Building From Ashes
Page 78
He braced his hand against the trunk of the oak as he felt the earth’s energy rush up his body to steady him. From his bare feet, up his spine, and down the thick arms that held her.
He had crushed boulders with these arms. Killed immortals older and more powerful than himself. Ripped the earth with his hands and rendered mountains at will. But Carwyn held something precious now, so he coaxed the earth beneath him with a whisper. The ground beneath her rose up, pushing their bodies together as his other hand gripped the small of her back. She pulled away for a minute, her mouth flushed red, but he growled softly and pulled her back.
“Oh,” she breathed out. “The earth really does move.”
He kissed her again, and a low purr left her throat the same time she dug her fingers into the thick muscle at his shoulders. Carwyn felt the burning tips push against his skin and he reveled in the sensation as he pressed her closer.
Mark me.
Brand me.
Claim me.
Brigid’s hand tugged at his hair, tilting his neck back before she ran scorching lips down his neck till he felt the sharp point of her fangs slide across his skin. His own fangs grew long in his mouth.
Yes. Yes. Yes!
“I love you,” he groaned.
A soft moan answered him. “Oh…” she said. “This is wrong.”
He pulled her mouth back to his. “No, it’s not.”
“Going to hell,” she mumbled between kisses.
“They can’t have you. You’re mine.” He nipped at her lower lip, drawing a tiny bead of blood that he licked away and swallowed greedily. “Sweet,” he gasped. He sank to his knees in front of her, the taste of her blood rushing to his head like a drug.
More, more, more!
Carwyn wrapped his arms around her hips and pressed his face to her soft breast. “So sweet, Brigid.”
Her hands skimmed over his shoulders as he closed his eyes and pressed her closer.
“I love you,” he whispered again. “How did I not see it before?”
Her heart was pounding. He could hear it. Her temperature was rising. The aching grew in his chest. His groin. The need for her was roaring through him. Take. Drink. Possess. Carwyn wanted every inch of her. Her body and her heart.
A primal knowledge reared its head. Mate. Here was his mate. She was his, and he… he was utterly and completely hers. Their energy crashed together as her hands dug into his neck, and he couldn’t stop the slight wince when her skin met his.
She drew her hands back bracing them against the tree, and the bark blackened beneath her palms. Brigid stared at him in horror, and he tried to hold onto her.
“I did it again.”
He shook his head. “No, Brigid. Don’t. I’m fi—”
“I did it again!” she cried, the tears flooding her eyes. She dashed them away, and her hot fingers sizzled against her own skin. Carwyn tried to grab her hands, but she twisted out of his embrace and sped through the trees.
“Brigid!”
She didn’t turn back. Carwyn turned and slumped against the trunk of the scalded oak tree, confused, aching, and alone.
Chapter Twenty
Scotland
July 2011
Brigid tossed the small throwing knife into the air, watching it flip in the low light as she lay in bed and the fire she had started crackled in the grate. Madoc snored by the door as she catalogued her accomplishments for the previous month:
Finally rounded up the sheep faster than the dog. Check.
Learned how to bake bread with Max. Check.
Burned off Tavish’s eyebrows. Double check.
Lusted after a priest. Triple check?
Kissed a priest in the most mind-numbingly intense encounter she’d ever had with a man.
Burned a priest while engaged in previously mentioned mind-numbing kissing.
Ran away from priest after kissing and burning.
She should really stop counting checks.
Brigid sighed. Going to hell wasn’t even a question anymore.
She squeezed her eyes shut and prayed.
Dear God, I’m not sure if the kissing and the lusting and the burning is a mortal sin. Even worse, I can’t really bring myself to feel repentant about the kissing and the lusting bits, so it probably doesn’t matter anyway.
I can’t, God, because Carwyn saying that he loves me was the most illogical, ridiculous, gorgeous thing that’s ever happened in my entire life. And I’m a ragged mess. And I don’t deserve a bit of it. I don’t really know what to do about it at all, except avoid him like I’ve been doing for the past week. But…
If any of this is part of some strange plan for me or him or maybe even some future idea of us… please don’t let me mess it up.
Or send me to hell if I blow myself up.
Amen.
Brigid sighed and opened her eyes.
He loved her? Stupid man. Stupid, gorgeous, wonderful man. She wanted to cry just thinking about it. The crazy wrestling program. Brigid had never laughed so hard. The memory alone wanted to make her giggle. Then his face and the soft look in his eyes.
“I love you.”
And she ran away. Because Carwyn loving her was completely illogical. It had to have been a joke. A prank like the ones he was always pulling. But then, then he ran after her.
He ran after her!
And then he said it again. And again.
And then…
Brigid remembered the shiver of his lips as they stroked along her forehead. Testing. Tasting. Soft and hesitant. His hands had been almost reverent when they touched her the first time. Even a little awkward.
