Shan sighed and stretched out a hand to her. As their fingers entwined, Jeren’s stomach twisted a little tighter.
Ylandra had betrayed Shan. And now she was potentially to do the same thing.
“I have to do this,” she longed to say, and yet dreaded forming the words. To see his face as he heard. To form them would make them real. Make it final and unchangeable. And even though she knew what she had to do now, perhaps she could still find a way. Or at least pretend so.
In a rush of movement, Shan pulled her to him, crushed her against his chest and held her tightly. She didn’t fight him, wouldn’t have had the strength to do so even if she had wanted to. He breathed calmly enough, didn’t tremble or shake, but his heart pounded against his ribs, where her ear pressed up against him. It raced as if he had run for miles in fear of his life. His fingers tangled in the tight braids of her hair.
“Jeren, I...”
He stopped when she looked up, like a spell had snatched his voice away. His mouth stayed open, the sensuous lips parted to continue, but there were no words.
Did he know what she’d decided? How could he?
But something was wrong. Something hidden and unspoken. Something they couldn’t share. And it hung between them, an insuperable barrier.
She wriggled closer, lifted her face to his, and kissed him.
For a moment, he held still, shocked and then, as if she had triggered another spell, one of action not stillness, his body surged back to life. Shan’s mouth descended on her, his tongue filling her, claiming her. His hard muscles ground against her, his hands running down her back, up her sides, all over her. She pulled at his shirt, needing to feel the skin beneath. He was like velvet stretched over steel, all heat and musk, pure strength and terrible need. She tore her mouth from him, desperate for air.
“Oh gods, Shan, please...” The gasp ripped its way from her and he needed no more encouragement.
He lifted her, kissing her again, holding her as he moved. He kissed her so thoroughly that time, space, and reality itself seemed to waver around her. Suddenly, she was on the ground, lying in a nest of their discarded clothes. Shan claimed her body, with his mouth, with his hands. His kisses burned her skin and her nails scraped against him. He was hers, no matter what was to come, for this moment, this time, her husband, her wolf. She bit his shoulder, pulled him to her.
If she had to leave him, let the last time be like this, she told herself. Fierce and wild, a desperate branding of Shan’s name on her soul, his flesh on her flesh. Let it be something she would never be able to shed the memory of. Let it burn in her forever, as he burned against her now.
He caught her wrists and held them down on either side of her head. Something feral made his moonlit face strange, alien and so beautiful that she wanted to weep.
“Jeren.” Her name resonated like a prayer on his lips.
But he entered her slowly, so carefully, as if he needed to make each second last a lifetime. He filled her so completely, so perfectly that all she could do was whisper his name again, and when he moved, slowly, so slowly the joy of it rippled through her, driving away the ferocity, and leaving tenderness in its wake.
She forced her eyes to open, and found him watching her again, his silver eyes focused with the agony of restraint, of holding himself back for her. And behind that, she saw... grief?
“What is it?”
His voice was a rough growl, a wolf sound, but no less beautiful for that. “Tell me you love me.”
“I do. Always.” Startled, she tried to thrust towards him, to resume their lovemaking. But he held her still, denying her. “What’s wrong, Shan?”
“Tell me, Jeren.”
“I love you. I’ll always love you. No matter what. I love you.”
He winced, his brow furrowing. “And I love you. No matter what happens, little one.”
His mouth descended and he thrust deep inside her. Wrapping her body around him, holding him to her for this last perfect time, Jeren wept as she took him inside her, and cried out his name with her climax.
Jeren struggled out of sleep. She was back in the tent, wrapped in furs. Shan must have carried her back there last night. She reached out, pressed her hand to his sleeping form and sent the command that would deepen his slumber, keep him still a little longer. Once it was done, once she had spoken, there was nothing he could do about it. But she couldn’t look at him and say the words. She just couldn’t.
He murmured something and rolled over, his perfect face coming into view. She pressed the gentlest kiss onto his lips before she got up. Shan smiled in his sleep but he didn’t stir.
So simple a betrayal.
A surge of guilt twisted inside her and she pulled on a tunic. “Sleep well, my love. And forgive me.”
As she pushed her head outside, she saw the camp was already in action, its morning routine with all the clattering and noise that entailed unfolding as it did every morning. But this morning she would change it. She had no choice in the matter. Not anymore. Events of yesterday had taught her one vital lesson. No matter where she hid, no matter how she tried to distance herself from her old life, Gilliad would never forget that she was here, that she was a threat. And as long as he thought that, those she loved, those she cared for, and those who looked to her for support, would suffer.
There would never be peace while her insane brother ruled River Holt.
“Fetch Vertigern,” she told one of her guards. “Tell him we need to talk.” He sketched a rapid bow and scurried away. She’d have to get used to that as well, much as she had grown to hate it. She sat down to wait, watching the way he moved through the camp like a ripple in a still lake.
Her messenger clearly wasn’t quiet about the request. Holters approached rapidly, some she knew, more she didn’t. They sensed it, perhaps. Or it was inevitable. It had only been a matter of time, in all of their minds, before she gave over this foolishness and returned to lead them. She’d heard them say so, on evenings by the fire, when they didn’t know she’d passed them, gathered around to cook or wash, murmured to their children in lieu of a prayer. Only a matter of time...
Vertigern appeared, shouldering his way through the gathering crowd. Elayne followed him, and several of his company, warriors, each and every one.
Swallowing down panic and dismay, Jeren forced herself to her feet and stepped out into the cool morning air. The eyes of the entire camp, Feyna and Holter, were on her now. Each one held interest, pity, and the same dismay she felt. Jeren reached out her mind for the owl and with a cry, Kiah answered.
It only took her a moment to bond, mind to mind. The bird swooped low and settled on her outstretched arm. Just the touch of the owl was a comfort, the talons never piercing her. Kiah would never hurt her. They were as one. Jeren drew in a deep breath and exhaled it slowly. She closed her eyes, unable to look at them as she gave the word that most of them were so desperately waiting to hear. The command that could see all of them dead.
“We’re going south.” She opened her eyes, swayed where she stood with the enormity of it. Every ear around her was straining to hear what she might say, everyone studying her, waiting for the cracks to show. “We’re going to stop Gilliad.”
There was a shocked whisper from the Feyna camp, through the Shistra-Phail looked less horrified than the rest. They were warriors too, of course. They’d relish the chance to fight. Sitting idly around like nursemaids to a pack of refugees did not become them.
Indarin emerged from their midst, his face still pale, his eyes round with shock. He looked immediately to her side, for Shan and his jaw dropped when he realised Shan wasn’t there. That she’d done it. His suggestion of course, but he never expected her to carry it through alone, she saw that now. Had he thought she was just toying with the idea?