“I don’t know you.”
“True, but you can trust me.” Another stroke across her skin. God, she was fine. An incomparable beauty with more than her fair share of brains. And surprise, surprise . . . he liked that about her too. Shifting mid-caress, Henrik brushed over the furrow between her brows, then drifted right to trace one of her eyebrows. She sighed, the sound one of relief as though his touch eased her pain. “I’ll keep you safe. Trust me with the truth. I cannot help if I do not understand what ails you.”
“Why would you want to help?”
Good question. One without an easy answer. So he stayed quiet, allowing the silence to speak for itself. Her mistrust was normal. Necessary even, so . . . nay. Pushing for the truth wouldn’t garner the desired results. Not with Cosmina. He recognized her breed: smart, sassy, too stubborn for her own good. So instead of pressing her for the truth, he kept his hands moving—sweeping over her skin with light caresses—and waited.
Andrei murmured and, tying off the last stitch, snipped the thread.
“I cannot tell you,” she said. “’Tis a secret.”
His mouth curved. Bull’s-eye. Silence was definitely the way to go. Success lay moments away, and as Andrei finished securing the bandage, Cosmina broke. Henrik saw the shift, the instant she moved past doubt into partial acceptance . . . into the beginnings of fragile trust.
“I’m not supposed to . . .” She hesitated a beat. Uncertainty lay in the pause. Fear too, the kind that made his gut twist and his heart ache. So unsure. Too vulnerable. Carrying so many secrets, the weight of them bogged her down. “I was told to never tell anyone.”
“Things are different now, Cosmina.” He dipped his head, getting in close. His cheek a hair’s breadth from hers, he used his closeness to breed more confidence. She wanted to trust him. He could feel it with every breath he took. Her need for a confidant—someone who understood and would never judge—infused the air around her. “You can tell me.”
A fine tremor rumbled through her. “I’m not safe anywhere.”
“You are with me.”
She swallowed. “I see things . . . sometimes.”
“What kind of things?”
“The future . . . events that have yet to occur.”
“Visions?”
“Aye.”
Henrik drew a quick breath in surprise. A Seer with the ability to tell the future. One of the most sought-after commodities in all of Christendom. “How often do the visions come?”
“Too often,” she said, her voice hushed. He knew that tone. Often used it himself when talking about the magic in his blood. “I don’t understand half of it, Henrik. The tumble of images . . . the echo of voices inside my head. ’Tis always such a jumbled mess. I never get the whole picture, just pieces at a time. And the headaches . . .” She frowned, then shook her head. “They are terrible when the visions come. Sometimes the pain is so powerful my eyesight goes blurry. Or I lose my peripheral vision for days. Other times I—”
“Go blind.”
She nodded, bumping her cheek against his. “The blindness doesn’t happen often. ’Twas the worst when I saw my . . .”
As she trailed off, Henrik stayed silent, employing patience, waiting her out, hoping she would continue. A secret lay inside the charged pause. Something so devastating she turned away, refusing to speak of it. Henrik understood the tactic well. ’Twas a call to arms, a way to protect herself from the past and avoid the pain. Not a bad strategy. He’d used it a time or two himself, enough to know avoiding the truth never made the hurt go away. And as he watched myriad emotions flash across Cosmina’s face, he sensed the burden she carried. ’Twas heavy. So cumbersome she struggled beneath its weight.
His throat went tight. Another person in pain. A kindred spirit in need of comfort—the kind he’d never gotten. And as he brushed the hair away from her face, something strange happened. A chasm opened inside him. Tenderness surged through the gap, flooding him with the need to protect her. To give Cosmina what he’d never received. To lighten her load, if only for a little while.
“Who hurt you, Cosmina?”
“It doesn’t matter.” Fingers flexing in his cloak, she pressed her knuckles against the front of his shoulder. “’Tis naught but ancient history now—over and done.”
The strain in her voice told a different tale. It mattered. A whole helluva lot. At least to her. But Henrik refused to push. He understood the nature of secrets and the underbelly of lies. Both took time to dismantle, so . . . aye. He had time and more to gather clues and solve the puzzle—days, mayhap weeks, before her vision returned and he let her go. Until then, he would do his duty, ensure her safety, and—
“I saw you, you know . . . in one of my visions.”
His gaze sharpened on her face. Saw him? Had she really? “When?”
“As I entered High Temple tonight.” Succumbing to fatigue, she swayed. He caught her on the backward glide. With a gentle tug, Henrik drew her in his arms, encouraging her to lean on him. “’Twas just a flash. A mere slice of time. I thought you might hurt me.”
“I did.” Shifting to sit on the dais, Henrik settled her in his lap. Cheek pressed to his chest, bottom against his groin, she relaxed, letting him hold her, making him feel worthy for once. “I sent you flying, remember?”
“Didn’t hurt. Not really,” she said, words coming slow. “I was playing possum back there.”
“You tried to stab me.”
“You deserved it.”
Henrik snorted, amusement circling into enchantment. Plucky hellion. Way too adorable. Brash and bold when necessary. Soft and sweet when warranted. ’Twas an alluring combination. A dangerous one he needed to resist before his attraction to her ran wild. Aye, he wanted to know more about her, but that didn’t involve losing his head. Getting tangled in her witchy web would only land him neck-deep in trouble . . .
With no way out.
Never a good place for an assassin to find himself.
Sex was all fine and good. But not with someone like Cosmina. She wasn’t his usual fare. He liked down and dirty. Fast and furious. No strings attached. The women he slept with never complained. Each understood the rules going in. Wanted the pleasure he provided, not his presence in their lives. But Cosmina didn’t qualify. Wasn’t in the same category, never mind on his wish list. So nay, no matter how compelling, the woman in his arms needed to remain off-limits.
’Twas quite simply the honorable thing to do.
But even as certainty sank deep, a pang throbbed inside his heart, making his chest hurt. Given half a chance, he would’ve spent time with her. Pleased her well. Taught her more . . . and enjoyed the doing. Some things, however, weren’t meant to be. So, no time like the present. He needed to grab Shay and—
“The Druinguari are still out there, aren’t they?”
He frowned. “Who?”
“The men with flames in their eyes.” Pressing closer, she burrowed in, seeking more of his heat. Henrik obliged, raising his head to make room beneath his chin. She murmured in thanks. He gathered her up, and cradling her close, pushed to his feet. “The ones who want me dead.”
“Druinguari?” Done repacking the kit, Andrei slung the leather satchel over his head. As the wide strap settled across his chest, he stepped alongside Henrik. Bumping shoulders with him, his friend drilled him a look.
Henrik seconded his friend’s concern. “Who are they, Cosmina?”
“Creatures.” Her eyelashes flickered, playing butterfly against his throat. She shook her head, the movement sluggish and wane. “Servants to the Prince of Shadows.”
“Explains a lot,” Andrei said from behind him.