Tritus was breathing heavily when he finally dragged his lips off her, pulling back to cradle her face in his hands.
Her eyes stared up at him, the silver depths swirling with glazed passion. “Are you going to use moves like that on me every time we disagree?” she asked huskily.
He raised a brow. “Would you like me to?”
Her lips formed in a soft moue. “Regardless of your techniques, you should understand you’ll never win. Not with me.”
Tritus felt his face break into a sly smile. “That remains to be seen. And you didn’t answer my question.”
Eyes wide, Cailleach stepped out of his embrace, as if aware she was still vulnerable there, still uncertain without her power acting as a buffer between her and this Druid. Tritus let her fall back, let her have her distance…this time. And before the silence became awkward, he filled it. “That kiss had a dual purpose. It was to remind you of who lays a claim on you, but it also acted as a thank you.”
Her brows drew together. “A thank you?”
“For letting me into your home. I will treasure it as you do.”
A startled expression crossed her face, as if she finally understood what bringing him here had meant—that her home was now his. Cailleach licked her lips and whispered, “You’re welcome.”
Her response satisfied him, and he could see that the doubts she’d carried that day were not completely erased, but at least subdued. Time would resolve that hesitation to accept him into her life. Time and a consummate melding of their flesh. The thought pushed him to question if she was ready. His words were an invitation. “I want you,” he said huskily.
Cailleach blinked, her chest rising in a sharp intake of breath. Her words were incredulous as she responded, “You cannot believe that I’d give you everything of myself after that one kiss?” She shook her head. “That kind of trust, that kind of giving, it needs to be earned. And even though prophecy has thrown us together, and I’ve accepted our fate, that does not mean I will willingly surrender my body. You need to prove to me that you are worthy of it! And I do not mean through stolen kisses and rough groping. But with deeds and words and actions. If you can share this role with me as an equal, then we shall see whether you are worthy of such a gift.”
Tritus paused, aware that it was a challenge. One that he would rise to. She wanted him to court her. To win her affection. To illustrate that regardless of prophecy, she chose him. “You’re right,” he said carefully. “I owe it to you to prove my worth. I agree to this…initiation.” He cocked his head to the side, considering her, before demanding firmly, “On one condition.”
A sneer twisted her lips as if she’d expected the bargain. “And what is that? You have no duties I need prove myself for.”
Tritus shook his head. “That is not true. You are my fated mate; therefore, you must also prove the same. I would see you meet me as an equal.”
Cailleach growled, and Tritus felt the hairs on his arm arise. He’d insulted her. But he did not show an ounce of fear in his expression as she ground out, “You walk a fine line, mate. One that may see this prophecy ended.”
He forced himself to smirk wickedly. “At least you won’t be bored.”
A week passed in relative truce. A week over which Tritus stewed in a bed of his own making.
That first night, Cailleach left an hour after they’d shared a bowl of the stew that had been simmering at her hearth. The food was rich and tender, filling the gnawing maw in Tritus’s belly. As all words had been said, they ate in silence. Cailleach finished first, and Tritus watched her closely as she took her bowl over to the small spring that ran through the cave, taking note as she cleaned it out and placed it next to the others. He would have to get to know her patterns, especially if they were forced to share a home together. Tritus knew it would have been opportune to get to know each other slowly first and live separately while they did so, but living on the Cairngorm mountain range in the dead of winter would only be courting death. Besides, this situation worked in their favor and forced them to get to know one another.
Cailleach walked back toward him, her expression closed. “I need you to stay here. Do not leave the cave.”
Tritus stared at her. “Why?” She would not call the shots without an explanation.
Her lips thinned in a line of disapproval. “Don’t push me, Druid.” He stared back until she relented, adding, “I need to call in the winter. It is the last night of autumn.”
Tritus made to stand, but Cailleach flung out her arm and snarled, “I said, stay here! This is no night for a half-mortal. Tomorrow, you will begin your initiation—slowly,” she emphasized. “And show me how well you suit this new mantle.”
Tritus stared at her, about to argue, but something in her face held him back. She was right. He knew nothing about this new role he’d been destined for and hadn’t any affinity with wielding the weather. He’d be a fool to interfere—more of a hindrance than anything. So, he held his tongue and gave her a nod.
Cailleach didn’t waste time, turning on her heel in a billow of white skirts. She stopped just beside the entrance to pluck a torch from the wall sconce and what looked like a stone hammer from a hook next to it. As soon as her fingers touched the hammer, her hand glowed with a burst of white light. Tritus instantly felt the otherworldly power of the object. Without a word, she stalked out of the cave.
Cailleach took no shield against the darkness or the cold—no shawl, no furs, no blanket. Another reminder that this person he was tied to was not mortal. And even though he knew she’d held winter’s mantle for countless years, had the power to wield the elements effectively with no harm to herself, he still couldn’t shake that tingle of anxiety as she faced the role all by herself.
An hour later, he was still sitting by that glowing campfire, skinning the doe he’d killed the day before, when he felt a tingle of awareness travel down that new internal bond they shared. And outside, as if in answer, a gust of wind wailed, racing past the mouth of the cave in a shrieking call. A tendril of that chill wind infiltrated the warm space of the cave, unerringly wrapping itself around his form. Tritus could have sworn it whispered of ice and snow—of a cold so bleak that he knew it would kill any in its path. But it also felt familiar and had a scent that he now knew without question—fresh pine and the sharp bite of frost.
Cailleach. She’d sent him a flurry of her power, a reminder of the power she wielded—a reminder to treat her with the respect that was her due.
At that touch, Tritus felt the need to buck against her restraints. He dropped the knife he was using and ventured to the cave mouth. The closer he got, the more frigid the wind became, tearing at his clothing, assaulting his cheeks. He reached the opening and pulled the brambles aside.
And there he stood, mouth open at the thick blanket of fresh snow that now covered the forest all around him. It was a foot deep, crunchy to the touch. The icy wind shrieked again, as if in protestation at his defiance to Cailleach’s command, and he felt it rally in strength before arrowing straight into his body, infiltrating his leather jerkin, searing whatever skin it found. Tritus reared backward, felt as if he’d been poleaxed. The brambles fell into place as he stumbled backward into the cave. As soon as the opening closed, sealing him back into the cave, the wind ceased, abruptly cutting off.
A warning. It had been a warning.
Tritus would fight Cailleach for his place in their relationship, but he was not stupid. He would not balk at her experience or her power. So, accepting her warning, he turned back to the campfire, wondering at what his mate was accomplishing this night. For that kind of power—it was mighty. And he had no doubt it would have a cost. The question was—what?