Liling came and sat on the window seat. She said nothing, but sat waiting and looking up at him.
"Her name was Jema," he said slowly. "She was all I ever wanted. Like a dream that you know will never come true but you can't stop thinking about it. I was well aware that it would be almost impossible for us to be together. She was frail and sick, and I had my reasons to stay away. But I couldn't. I watched her from a distance. No. I worshiped her from a distance," he corrected himself. "Jema was everything bright and beautiful and perfect in this world." He rested his forehead against his arm.
Liling pulled her knees up against her chest and looked out at the lake. "She sounds lovely."
"She was," he agreed. "But do you know, never once in all the years I cared for her did I imagine I would one day lose her. Not when I lived and breathed every moment with her in my heart. I knew her condition was terminal. I knew there was no cure. I knew all of these things, but I still held on to hope. I believed there was still the chance of a miracle happening, and she would be saved, and we could be together at last."
"Did Jema die?"
"Nothing so simple as that." He looked down at her. "I was so blinded by my own regard for Jema that I didn't see what was happening to her right in front of me. On the night that I finally found the courage to tell her how much I cared for her, she revealed her own feelings. She didn't care for me. All those years I had devoted my heart to her and she didn't care. She never even thought of me. I was no one, nothing, a nice man she barely knew."
Liling didn't say anything, but curled her hand around his calf.
"Thirty years of my life, rendered meaningless in an instant. And then I learned that she had been with another man. A man I knew named Thierry. She was in love with him."
He sank down, propping his back against the window seat and staring at the flames in the fireplace.
"I never felt such rage," he said, his voice breaking on the last word. "I think I went mad. I attacked Thierry. We fought over her, and although he was the better swordsman, I had nothing left to live for. I meant to kill him or die trying."
Liling looked at the fireplace. "Did you kill him?"
"Almost. Jema distracted him, you see, and Thierry lowered his guard for a moment. Only a moment, but that was enough. I used it. I lunged, and then she was in front of Thierry, between us." He shook his head. "It happened so fast. I couldn't stop myself in time…" He closed his eyes. "After I ran her through. Thierry cut off my arm."
"Oh, Valentin." She came down from the seat to sit on the floor beside him, and rested her cheek against his shoulder.
"She survived. She is with Thierry now. I am told that they are very happy together." He ducked his head. "You think that is why I have not been able to use my arm?"
"It makes some sense," she said in a tentative tone.
He looked at his hand and clenched it. "Because the last time I did use it, I almost killed the woman I loved."
"The heart makes harsh decisions," she said quietly. "If you couldn't use your arm, then you couldn't hold a blade or hurt another woman."
He met her gaze. "Are you afraid of me, Liling?"
"No." She said it without hesitation.
"You should be." He pushed himself up from the floor and left the cabin.
Valentin walked blindly, barely aware of his surroundings. He stopped in front of a massive oak tree. Bark exploded as he drove his fist into the trunk.
"Why should I be afraid of you?" a soft voice said behind him. "I am not a tree."
He leaned against the scarred trunk, hiding his bloody hand from her. Then he turned and held it out in front of him. "Here. Here is one reason." When she looked away, he walked up to her and grabbed a handful of her hair, forcing her to face him. "Look at it. Look." She took a deep breath and watched his wounds as they slowly closed and disappeared. "You see? I do not need you to heal me." He released her. "I do not need anyone."
"Valentin." She rested her hand on his shoulder and lifted her face to kiss his wet cheek. "I am still not afraid of you."
"You think I need your polite lies?" He slid his hand to her neck. "Now you will tell me the truth. Tell me that you despise me for what I am, and what I have done. Tell me how you cannot wait to be rid of me. Tell me."
"I don't despise you," she said slowly, the words halting. "What happened was an accident. I know you would never have hurt Jema, just as you would never hurt me. I don't want to be rid of you. I don't want to leave you when we arrive in Atlanta. I want to stay with you. I know what you want. I can give it to you."
The place on his cheek where she had kissed him burned under his fingers. "What is it that I want?"
She pressed herself against him, her cheek against his shoulder. "My surrender."
His touch compelled her to be truthful, so she could not be lying to him. He hardly knew what to make of it. "Why?"
