Page 41 of Enchanted
The blood drained out of her head, left it light and giddy as the mists faded. She could hear in some dim distance the harsh, ragged sound of her own breath and the trembling scream that sounded only in her mind.
She stepped back, staggered. Her vision grayed at the edges. Tiny lights danced in front of her eyes.
When her knees buckled, he cursed ripely, and his hands caught her before she could fall.
“Damned if you’ll faint and make me feel like a monster.” He eased her into a chair and shoved her head between her knees. “Catch your breath, and next time have a care with what you wish for.”
There was a hive of bees buzzing in her head, a hundred icy fingers skimming over her skin. She babbled something when he lifted her head. She would have pulled back, but he had his hands firm on her face. “Just look,” he murmured, gently now. “Just look at me. Be calm.”
Awake and aware this time, she felt his mind touch her. Instinct had her struggling, had her hands lifting to push at him.
“No, don’t fight me on this. I won’t harm you.”
“No … I know you won’t.” She knew that, was inexplicably certain of it. “Could I—could I have some water?”
She blinked at the glass she hadn’t known was in his hand, hesitated and saw that flicker of annoyance in his eyes. “It’s only water. You’ve my word on it.”
“Your word.” She sipped, let out a shaky breath. “You’re a …” It was too ridiculous, but she’d seen. For Lord’s sake, she’d seen. “You’re a werewolf.”
His eyes rounded in what could only be shock, then he shoved himself to his feet to stare at her in baffled fury. “A werewolf? For the love of Finn, where do you come up with these things? A werewolf.” He muttered it now as he prowled the room. “You’re not stupid—you’re just stubborn. It’s the broad light of day, isn’t it? Do you see a full moon out there? Did I come snapping at your throat?”
He muttered curses in Gaelic as he whirled back around to glare at her. “I’m Liam of Donovan,” he said with pride ringing in his voice. “And I’m a witch.”
“Oh, well, then.” Her laugh was quick and lightly hysterical. “That’s all right, then.”
“Don’t cringe from me.” He snapped it out, cut to the core when she hugged her arms over her chest. “I’ve given you time to see, to prepare. I’d not have shown you so abruptly if you hadn’t pushed me.”
“Time to see? To prepare? Forthis?” She ran an unsteady hand through her hair. “Who could? Maybe I’m dreaming again,” she murmured, then bolted straight in the chair. “Dreaming. Oh, my God.”
He saw her thoughts, jammed his hands into his pockets. “I took nothing you weren’t willing to give.”
“You made love to me—you came to my bed while I slept and—”
“My mind to your mind,” he interrupted. “I kept my hands off you—for the most part.”
The blood had come back into her face and flamed there now. “They weren’t dreams.”
“They were dreams right enough. You’d have given me more than that, Rowan. We both know the truth ofit. I won’t apologize for dreaming with you.”
“Dreaming with me.” She ordered herself to her feet, but had to brace a hand on the chair to stay on them. “Am I supposed to believe this?”
“Aye.” A smile ghosted around his mouth. “That you are.”
“Believe you’re a witch. That you can change into a wolf and come into my dreams whenever you like.”
“Whenever you like as well.” A different tack, he mused, might be in order. One that would please them both. “You sighed for me, Rowan. Trembled for me.” He moved forward to skim his hands up her arms. “And smiled in your sleep when I left you.”
“What you’re talking about happens in books, in the games you write.”
“And in the world as well. You’ve been in that world. I’ve taken you there. You remember last night. I can see it in your mind.”
“Don’t look in my mind.” She jerked back, mortified because she believed he could. “Thoughts are private things.”
“And yours are often so clear on your face that I don’t have to look any further. I won’t look further if it upsets you.”
“It does.” She caught her bottom lip between her teeth. “You’re a psychic?”
He blew out a huff of breath. “I’ve the power to see, if that’s your meaning. To brew a spell, to call the thunder.” He shrugged negligently, elegantly. “To shift shapes at my will.”
