“Do my scars bother you, princess?”
Did he think that she would not want to be in his presence because he wasn’t perfect? “I wonder what you must have suffered. I can only imagine the pain—”
“Don’t.” He shook his head and leaned against the back of the sofa, putting distance between them.
In other words, he refused to discuss it. His business, of course. But Sabelle couldn’t deny that his refusal upset her. She wasn’t hurt, exactly. But sensed a deep well of pain, and she had no idea where it stemmed from. And she hated being shut out … though she’d done the same to him.
“Do you need anything else?” His gravel voice raked over her.
“Do you?” Sabelle couldn’t stop herself from reaching across the sofa and laying her fingers on his arm. After all he’d done for her and her brother today, the least she could do was ease his pain. But when she opened her senses to send him joyful and peaceful thoughts, he ripped his arm away and stood.
“I don’t need your siren abilities to force happiness on me, princess. I’m just fine.”
“I—I’m sorry. I simply thought … I brought up something painful, and—”
“I’ll live. I didn’t grow up with rainbows and sunshine. I don’t need them now.” He took a deep breath, then another, staring down at her.
Sabelle felt instantly contrite. “I’m sorry.”
He sighed, and the anger seemed to drain from him. “So am I.”
With that obscure apology, he pivoted away and headed again for the bathroom, closing the door behind him.
He didn’t want to hear about Bram, and now that they weren’t fighting for survival, every other conversation with Ice was strained and confusing. A few words. Less than five minutes, and she was mystified. And completely curious.
Where had the scars come from? What exactly had his life been like before the Doomsday Brethren, as a member of the Deprived? Why did he and Bram despise each other?
The wind outside howled, reminding her that the enemy awaited them just on the other side of that door. None of her questions mattered now. Nor did the answers, not until they were safe.
Ice walked back in wearing the other dressing gown supplied by the bed-and-breakfast. Black, sleek, it draped lovingly over his muscles, clinging to every physical feature that fascinated her.
He finished belting the garment around his waist, then looked up. The green of his eyes stood out, grabbed her by the throat. Sabelle’s heart pounded.
“Food should be here soon.”
And then what? Sabelle shook her head. Much better to focus on that question than gawk at Ice’s body—again.
“What shall we do next?” she breathed.
As soon as the words slipped out, an image of his big body tangled with hers as he captured her mouth under his and aligned their bodies so he could press deep inside battered her better sense. She forced herself to ignore the ache that image created.
He froze. “Besides sleep?”
Ice wasn’t exactly suggesting anything. But horrified that her thoughts showed on her face, she shook her head. “I—I meant tomorrow.”
With a sigh, Ice sat beside her again. “We can’t stay here. You’re probably tired and want to rest for a few days—”
“We don’t dare.”
The measuring glance he sent her revealed surprise. “Exactly.”
Damn it. Perhaps the fact she couldn’t read Ice’s thoughts was a good thing. He probably thought she was a stupid Privileged siren blonde, with nothing more to do each day than worry about her outfit and the state of her hair.
“We must warn the Council members their lives are in jeopardy.”
Ice sneered. “Let’s hope they believe it.”
Indeed. “We have to get Bram some help as well.”
“He’s seen a healer, right?”
“Did no good, so I’ve been thinking … I have help.” She nodded toward the Doomsday Diary sitting on the leather ottoman in front of the sofa.
Ice’s gaze fell on the little red book. He frowned. “Do we know what it will do? olivia never wrote in the book. Sydney wrote only her sexual fantasies. You’re talking about reversing dark magic, nearly stopping death. What are the repercussions of tampering with something so magical?”
“What are the repercussions of doing nothing?” she shot back.
“If Mathias can track it when we teleport it, it may be possible for him to track the book when we use it.”
Good point. “Perhaps. It may be worth the risk to find out.” Though writing in the diary scared her, Sabelle didn’t see many other options. “I fear he’ll die if I don’t.”
“Understood. But if using the book makes it traceable, Mathias will find and kill us all if you do.”
Ice could well be right. “I’ll have to think on it. Perhaps there’s a way to use it that he can’t track?”
“If there is, I’ll help you find it.”
Surprise skittered through Sabelle. He wanted to help her help Bram? “Thank you.”
Ice nodded, and Sabelle found herself hard-pressed not to stare. Everything about him shouted masculinity. He was solid, like a rock, both in strength and spirit. It would take a lot to make him crumble. That didn’t surprise her, really. But she had to admit that she felt extraordinarily safe with him. And she was certain that her sudden, unruly attraction had everything—and yet nothing—to do with those characteristics. From the first, she’d thought he was unbearably sexy. That hadn’t changed one whit.
A knock sounded at the door. Only a human could approach the door with the magic they’d placed around the cottage—this must be dinner.
“I’ll get it.” Ice rose and urged her back with a hand. “Stay here … just in case.”
He opened the door to a smallish woman, young with very fair skin and nearly-black hair. She took one look at Ice in the black dressing gown and flushed beet red.
“I-I’ll just put your meal over here.” Her voice shook as she placed a tray on a nearby table, then snuck another glance at Ice. “R-ring the front house if you need anything else.”
“Thank you.” Ice walked toward the door, clearly ready to be rid of her.
The woman lingered, then smiled at Sabelle. “Honey-moon?”
Lacking a better response, she nodded. Then glanced at Ice for his reaction. Did he know what the human word meant?
“It’s romantic here. We usually do a little wedding cake for all the newlyweds. We knew you were coming. I’m sure we did one for you. I’ll check the kitchen for it.”
