His heart pounded harder, and he nodded. “To save pregnancies. Aye. That was the first time I worked magic. I was seven.”
Rozaria sat up straighter, her eyes filling with interest. “Tell me.”
This time he did not hesitate or hold back. He told her every detail about his grandmother and the pregnant woman who’d come seeking her help, only to be healed by young Paxton instead. It came rushing out as it had when he spoke to Mrs. Rathbrook, the Lashed healer at the castle. Caught up in the story and the feelings that emerged, for one moment Paxton locked eyes with Rozaria and sensed her understanding. He felt a kinship he longed for. Then he remembered who she was, and his babbling stopped. He gave a rueful shake of his head and finished his second cup of wine in a big gulp, immediately wishing he’d opted for just another sip. He had to keep his wits about him.
Rozaria moved closer, her gaze too intense. “You have no one you can trust with these things of your past. I can hear it in your voice—you are not accustomed to speaking openly of your magic. However, I assure you, hunter, you are safe with me.”
Only if he didn’t dare defy her or speak out against her methods.
Her hand reached out for his face, and though his entire body tensed, he did not flinch. His heart kept a steady drumming as her warm hand cupped his jaw, her thumb grazing the stubble of growth on the hollow of his cheek. Paxton’s instincts rapidly fired warnings, but he didn’t move. He realized with a pang that part of why it felt so wrong had nothing to do with who she was—the madwoman who terrorized the lands—and everything to do with who she wasnot. Aerity.
He didn’t want another woman, but he had to set that feeling aside, probably forever. His heart might always be with Aerity, the first woman to know his secret and want him anyway, though the seas and stars had not aligned for them. He would likely never see her again, but perhaps he could still keep her safe in this way.
Right now, right here, with Rozaria . . . this had nothing to do with his heart. This was strategy, and he hoped it would be worth it in the long run. Still, scheming or not, he could not bring himself to move. Instead he watched her eyes with great care. He watched as she grazed his messy hair and stubble, the angles of his face, down his throat to his chest and back up to his eyes.
That familiar hunger was in her gaze again—the unmistakable concentration of a woman who has laid claim. She didn’t simply want him as an ally or a servant; she wanted him as a man, and to deny her would ruin any chance he had of gaining information and possibly escaping. Rozaria steppedcloser. His stomach clenched in dreaded anticipation.
Rozaria was the type of woman to take what she wanted. So, he waited. Her hand moved into his hair, her nails scratching along his scalp.
He had to make himself want this. He had to make his actions believable. He forced himself to focus on the way this woman understood the torment he’d been hiding since childhood, the way she wanted to empower him and all Lashed. But it was impossible to feel softness toward Rozaria, knowing what she had caused.
She pulled his face down as she leaned in, lifting her chin. And in that moment just before their lips met he thought only one thing:She could kill me now.
Instead of the softness he’d tried to force, what roared to life inside of Paxton was a great anger. A rage he’d long ago caged within himself. For the first time in his life he gave himself permission to unlatch the door to that pent-up fury, and it tore through him like the beast he’d hunted—bitterness at having to run from his home and family, indignation at being an outcast, resentment that he felt a kinship with this madwoman, and worst of all a vile sense of wrongness that he was here in this woman’s arms while another man would lay his hands upon Aerity Lochson.
When her lips took his, colder than he expected, he kissed her back hard. His arm went around her waist, yanking her closer, his mouth and hands rough. Rozaria groaned and both of them were pulling, scratching, mouths punishing. Paxtonwas surprised by the surge of temper that fueled him forward, moving on top of her with harsh force. Rozaria gave a feminine groan as her back hit the pallet, her hands in his hair again, her legs twining around him, welcoming his anger in a way that made him forget everything but the release of these grueling emotions.
Half a second later Paxton heard a shout and felt his hair grabbed by a much bigger, stronger hand. His head was yanked up, sharp pain searing his skull. A punch in his mouth threw him sideways. Then he lost all breath as a boot kicked his abdomen. He looked up blearily into the raging face of Martone. Rozaria was on her feet, screaming in Kalorian, and smacking Martone across the side of his head. He backed away, lifting an arm to block her hits. He snapped at her in Kalorian, and she yelled back, raising her arms. Great seas, the man thought Paxton had been forcing himself on her.
Martone turned to Paxton with a snarl.
Pax pushed to his feet and wiped his swollen mouth with the back of his hand. Despite the pain in his face and ribs, he was overwhelmed by gratefulness at the man’s interruption.
Rozaria’s face was blazing. She raised a hand to Martone and he cowered. She lowered it and pointed to the tent flap, shouting a Kalorian phrase. Martone huffed through his nostrils like a bull before leaving the tent.
Paxton touched the corner of his mouth with his tongue, tasting copper and salt. Rozaria moved to stand before him and raised her hands to his face. Anger was obvious in hertight, stern features. He closed his eyes, still breathing hard, and let her heal him, feeling heat radiate through her fingertips as she ran them over his mouth, chin, and cheek. She murmured softly as she worked, and when she finished their gazes met.
He knew from the trust in her eyes that he had achieved what he’d set out to do. Relief and guilt pummeled him. He’d never been so out of control. It all felt wrong. Wrong, but necessary. He hoped tonight would do the trick, and he could avoid future alone time with her. Then again, Rozaria was a determined woman. What had he gotten himself into?
He forced himself to show one last moment of affection, pushing a dark strand of hair from her eye. “When do we leave this camp for your royal lands?”
“In two days’ time. I expect two more of my men to return by then. Tomorrow I must tend to my creations.” Her creations? She moved forward until her body brushed against his thigh. The touch of her brought back his actions moments ago, when he’d been on top of her, and the feeling of wrongness invaded again.
The beating had been worth it. Paxton had clearly not been in his right mind, carried away by the onslaught of every emotion and desire he’d been suppressing. He could not let that happen again. And no more wine. The slight fog over his senses did not help things at all.
“Get some rest, Rozaria.”
“Perhaps I am not tired,” she said with defiance.
“Perhaps I am.” He gave a slow grin, feeling weariness in his eyes.
Her lips puckered in annoyance, but he turned and lifted the tent flap, exiting into the night, wishing he could wipe his mouth and memory of the things he’d done. He’d prefer to avoid another run-in with Rozaria’s lips and Martone’s fists, seas willing.
Chapter
13
Paxton was up before the sun the next morning, preparing the fire for breakfast and tending the horses. Konor joined him down at the lake with a bucket, and together they carried the water up to camp to be boiled in pots over the fire. They got the first one started and sat together on a log.
