Page 40 of Ashborne Forged

Her smile lit the room. It blazed in my chest, sending the bond glowing and pulsing again.

But that tiny little voice that I’d worked so hard to keep silent when we were alone, raised a distant shriek.

She was innocent. And beautiful. She’d been protected and sheltered her entire life.

She had no idea the beast that prowled in the darkest reaches of a man’s self.

She didn’t really want to know all the ways.

What true lady would?

13. Watch and Listen

~ GRACE ~

On our third night at the hut, since I had remembered the instructions from the previous day, and made lunch without help, Voski told me he’d prepare our evening meal. And because I hated cooking, but recognized the need for it, I let him.

The evening air was cold as the sun sank behind the mountains, but I didn’t want to move. It had been dry all day. Instead of being cooped up in the hut, Voski built a fire under the trees, and now was preparing to roast the last of the meat Gil had sent with us.

Neither of us spoke.

We’d trained all morning, made love after lunch, dozed in bed, and now we were outside, in the orange light of sunset. And for the first time, I could do nothing, and watch my mate.

The tension he’d held since the day we met was gone. His shoulders were loose. He smiled easily, though rarely broadly. He chuckled often. And his eyes… Those dark, penetrating eyes were keen and sharp, always fixed wherever he concentrated his attention. First on the flames of the fire as he fed increasingly large pieces of wood into it, until it crackled merrily. Then on the flat, heavy pan he’d use to cook the meat. Then on the vegetables he sliced on a flat rock.

I focused on his hands, fascinated by them.

Long fingers, thick tendons, palms large enough to engulf my entire fist. They were a man’s hands. Until our bond, I’d always admired male hands for their strength and precision, and arms and shoulders for their power.

But those hands weren’t only capable of precise cutting, and delicate knots. They weren’t only skilled enough to tie a fly to use for fishing, or mend a harness, or throw a knife.

They were large enough, and strong enough to lift me. Yet tender enough, and skilled enough, to make my body sing. They locked in my hair, forcing me to stare into those dark eyes. And they pinned me to a bed—or his body. Yet they teased, and trailed, and stroked with such gentleness, they could turn my skin to heat and ice.

Heat and ice?

No.

Fire and ice.

Voski, my mate, was fire and ice.

The cold control when a task was at hand.

The fire of rage when his heart was offended.

The cool restraint when his authority was questioned.

The white-hot need when he wanted me.

He was a conflicting measure of opposites: A little bit wicked—and now I could see, a little bit soft. As the edge of his fear left him, and the anger faded, his humor and compassion rose to take their place.

I was coming to understand why others followed him, even without rank. There was a fullness to him. A surety. And now that he’d stopped fighting the bond… a solid, quiet dignity that I hadn’t seen before.

I admired him a great deal. And I loved this side of his nature.

“What is it?” he hadn’t raised his eyes from the vegetables he chopped, but he’d obviously sensed my scrutiny.

I swallowed, but was honest. “I was thinking about how much I like this side of you.”