Understanding dawned across Ice’s face, and suddenly Sabelle wished a hole would open in the ground and swallow her up.
“That won’t be necessary,” Ice assured. “We simply want privacy tonight and are leaving early in the morning. You understand.”
The little woman flushed red again. “Indeed. I’ll just … go. Congratulations!”
Backing out the door with a last glance at Ice and a wave, the bed-and-breakfast clerk left. Sabelle watched Ice’s face for reaction, but he gave away nothing.
“She thinks we’re newly mated?”
Sabelle felt certain that she was turning many shades of red. Again, she wished she could read Ice’s thoughts. Was he laughing? Annoyed? Aroused?
“Indeed. Not that we . . .”
Ice frowned, and she stopped babbling.
“That we … what?” he asked with a raised brow. “Would ever have sex?”
Even his words blasted her with unbearable heat. If he ever touched her, she’d combust. She pressed her lips together to stave off her need. Now wasn’t the time. Ice wasn’t the man … no matter how badly her body wished otherwise.
“Ever mate?” he added.
It was imperative that she divert this conversation now. They couldn’t ever mate, and pointing out all the reasons why was pointless. He knew them every bit as well as she.
“I didn’t correct her because I thought posing as newlyweds would be better cover if Mathias tracked us here.” Time to drop this sensitive topic altogether. “Shall we eat before the food grows cold?”
He nodded and crossed the room. She followed and uncovered the plates. Beef tips in a rich burgundy sauce, potatoes, delicate asparagus stalks, French bread, a lemon tart, and a bottle of rich red wine to polish it off. Ice’s choices surprised her. They seemed so … sophisticated.
“I ordered what I guessed you might like. If you don’t care for anything—”
“It’s lovely.” She tried to smile.
The expression must have passed muster, since he opened the wine, poured her a glass, then grabbed another plate and uncovered the dish. An enormous pot pie, steaming and fresh, and a huge glass of water. As he grabbed a napkin and fork, then sat and dug in, she frowned.
“You don’t want beef tips and wine?”
“This is fine.” He plucked up a forkful of pastry, chicken, and carrots.
She should let it go, she knew. Maybe he didn’t like beef or particularly loved pot pie … but she didn’t think that was the case.
“I would have eaten pot pie as well. You didn’t have to order anything special for me.”
“Of course I did, princess.”
There it was again. The name, the slight sneer. She lost what little appetite she’d possessed and threw her fork down with a clatter.
“I don’t think I deserve your name calling. I’ve hardly stood about like a damsel in distress, moaning over chipped fingernails and the like. It’s December, and I gave you my jumper. I slogged through the mud beside you. I stole a car. Yet you persist in mocking me. Just because I’m female hardly means I’m incapable.”
He raised his gaze, then considered her with a long stare. “It has nothing to do with you being female.”
Right, then. It had everything to do with the fact she was Bram’s sister.
Jumping from her chair, Sabelle stormed across the room to hover over him, hands on her hips. “This is war. I understand that. I’m willing to throw my lot in, sacrifice and fight as need be. Just because I grew up Privileged doesn’t mean I expect to be pampered. So don’t you dare deride me or treat me as if I’m helpless.”
“You think I’m insulting you?”
Hadn’t she just explained that in some detail? Yes, he’d done a great deal to comfort and protect her tonight. But his mocking pet name grated. Clearly, it wasn’t meant to be polite. “How else could I possibly interpret the manner in which you call me ‘princess’?”
Ice drained his huge water glass in four long swallows. She watched his throat work and gulped herself. Oh dear God. He was huge, and made her insides jump with a need she could barely fight.
Slamming his glass down on the table, he stared at her. “Good. Keep taking it that way.”
Good? “What the devil does that mean? I’m not your enemy. We’re supposed to work together. You said you’d help—”
“And I will. But if you’re angry, we won’t be speaking more than necessary.”
What? Perhaps the wizard was mad. “And you think that’s a good thing?”
“Indeed. I have only two choices: keep you angry or give in to my every urge to kiss you senseless. Which would you prefer?”
CHAPTER FOUR
ICE DIDN’T MOVE A MUSCLE. He sat, breath held, awaiting Sabelle’s response.
She blinked, wide-eyed, shell-shocked. Silent.
Bloody hell. Clearly, he had not opened his mouth and inserted his foot, but his whole damn leg. He couldn’t take it back.
Still, even if he could, he wouldn’t.
From the moment he’d seen her roaming Bram’s posh estate two months past, serving hungry warriors a steaming dinner with a genuine smile and that halo of golden hair curling nearly down to the breath-catching sway of her hips, he’d been captivated. His head told him he had zero chance of spending any personal time with the princess. Parts south continued to hope.
Suddenly, that possibility lay between them. How would she react if he kissed her?
For that matter, how would he?
Slowly, Ice stood. Her blue eyes followed him up, up. Vulnerable. Alluring. Intrigued. Interesting . . . She flushed, her rosy lips parted, her breaths quickened. He fisted his hands, scouring his resolve for the will not to devour her that instant. Right away, he feared it was a losing battle.
As he stepped closer, his heart chugged. In the air between them, he smelled peaches … and her arousal.
His hands clenched into fists at his sides. A sign. He just needed any sign from her. A bare hint of receptiveness and like a freight train with no brakes, he wouldn’t be responsible for how quickly he rolled her beneath him. She’d barely draw in a breath before he’d be deep inside her.
“Which would you prefer, Sabelle?” he murmured.
She blinked, then dropped her stare, breaking the breathless connection. Damn it! His stomach dropped to his knees. Well, he likely had his answer.