Page 11 of Unspoken
“Don’t be angry.” She kept her plea level andsoft, swallowing a surge of dread as he stalked closer. “I – I’m sorry Ididn’t tell you that… I’d never…”
He paused, cocking his head to the side in a now familiargesture. Bristling like a great cat, his nostrils flared and he examined herwith his cold, black eyes like a curious specimen.
Dear God. The thrill of her first orgasmsstill pulsing in her veins spiked even higher as she imagined all kinds ofterrible ends for her in the clutches of this monster. Why did excitementtangle with her panic? She’d always feared death and avoided danger. Fearedthere was nothing after for her but bitter judgment and possible damnation forthe things she’d done.
For whom she was.
Yet this creature had nothing to do with allthat. He was a creation of a different deity. He existed as a holy cleric ofsome other, more ancient order. He wasn’t bishop, templar, monk, or confessor.
He was an executioner.
His presence forged the outcomes of war andestablished the conqueror from the conquered. Though he subjugated no one, hissword drew the lines of possession in the soil, and then cut down theopposition. A berserker didn’t discriminate. He killed everyone.
He won’t kill me. Like all her knowledge,Evelyn didn’t understand where this came from. She just—knew.
“I’m not afraid of you,” she murmured, rising toher knees on the bed.
He tracked her every move.
Her trembling hand made her a liar as she reachedout to him, resting her palm against his heart. The muscle twitched beneathher touch, his flesh hot and feverish.
That strange ticking rumble, somewhere between agrowl and a purr reverberated from deep in his chest and vibrated against herhand. Then she was falling into the air where he’d been standing.
A strong arm clenched beneath her breasts, savingher from toppling head first off the bed. Evelyn let out a small squeak as shewas pulled back against his strong body and set between his open legs.
She hadn’t even seen him move. One moment, he’dbeen standing in front of her, the next, crouched behind her on the bed. Theywere leaning against the headboard, her backside pressed against his arousal.
Instead of taking her, or hurting her, he settledher back against his rumbling chest and leaned against her. Evelyn gasped as arough hand wound in her hair a moment before his face buried in it.
He was scenting her?
All right.She let out a breath of relief.This is… strange, but not altogether unpleasant.
He released her hair and heavy arms createdwalls on either side of her as he reached forward. She’d completely forgottenabout the damp cloth he’d been holding until he used it to gently cleanse herthighs.
Blushing, she hid her face against his arm, and hemade an animalistic noise of amusement. She smiled against his skin.
“I was planning to sleep in the cupboard tonightwith the spiders. At least until the MacKay were gone. But I’m quite glad Ididn’t.” She hated her propensity to babble that whenever discomfited orembarrassed. Biting her tongue, she admonished herself to be quiet.
Roderick grunted when she said ‘MacKay’ and itwasn’t a happy sound. Folding the cloth the opposite way, he parted her foldsand washed her intimately as well, the cloth wiping away any evidence of hervirginity.
She cleared her throat and squeezed her eyes shut,trying not to focus on the unfamiliar intimacy of his actions. “I, uh, used tobe locked in a lot of cupboards and such when I was a girl.” She couldn’t seemto help herself. The words tumbled out of her in reckless succession. “TheLondon convent where I was raised sometimes held prisoners as well as orphans.I dare say we weren’t treated much differently. When we misbehaved or— whenthey wanted something, we’d be locked away. Sometimes for hours… orovernight.” She didn’t dare tell him that she’d been locked away more thanany other child. That the bishop had used her gift for knowing truths andforced her to listen in on countless tortured confessions. She’d rarely beenable to save any of his victims, though. Even the innocent ones.
Roderick discarded the cloth and pulled her closeragainst him, nuzzling the curve of her neck. It felt good. Warm. In a shorttime, this had become her favorite place, this haven of his solid body wrappedaround her. Perhaps the Berserker wasn’t as dangerous in this form as she’doriginally thought.
“Anyway, I’m not fond of small spaces, to say theleast. I suppose I’m thanking you for, well, inviting me in here. For protectingme from the MacKays—and the cupboard.”
He nodded against her skin, capturing her earlobein his lips and scraping his teeth against the sensitive flesh there.
Goose pimples erupted all over and she shivered.
Searching for her knowledge, she was paralyzed by thedesperate hope that perhaps his fate had changed, as they sometimes did throughno fault of one’s own, but of others or circumstance.
Nay. His life ended on the morrow. She closedher eyes against hot tears as grief snaked through her.
What could she do? Should she warn him? Shouldshe tell him of her ability and risk his lethal censure? Did one night oflove-making addle her wits so much that she forgot about self preservation?They turned to each other for pleasure, yes. He might be using her body fordistraction before a battle. And, in turn, she used him for protection againsta fate worse than death at the hands of the MacKay. Yet, sherefusedtolet anyone use her ability against her again. In the hands of the church,using it in the name of one God, it had been a nightmare. She shuddered tothink of what it would become in the hands of an entire Norse pantheon. She’drisked her life to escape to Scotland, and she didn’t have enough money savedto take herself any farther.
No, she couldn’t tell him. It wouldn’t changeanything. She’d tried before to save people from their destiny. It wasn’t tobe done.