"Because it will please you as much as it does me." She buried her face against him.
Valentin swept her up in his arms and carried her back into the cabin. He took her to the bedroom, stripping the T-shirt from her body before placing her on the bed. He tore off his own clothes and joined her, stretching out over her. When she tried to touch him, he pinned her wrists down.
"Did you like what we did on the plane?"
Her eyelashes swept down shyly. "Yes."
His cock had been hard and erect ever since the word surrender had left her lips. "I did not frighten you?"
"You did, but it excited me. I felt"—she closed her eyes—"so alive, so wanted."
Valentin rolled onto his back and stared at the rough oak beams above them. He knew his own nature, and he had spent many lifetimes controlling it to a fine degree. He had even conquered it, he had thought. But being with her had caused a resurrection, brought it rising out of the darkness inside him. He had wanted her surrender, all of it, everything she was, for himself.
And she had given it to him. Beautifully, completely, without condition. Remembering how made his shaft swell even larger.
Few women, human or Kyn, could respond to such a need. It had been another reason he had never approached Jema Shaw. She had been too delicate, too ill. Had they managed to have some sort of relationship. Valentin could never have been himself with her; she had been too fragile. With Jema, he would never have known the dark satisfaction he craved to take, and to give.
Why had he never realized that?
"I will go." Liling scrambled off the bed.
Valentin jumped after her, lifting her and holding her as she fought him. She was much stronger than he had imagined; he could barely hold her. "Geliebte, be calm."
"You don't want me," she said, pushing her hands against his chest. "Please. I don't want your pity, not like this."
Valentin fell onto the bed with her, trying to contain her struggles. "You are wrong." He braced himself on top of her. "Liling, stop."
Instantly she went still and stared up at him blindly. Her fists relaxed, and her legs shifted, opening, spreading. She lifted her hips, rubbing herself against the surface of his thigh. The soft black hair over her mound felt damp, and as she rubbed, he felt on his skin the slickness between her legs.
Valentin looked down at his hand, which he had somehow clamped over her small breast. He watched her face as he massaged her gently. "Do you want me to touch you like this, mein Mädchen?"
Liling's eyes softened, and her lips parted before she averted her face. "You don't want me. You want her."
"Or do you like it here?" He brought his hand from her breast to her crotch, cupping her.
A spasm of delight crossed her features, and she shuddered, pushing her hips up against his hand.
The scent of her arousal poured over him, the tang of hot peaches, and Valentin drew his hand away, taking hers and bring it to his erection.
"Wrap your fingers around me," he said, guiding her with his hand. "There. Now stroke me, like this." He moved her hand in slow motion before releasing it and bringing his own fingers back to her sex. He parted her and rubbed gently. "Tell me what else excites you."
"This." She pumped him with the languid motion he had shown her. "Giving you control. Doing what you say. The surrender. It feels safe. You're the most exciting man I've ever known."
He bent to kiss her open mouth, doing with his tongue what he longed to do with his cock. She trembled against him, and he lifted his head, his body shaking with his own lust. "You want me to take you."
She nodded, her fingers tightening.
"I would very much like to," he told her softly. "But this changes everything. Do you know what it means to surrender?"
"It means being yours. Belonging to you. Giving you what you need." She bit her bottom lip and arched, digging her heels into the mattress.
Valentin closed his eyes, fighting back the ferocious need to put his teeth to her flesh. She was too weak now for him to take her as he wanted. He had to end this before he lost control.
He took her hand away and gathered her close, reaching down to seat his shaft against the top of her mound. He worked himself against her hardened clit, using the friction to bring them both to the edge.
"You will give me whatever I wish," he whispered against her ear as he pressed her hips closer. "Whenever I want it. You will do this willingly."
"Yes," she whispered.
"When we are naked together, you will let me do whatever I wish to you," he persisted, pushing his cock faster, harder. "You will trust me to see to your pleasure."
"Yes. Anything." She sobbed the word.
Valentin shifted her, impaling her wet slit with a single thrust, making her cry out.
"Then, my lady," he said against her mouth. "I am yours."
A large shadow and a small one inched across the table in the guards' hall. "My lady."