Innate toughness times a thousand.
The realization tugged at his heartstrings. God, she cracked him wide open. Respect for her stepped through the fissure, breeching his defenses. Now all he wanted to do was bridge the distance and hold her. Henrik shook his head. Ah hell. Not good. He was in big, big trouble. The kind a warrior didn’t come back from. Henrik knew it well. Recognized the truth because he witnessed it all the time at Drachaven—in the way Xavian looked at Afina, in how the pair touched and talked to each other as well. ’Twas a place no sane man wanted to go. Putting a name to his peril, however, didn’t change a thing. The urge to stay with Cosmina dragged him closer to the edge, inch by terrible inch toward what felt an awful lot like fate.
Aye, exactly . . . fate.
Unease slithered up his spine. Warning bells went off inside his head. As the clang got going, Henrik tried to deny it, but the facts refused to let him. He was a logical man, able to follow the trail to its conclusion. Chance meeting, his arse. Cosmina hadn’t been inside White Temple by accident. Neither had he. Tonight was about more than just his mission and her duty to the Blessed.
It was about collision.
His with Cosmina. A meeting set in motion by the Goddess of All Things.
Henrik bit down on a snarl. Goddamn her. She never stopped. Was always meddling, pulling cosmic strings, making others dance to her tune. And right now? Well, it was his turn. A cog in her wheel, the deity spun him round, throwing obstacles in his path, rousing his protective instincts to achieve her own ends. He frowned. Damn it to hell and back. The goddess knew him too well. Had sent the one thing guaranteed to get under his skin . . .
A woman. A redheaded hellion in need of his protection. An alluring combination Henrik couldn’t resist. Which meant he couldn’t walk away. Not yet. Not while his attraction to her simmered and honor whispered in his ear, telling him Cosmina wouldn’t survive long without him.
Swallowing a curse, he dragged his gaze away from her. He glanced at his apprentice. Quick to comprehend what Henrik wanted, Shay fisted his hands in Cosmina’s tunic and lifted her off her knees. Her feet landed in the middle of a puddle. The soft splash echoed. One of her legs buckled, refusing to hold her. She gasped and, reaching out, grabbed hold of Shay to keep from stumbling sideways.
Shay steadied her. “Ready, H?”
“For what?” she asked, alarm in her tone.
Henrik didn’t answer her. He nodded at Shay instead, knowing silence was the best strategy. The moment he explained, ’twould be over. Cosmina would fight the plan. He would insist on seeing it through. And Shay would end up causing her more pain while he put it into action. So aye, keeping her in the dark might not be nice, but ’twas necessary.
Henrik took a step forward. Boots planted on solid ground a foot from the rotten floorboards, he tipped his chin. “Take a deep breath, Cosmina.”
Her brows collided. “Why?”
Her suspicious tone made Henrik tense. Christ, she was a quick study. So smart, he could practically see the wheels turning inside her head as she hunted for the truth.
“What are you—”
“Now, Shay.”
Grip tightening on her tunic, Shay lifted her off the floor. She yelped. Henrik blocked out her cry of distress. It couldn’t be helped. Neither could what came next. Widening his stance, he flexed his hands and got ready. Movements quick, timing impeccable, Shay whirled full circle and—
“Oh gods . . . nay. Don’t—”
At the apex of the turn, Shay let go, launching her through the air.
Cosmina cursed as she went airborne. Up and across. A smooth, well-executed toss. Dark cloak flying around her, she sailed over the jagged floorboards. Andrei shifted, providing support as he controlled the fire and held the light steady. Counting out the seconds, Henrik plotted her trajectory. She stopped going up and started to come down. An instant before her boots connected with stone, he plucked her out of midair.
A quick tug. A controlled pivot, and he spun her into his arms.
Wrapping her up tight, he tucked her close. She didn’t fight. Instead, she settled like she belonged—head nestled beneath his chin, body pressed to his, her good arm wrapped around his waist. A violent shiver racked her. She snuggled in, seeking his warmth and, mayhap, the comfort of his embrace.
Henrik huffed. Cosmina seeking comfort from him. The notion sounded absurd. An idea without substance or mooring. Probably naught but wishful thinking. Still, he couldn’t deny the allure. He liked that she depended on him. Enjoyed that she trusted him enough to allow him so close. But even as he chastened himself for the reaction, the need to soothe her rose on a dangerous wave. Ah Christ. Not again. True connection belonged in the category called bad ideas times ten. Emotion held no place in his world. Neither did a pretty redhead with a stubborn streak a mile wide.
Another tremor rolled through her. He hugged her tighter.
“’Tis all good, iubita,” he murmured as she trembled in his arms. Her shivers set off an awful chain reaction, making his heart thump hard and remorse rise in a devastating wave. Goddamn it. She deserved so much better than this . . . better than him, a man incapable of true connection. Throat gone tight, he drew circles down her spine, caressing her with a gentle touch. “’Tis all right. The worst is over.”
“Liar.”
“Probably.”
“Blast and damn . . .” Her voice broke. His stomach dipped, clenching hard as she shivered again. “Y-you are . . . are . . .”
“Wonderful?” he said, filling in the blank when she trailed off. Bad plan or excellent strategy, Henrik didn’t know. Teasing her might not be the right tack to take, but, well . . . hell, it couldn’t hurt. Might even distract her long enough to settle her down. “Brilliant? The best tactician ever?”
She snorted. “Not what I was going to say.”
Henrik clenched his teeth to keep from smiling. “What then?”
“You’re out of your ever-loving m-mind. A complete m-madman.”
“Mayhap.” Losing the battle, amusement seeped into his tone. “But I got you over the hole without causing you more pain, now didn’t I?”
She scowled against the side of his throat.
His mouth curved. Little hellion. Such a bad attitude. She wouldn’t give an inch. A lovely trait, but one best saved for another time. Along with his reaction to her, but . . . Christ help him. He couldn’t contain the admiration. His attraction to her grew by the moment, compromising his control, making him ache and yearn and . . .
Want.
A serious problem. One he’d never encountered before now. Before her. Anything but ordinary, Cosmina pushed him up against the limits of his control. Which meant he needed to do one of two things: hand her off to Shay or pick up his feet and get a move on. The first option chaffed, rubbing him the wrong way. Stupid as it seemed, he didn’t want anyone else touching her. So instead of handing her off, Henrik picked her up—one arm supporting her back, the other cradling her knees, a precious bundle in his arms.
She murmured in protest.
Ignoring her, Henrik glanced over his shoulder. “Make the jump, Shay. Let’s get out of here.”
“Oui, let’s.” Andrei frowned at his hands. Blue flame flickered, twirling between his fingers without burning him. “What the hell, Henrik?”
“I’ll explain,” he said, feeling his friend’s confusion. Magic-less one day, full of power the next. He’d been there, done that . . . over a month ago. “But not here.”
Andrei studied him a moment. “But you know.”