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Some of the male residents had fetched and discarded debris as it blew into the camp. Others had cooked. Still others had sat on rocks and sewed. Everyone had looked...content.
Gillian hadn't created a clan; she'd created a miracle. Her people loved her. They followed her by choice rather than fear, so loyal they had refused to answer his questions about her.
Now, she took a step back and turned on her heel.
"Where are you going?" Puck demanded, latching on to her arm to hold her in place. He'd just found her. No way he'd let her out of his sight.
"Where else? To find William."
He ground his teeth until his gums ached. "Cameron is searching for him."
"You're one lucky bastard," Cameron had said before taking off. "Sure, Gillian has destroyed any chance of uniting the clans and achieving peace, but she's taken life by the balls and lived every second with passion. How many others can say the same?"
"They'll be back soon enough," Puck said.
Gillian wrenched free of his grip but didn't attempt to storm off a second time. He released a breath he hadn't known he'd been holding.
"I like our land," he said, hoping to distract her.
"Our land?" she choked out.
"Despite your talk of divorce, we are husband and wife. What is yours is also mine."
"By your reasoning, the shears are also mine. Give them to me."
Clever female. "How about I give you an apology instead? I'm sorry I lied to you, sorry I purposely harmed you. You have my word I will never do either again."
Shrug. A casual action, and yet she said, "You better mean those words. The prince of Fiain lied to me a few months ago, and he's just now learning to walk again."
His wee little wife had immobilized a warrior who'd trained for battle for eons? Puck almost laughed. "Am I forgiven?"
"You were forgiven before the punches. Doesn't mean we're best friends or anything. Or that I trust you."
Good enough. For now. "I'm also sorry I took more time than anticipated...when you were so eager to start dating other men." Tone guttural, no longer masking the savagery that boiled inside him, he demanded, "Did you?"
She merely blinked at him as if he were a recalcitrant child.
Thought to deny him an answer? He'd killed people for less.
How many men would he have to murder for daring to covet what belonged to him--or worse, touching her? A warrior defended his territory. Always. No one had the right to look at Gillian without Puck's permission.
He would never grant permission.
Paying no heed to the demon's newest chorus, Puck snapped, "Tell me."
"What do you think? I mean, look at me." She waved a hand over her curvaceous little body he imagined lost in the throes of passion. "I'm a stunning five hundred and nineteen. Or is it eighteen? Twenty? I forget."
Her gaze clashed with his, so dark, so lovely, her whiskey-colored irises glowing as brightly as runes, daring him to naysay her. The soul-deep wounds he'd once noticed were no longer as prevalent, but the kindling hadn't yet been set aflame.
No one had made her burn.
His tension evaporated. "You are stunning, aye, no matter your current age."
She fluffed her hair again. "Despite my dotage, I don't need a cane unless I break or lose a leg, and I don't tremble when I'm using my sewing needles--to stitch up my friends."
"But you haven't started dating," he pointed out.
Bristling, she said, "How do you know? And why do you care?"
"Who said I care? You can do whatever you want, with whomever you want."
Her gaze roved over him and...heated? "You sure about that, Pucky? Your lips say do whatever you want, but the rest of you says do me now. And by the rest of you, I'm talking about the pocket rocket you're smuggling in your pants."
Noticed, had she? He straightened his spine, and squared his shoulders--with pride. Look, wife. See what you do to me so easily. "I said you could do what you wanted, with whomever you wanted. I didn't say I would allow the men to live."
His reasonable tone while discussing murder caused the corners of her mouth to curl upward, surprising him.
She schooled her expression, disappointing him, and crossed her arms over her chest. "You're the same as before, in looks and demeanor. Hot one moment, frigid the next. Your do-me vibe won't last."
"Then we had better hurry to our home, so I can do you while it lasts." I'm kidding.
I might not be kidding.
"There you go again. Our home? And no way, no how. There will be no doing." She sputtered a moment, then hurried to change the subject. "What do you think of my camp?"
Giving credit where credit was due, he said, "You've created something special here."
While the Shawazons he'd interviewed had flatly refused to answer personal questions about their leader, they'd been more than happy to brag about her conquests. She was known as the Dune Raider, a warrior without equal, and a bona fide weapon. She invaded rival camps, freed women from stables and abuse, cared for children, especially orphans, stole what she wanted, whenever she wanted, and punished soldiers for their crimes. She also trained former captives to do the same.
