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“I watched you touching the map.” She sipped her beer, watching him over the turned rim of the cup.
His lips quirked. “Possessively, no doubt.”
“More like love and affection, I think. It’s given me a different view of you, who you are in that decadent core of yours.”
He glanced at her. “Decadent?”
“Oh, yes, you’re at least that.”
He sighed heavily as he wiped the sides of his mouth. He looked serious suddenly. “There is something I want you to know, especially since we’ve been thrown together like this.” He glanced at her. “You know those rumors about me, about killing my father?”
She nodded slowly, holding her breath.
“Well, they’re true.” In a quiet voice, he told her about the years of his father’s drunken abuse, the enthrallment around their home that had kept his mother a prisoner, and finally her death, which had prompted him to beat his father senseless. He’d died not from the bruises, however, but from choking on his own vomit.
He fell silent, staring at the cup in his hands. He said nothing more, perhaps just remembering. She felt the heaviness in his soul and knew that these events had defined his life, set his future. How would he ever truly trust an intimate relationship?
Batya knew how hard it had been for him to talk about what must have been one of the most horrifying moments in his life, especially because he’d been so young, just a teenager.
“But you were innocent, Quinlan. He died because he was a drunk.”
He shrugged. “I tell myself that, of course, but it doesn’t change what happened or that I still imagine a dozen different scenarios in which I prevented my mother’s death and somehow got my father into rehab. Of course, the concept of rehab didn’t exist that many centuries ago. Still.” He turned his cup in his hand over and over.
“Everyone deserves better than to be controlled and hurt. Everyone. I’d tell you not to feel guilty, but that would be as useless as it would be insensitive. I can’t imagine what it must be like to carry that with you.”
He met her gaze. “Thank you for that.” He cleared his throat and straightened his shoulders. “And now, it’s your turn. You never told me why you abandoned Grochaire.”
“I didn’t, did I?”
“Nope.”
Batya knew the time had come, but she hated speaking about the triggering event that had forced her to leave Grochaire. Yet, Quinlan had a right to know, not just because he’d opened himself up to her but because he ruled Grochaire. “I was working in the north, late one night, closing up just before dawn. I was so tired and ready for my bed, but just before I opened the door, two Invictus pairs launched an attack on a passing car. They pulled an elven family out, the mother, father, three children, the youngest a baby.
“I got out my phone and called for help, but by the time your warriors arrived, which wasn’t more than ten minutes, the family was dead. I can’t explain what happened to me, but some kind of switch got flipped in my head, or maybe my heart, and I left. I just couldn’t take it anymore.”
“Was that near the wastelands?”
She nodded. “I’d been trying to set up a free-clinic there. But people kept disappearing or bodies would be found mangled and drained. But the children, Quinlan.”
“I know.”
He reached for her hand and gave her fingers a squeeze. “I’m sorry, Cha. I would have spared you that.”
“I know. And I don’t blame you. I don’t blame anyone. I just needed to leave the horror behind. So, I moved to Tennessee.”
“And you opened up your clinic and your gallery.”
“I did.”
When he released her hand, she fell silent and for a few minutes, he did as well, maybe letting the memories dissipate. The drums and music continued to fill the air.
He sipped his beer and glanced at her. “Since I told you two things, I think it only fair that you do the same.” His lips curved. “So, tell me something no one else knows about Batya, about the daughter of Davido.”
She thought back to her earlier revelation about the men she’d been with. She felt bad like she’d turned over a rock in her life and found a bunch of bugs crawling beneath.
She met his gaze. “All right, here goes. I’m not proud of the fact that I’ve always been with men that I could control. At the same time, you scare the shit of me for the exact opposite reason.”
He shifted in his chair, and his eyes flashed in the night. A shiver went through her and suddenly his mating vibration was just there, on her thighs and forcing the air from her lungs.
Tell me to stop, and I will. His deep voice rumbled in her head.
But she didn’t. Her heart hammered louder than the drums and suddenly she knew exactly where she wanted this to go. I want to know what it’s like just once. She said nothing more, offered no further explanation.
He rose up from his chair, took her cup and said he’d be right back. He handed the cups over to the cook and bid Henry good-night. A boisterous, suggestive chant rose into the air along with a lot of laughter.
He smiled as he returned to her, something that told her he was a man with a plan.
He took her hand, lifting her to her feet, then led her to a portion well beyond their tent. She understood. The farther downstream they moved, the less likely they’d be seen, not at this distance.
“I need a bath.” She watched him strip, her vision adjusting. His boots came off first as he unzipped. His shirt came next, followed by his battle leathers.
And her heart pounded for more than one reason as he stepped into the waters. He was absurdly beautiful.
“It’s warmer than I thought it’d be.” He glanced up stream. “There must be a hot spring on some of that high ground.”
The water tempted her. He tempted her. And the drums called to something very realm-like in her soul, a fateful sensation of belonging with Quinlan, belonging to him.
Just to be safe, she set up an enthrallment shield around them both.
“Nice,” he said. “And I can see it better out in the open, like everything around us is slightly blurred.” He found a deep spot and floated, knees up, arms sweeping backward.
She took off her shoes, her jeans and shirt, then unhooked her bra. She heard him growl as she stepped out of her thong. She eased into the stream, taking care not to slip on the rocks. He was right. The water temp made it easy to slide into the slow moving stream, stretch and swim, if just a short distance. It felt wonderful and for the craziest moment, she wanted to stay right there forever, in the stream with Quinlan, bathing and swimming, soon-to-make love.
