietly. “We’ll part, Batya, I promise you that much, then we can leave all this nonsense behind.”

She nodded but he saw tears brim in her eyes. “I’ve never felt so confused before, so overwhelmed.”

“Me, neither.” He released her hand, then drew it around his arm, setting them both in motion toward the musicians. “Have you ever heard bonfire music before, like this I mean?”

“No. It’s wonderful.” She glanced around. “Is it the meadow, with the mountain on one side and the forest on the other, because the sounds echo back and forth.”

“The acoustics are great here, that much is true. But I really think it’s more the musicians.”

She held his arm tight. He felt her apology like a vibration against his skin, which only served to ignite his guilt. He’d started this whole damn fiasco by pursuing her in the first place and all because at his first attempt, when he’d caught her in the corner of her gallery that first night, she’d told him to ‘shove it’.

No woman had ever told him to get lost before. And it wasn’t his pride that made him come back, but rather those words had lit up his animal passion, a latent caveman-like need to possess, that kept him both sexed up and intent on having this woman repeatedly.

He wanted her and the slow, sweet scent of her sex drifted over him, alerting his body that she was ripe for him as well.

But where could any of this end?

* * * * * * * * *

Batya sat beside Quinlan because to be anywhere else gave her the shakes. She needed to be near him, a primal instinct that worked in her like a virus. She ate the savory beans and venison like she hadn’t eaten for a week. Recent events had probably heightened her appetite, the stress of disappearing into a sinkhole, then hiking through an underground river and camping outdoors. Although keeping Quinlan fed also required nourishment.

How’s your blood-starvation? Any cramps?

From the corner of her eyes, she watched him shift a hand to his stomach, then frown. I almost feel normal, which is really weird. I can’t remember feeling this way in a long time.

She shifted toward him. So you feel different? Because of my blood?

He shrugged. Maybe. Not sure. But I do feel better.

That’s a good thing, right?

A wary light passed through his eyes, of doubt and maybe a streak of fear, though she wasn’t sure the cause of it. Whatever was bothering him, he said nothing more so she let it go.

The music never abated, though the musicians changed hands several times. Drums seemed an important component to the brigade, and the rhythm shifted constantly.

A keg of beer made an appearance. Quinlan left her sitting on a camp chair, slightly removed from the group of men. Lorelei had retired early to her tent, bedding down for the remainder of the night and what would become a good portion of the next day. No doubt Margetta would hunt through the night, then take her Invictus wraith-pairs home for the day, so with any luck, they’d have a stretch of peace before having to move through the Dead Forest.

She shivered slightly at the thought of the next leg of the journey. The name, ‘Dead Forest’, would normally have been enough to make her change course, but the realm part of her knew that in order to get to Ferrenden Peace, they had to go through the Dead Forest. All the reasons might not be known, but eventually they’d discover the purpose for the chosen route.

Quinlan would have no choice but to remain in the tent during the daylight hours, but in October, this far north, night came fairly early. Her own faeness also had a strong aversion to sunlight, but she could manage short periods of time without harm. Not so for her vampire boyfriend. He’d be toast within an hour of direct sunlight.

He brought back a tin cup for her, handing it to her carefully to keep from sloshing. She took a sip and a flavor of herbs, honey, and something she couldn’t quite identify, rolled over her tongue. “Very nice.”

He’d finished one off at keg-side and sat down beside her with a cup of his own in hand. As the drums filled the night air, she asked him about his life. “Tell me something most realm-folk don’t know about you.”

He leaned forward, his forearms on his battle leathers. “When I was young, I tracked every vale, gorge, and mountain-peak of this realm. I walked the rugged three-hundred-mile long coastline, repeatedly, searching out ocean caverns, seal beaches, and tide pools. I was crazy for learning every inch of Grochaire, long before I knew I had mastyr-potential in me. That’s one reason I have an extensive map collection.”