Sally reached up on tiptoe. “Come to my wagon tonight. I’ll make sure Nancy’s gone. You come see me and my lips are sealed about that little bit of paper there. Never saw it. Don’t know nothing. Deal?”
An easy way to keep her silence. A simple choice. There was no reason to feel guilty or disloyal to Callista. Sally’s fingers slid beneath his waistband, her tongue sliding over the curve of his ear. His stomach rolled in response as if the entire day’s alcohol intake were about to end on his boots. He grabbed Sally’s wrist, sweat curling down his spine. “Your price is too steep, Miss Sweet. I’ll have to take my chances on your better nature.”
She wrenched her arm away, her winsome smile turned ugly, eyes hard and lip curling. “Your loss, St. Leger. In more ways than one.”
10
Callista came awake as soon as David pulled the blanket over the both of them, her body going instantly rigid, a hitch in her breathing. “Where have you been?”
“Out,” he growled. “I know we’re feigning an elopement, but you’re not my wife yet.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” She rolled over and sat up. “Have you been drinking?”
“Yes, but not nearly enough.”
“What’s wrong? Why are you so angry?” As she’d done earlier that night, she reached out to touch him with a hand that would be cool on his fevered skin, a hand that would make him yearn for more than this ridiculous fantasy they’d embroiled themselves in. But this time he flinched and she withdrew, her fingers tacky with his blood.
“You’re hurt—again.” She sat up, throwing her legs over the side of the bunk. “One would think you seek out trouble.”
He sank back on the bed, closing his eyes. “I was managing fine until someone we know took a board to my skull.”
“So you just happened to be in that alley, David St. Leger? Or should I call you . . . Monster of the Mews?”
He opened his eyes to see her staring down at him, hands on her hips. “Figured it out, did you?”
“Two and two . . . I’ve always been good at sums. But why?” she asked. “Suppose someone caught you?”
“Someone did.”
“Exactly. Why would you put yourself at such risk for complete strangers?”
“Why does anyone do anything, sweet Callista?” he answered. “It seemed like a good idea at the time. Much like this . . .” Before he could think better of it, he rolled up and off the bed to cradle the back of her head as he kissed her. She jerked once in his arms but did not run. He ran the tip of his tongue across the tight seam of her lips until she slowly relaxed into his embrace. He felt the mix of fear and want within her but carefully, delicately, he teased her into compliance. Her body slackened, her lips parted to allow his tongue to plunder the velvet within. Edging closer, he reached to palm the luscious curve of a breast—and gasped as a hot slash of pain sizzled down his arm to his fingers.
She jerked away, dazed but quickly refocusing. “I knew it was more than a scratch. Let me take a look.”
“I’m fine,” he said, though the wagon did seem to be pitching and rolling more than it ought—or was that his stomach? Difficult to tell after the insane amount of gin and whisky he’d poured down his throat, not to mention a disgusting brew that tasted like turnips but carried the devil’s own kick.
“I’ll be the judge. Let’s go outside where I can see”—her gaze swept the cluttered wagon’s interior—“and we have some space to breathe.”
He sighed. So much for his famed prowess with women. He’d hoped for a courtesan and had gotten a nurse. He closed his eyes, jaw clamped tight, nostrils flaring in a huff of ironic laughter. Best to surrender to her ministering and get it over with.
Outside, the sky shone black as ink, stars high and cold. She sat him down beside the smoldering gray ash of the cookfire, whispered words under her breath as she fed it kindling and stoked it with the end of a burnt stick until the flames burned bright, dancing in her eyes.
Better flames than death.
“Do you have a healer’s magic as well, Fey-blood?” The sarcasm was unwarranted, but his body throbbed from temples to toes, an effect that hours in the single-minded pursuit of inebriation had done little to curb.
“No, but you can’t just let it fester. You’ll sicken.”
Before he could argue, she had his shirt off with only the slightest hesitation. Her expression grim and businesslike, she dabbed at the long, shallow gash just below his collarbone. The bleeding had stopped, but a thin trail of it remained smeared across his chest, the trail of her finger easily visible even in the thick gloom. “How did it happen?”
“The particulars are vague, but if memory serves, there was a drag hook involved. Must have been baited to catch fox.”
Her body stilled, her breath catching in a ragged gasp as she clutched the rag, eyes locked on the gash with new intensity. “Fox . . . or wolf?”
He lifted her chin with a finger, forcing her to meet his gaze. “It was a coincidence, Callista. That’s all. I should have been paying closer attention. Now that I know the lands hereabout are well guarded, I’ll be more careful.”
“Being careful would mean staying close to the wagons and staying human,” she scolded.
He gave a bleak smile, his pleasant fuzziness fading as if it had never been. But that was always the way. He could run from the ruin his life had become, but it always caught him up in the end.
“I’m not human, Callista . . . not completely,” he answered.
He covered her hand with his own, felt her soft skin, her fingers trembling. Lightning licked along his blood, shooting southward to his groin. There were only inches separating them, inches that closed as he leaned toward her, waiting for her to pull back, to stop him, to run for the safety of the wagon and lock the door behind her. She did none of those things. Instead, she swayed toward him as if strings holding her taut had been cut. Her lips parted, a sigh escaping as he kissed her brow, her temple, her cheek. He turned over her hand and kissed her palm and the underside of her wrist where her pulse fluttered.
“What did you say?”
“I called you a tall, cool drink of water. Something I’m in desperate need of right now.”
“Come inside. I’ll pour you a glass and tuck you into bed.”
Now, there was a loaded suggestion fraught with possibilities, all of them out of bounds. But, Mother of All, he was more than willing to indulge. Already he was rigid as a tent pole. “I think I’ll just sit out here for a bit and, uh . . . whittle.”
She folded her legs beneath her, a clever smile on her face. “Then I’ll keep you company.”
“Is this your friendly way of keeping me sober or keeping me safe?”
She cocked her head with a quick look of amusement. “Too late for both tonight, but we’ll reset the clock and begin fresh from now.” She paused, the smile dying. “Why do you drink so much, David?”
“It keeps me from thinking . . . or feeling. At least for a little while.”
“But don’t you pay for it afterward?”
He shrugged. “A price I find tolerable. Besides, I could guzzle a trough and it would barely affect me. It’s one of the so-called advantages of my shifter blood. A head like a rock.”
A dimple quirked a corner of her mouth, her eyes bright with laughter. “You said it, not me.”
He drew a deep breath. The gash on his chest stung, but it was the throbbing between his legs that nearly brought tears to his eyes. He’d desired women before but never like this. Never with such a visceral yanking of every heartstring in his body. It made no sense. She was pretty, but not beautiful. She was smart, but no