He had crushed boulders with these arms. Killed immortals older and more powerful than himself. Ripped the earth with his hands and rendered mountains at will. But Carwyn held something precious now, so he coaxed the earth beneath him with a whisper. The ground beneath her rose up, pushing their bodies together as his other hand gripped the small of her back. She pulled away for a minute, her mouth flushed red, but he growled softly and pulled her back.
“Oh,” she breathed out. “The earth really does move.”
He kissed her again, and a low purr left her throat the same time she dug her fingers into the thick muscle at his shoulders. Carwyn felt the burning tips push against his skin and he reveled in the sensation as he pressed her closer.
Mark me.
Brand me.
Claim me.
Brigid’s hand tugged at his hair, tilting his neck back before she ran scorching lips down his neck till he felt the sharp point of her fangs slide across his skin. His own fangs grew long in his mouth.
Yes. Yes. Yes!
“I love you,” he groaned.
A soft moan answered him. “Oh…” she said. “This is wrong.”
He pulled her mouth back to his. “No, it’s not.”
“Going to hell,” she mumbled between kisses.
“They can’t have you. You’re mine.” He nipped at her lower lip, drawing a tiny bead of blood that he licked away and swallowed greedily. “Sweet,” he gasped. He sank to his knees in front of her, the taste of her blood rushing to his head like a drug.
More, more, more!
Carwyn wrapped his arms around her hips and pressed his face to her soft breast. “So sweet, Brigid.”
Her hands skimmed over his shoulders as he closed his eyes and pressed her closer.
“I love you,” he whispered again. “How did I not see it before?”
Her heart was pounding. He could hear it. Her temperature was rising. The aching grew in his chest. His groin. The need for her was roaring through him. Take. Drink. Possess. Carwyn wanted every inch of her. Her body and her heart.
A primal knowledge reared its head. Mate. Here was his mate. She was his, and he… he was utterly and completely hers. Their energy crashed together as her hands dug into his neck, and he couldn’t stop the slight wince when her skin met his.
She drew her hands back bracing them against the tree, and the bark blackened beneath her palms. Brigid stared at him in horror, and he tried to hold onto her.
“I did it again.”
He shook his head. “No, Brigid. Don’t. I’m fi—”
“I did it again!” she cried, the tears flooding her eyes. She dashed them away, and her hot fingers sizzled against her own skin. Carwyn tried to grab her hands, but she twisted out of his embrace and sped through the trees.
“Brigid!”
She didn’t turn back. Carwyn turned and slumped against the trunk of the scalded oak tree, confused, aching, and alone.
Chapter Twenty
Scotland
July 2011
Brigid tossed the small throwing knife into the air, watching it flip in the low light as she lay in bed and the fire she had started crackled in the grate. Madoc snored by the door as she catalogued her accomplishments for the previous month:
Finally rounded up the sheep faster than the dog. Check.
Learned how to bake bread with Max. Check.
Burned off Tavish’s eyebrows. Double check.
Lusted after a priest. Triple check?
Kissed a priest in the most mind-numbingly intense encounter she’d ever had with a man.
Burned a priest while engaged in previously mentioned mind-numbing kissing.
Ran away from priest after kissing and burning.
She should really stop counting checks.
Brigid sighed. Going to hell wasn’t even a question anymore.
She squeezed her eyes shut and prayed.
Dear God, I’m not sure if the kissing and the lusting and the burning is a mortal sin. Even worse, I can’t really bring myself to feel repentant about the kissing and the lusting bits, so it probably doesn’t matter anyway.
I can’t, God, because Carwyn saying that he loves me was the most illogical, ridiculous, gorgeous thing that’s ever happened in my entire life. And I’m a ragged mess. And I don’t deserve a bit of it. I don’t really know what to do about it at all, except avoid him like I’ve been doing for the past week. But…
If any of this is part of some strange plan for me or him or maybe even some future idea of us… please don’t let me mess it up.
Or send me to hell if I blow myself up.
Amen.
Brigid sighed and opened her eyes.
He loved her? Stupid man. Stupid, gorgeous, wonderful man. She wanted to cry just thinking about it. The crazy wrestling program. Brigid had never laughed so hard. The memory alone wanted to make her giggle. Then his face and the soft look in his eyes.
“I love you.”
And she ran away. Because Carwyn loving her was completely illogical. It had to have been a joke. A prank like the ones he was always pulling. But then, then he ran after her.
He ran after her!
And then he said it again. And again.
And then…
Brigid remembered the shiver of his lips as they stroked along her forehead. Testing. Tasting. Soft and hesitant. His hands had been almost reverent when they touched her the first time. Even a little awkward.