What was exaggerated, and what was true? Whatever the answer, he wished he'd gotten to witness her transformation from fearful to brave.
Earlier he'd said to Cameron, "What hardships did she face? Tell me everything."
"Well, let's see. Only all of them," his friend had replied. "But before you stare at me with your cold, hard eyes--yeah, just like that--she volunteered for many of them in order to be a better warrior and commander."
"Thank you," Gillian said now, preening.
"But," he added with a scowl. "Tensions are higher than ever. Brutal clan-on-clan battles are waged weekly. Savage ambushes and strategic raids are a daily occurrence. The only thing the citizens agree upon is their hatred for you."
"So? I regret nothing."
He should be angry with her. Instead, he was...even more pleased. Such spirit.
Puck reached out and traced his knuckles along her jawline. Just as she'd done on their wedding day, she leaned into his touch. Only this time, she uttered the sexiest sound he'd ever heard.
"Mmmm."
My wife is in desperate need of stroking. How could he regret anything now?
Though Gillian looked tougher than before, even harsh, she felt like warmed silk.
The longer he touched her, the thicker the air became, breathing more difficult. Tremors arced through him, desire sizzling deep in his marrow.
He longed to sweep her into his arms and carry her to the nearest bed. Which he absolutely wouldn't do.
Which he probably shouldn't do.
Which he just might do...
No, no. His next goal awaited him. He couldn't allow Gillian to distract him. Lust held no importance--or rather, it wouldn't.
Puck summoned more and more ice, until finally the heat of desire cooled, a layer of frost forming over his heart and mind, followed by another and another, until his frigid armor was in place, his thoughts and body calm.
20
"Better," Puck said.
Gillian jolted, stepping away from him, swaying. "And he's back," she muttered, distaste dripping from the words.
Swaying? Her wound had weakened her, he realized. How could he have lost sight of it? "You're hurt," he said, the emotionless quality of his voice somehow obscene to him. "Who dared hurt my wife? Why weren't you protected?"
Scowling, she took another step back, increasing the distance between them.
"Such a dumb question," Winter said as she approached.
He zoomed his slitted gaze to his--former?--friend. "You had instructions to see to her well-being, and yet you allowed her to be harmed."
Winter waved the observation away and anchored her hands on her hips. "I waited on the sidelines forever, expecting an invitation to join the reunion. Since you guys were rude enough to ignore me, I'll be rude enough to butt in. By the way, t
his sucks."
"Agreed," Puck said. "You allowed her--"
"I had a plan," the keeper of Selfishness continued with a pout. "Puck would return, and I would introduce Gillian."
"I've met her," he snapped. "Now tell me why you allowed--"
"Go ahead," Gillian prompted, cutting him off. "Introduce me. He doesn't know my names have changed."
Names, plural?
Winter cleared her throat. "Puck Connacht, may I present to you Gillian Connacht, First of her Name, Queen of the Shawazons, the Dune Raider, Defender of the Weak, Stable Destroyer, Mother of the World's Worst Chimera, Scourge of the Sands, Sovereign of Every House, Friend of Winter."
A glowing Gillian gave her a thumbs-up, and Puck found himself powerless to do anything but stare, utterly entranced, as if he'd never put his emotions in a deep freeze. What mad world have I entered?
Winter kissed Gillian's cheek. "I'll give you a minute, maybe two, but probably only thirty seconds, before I return with supplies. Finish your business. Or pleasure. And don't forget to tell your ex how you divided up your joint assets when you divorced--by keeping everything yourself. It's a fascinating story, and I'm sure he'll be properly enthralled."
"Um, you're trying to take over the conversation, babe," Gillian said with an adoring smile.
Envy slashed what remained of his impassivity to ribbons. Her affection belonged to Puck, and only--
He popped his jaw and forced his thoughts to blank.
"Right. My bad." Winter mimed locking her lips and throwing away the key. Then she turned to Puck and said, "Don't try to blame me for your loss. You totally should have seen this coming. Everyone knows a love match versus an arranged one is like suicide versus murder. Besides, Gillian never believed me when I told her the secret to a successful immortal marriage is keeping your husband's armory full and his balls empty. You're probably better off because--"
"Only proving my point," Gillian muttered.
