And she wanted Cahill.
Suddenly Brea sat up in bed because she could no longer remember her reasons for refusing him. For the first time, everything became clear. She loved him. She loved Cahill! She wouldn't give anything up by marrying him. She would gain a lover, a companion and a friend. With Cahill by her side, Brea could start living life all over again.
Now that she'd had her revelation, it took great restraint not to run out the door, down the hall, find Cahill's chamber and throw herself in his arms. But it was late, and she was suddenly exhausted, from the travel, from the battle, from everything. Though she loved him with all her heart and could hardly wait to tell the whole world, a part of her also wanted to hold on to the knowledge for just this night. To keep this one last thing to herself; at least until morning. Then, when the sun rose, she would go to his chamber, accept his proposal and make love to him, trying out that thing he said some women liked to do.
It was only moments later, as Brea imagined just how that act might be performed, that she fell into an exhausted, dreamless slumber. Sometime in the middle of the night, however, Brea was roused by something hard poking her in the back. "Errrghh," she mumbled and rolled over. But the poking didn't stop.
"Princess," a voice slurred in her ear, "wake up."
Brea rolled toward the voice and smacked into a warm and fully naked male body. Her eyelids flew open, though it made no difference. The room was completely dark. "Cahill?" she whispered.
"Ummph," came his reply along with the sour stench of Brandy wine on his breath.
"Och, Cahill, you're drunk." She gave him a nudge with her elbow.
"Drunk on love," he slurred as he reached for her in the dark. His clumsy hands fumbled sloppily with the bedclothes and her nightdress.
Brea slapped his hands away. "Cahill, enough! Go back to bed. We'll talk in the morning."
"I'm already in bed. The only bed I want to be in," he murmured as he grappled her breasts, squeezing too hard, hurting her.
"I said stop!" Brea brought her knee up. She didn't intend to have her knee land where it did, but she also didn't try to avoid that sensitive area between his legs.
Cahill groaned and curled around his injury.
"Serves you right," Brea muttered as she kicked at his back with her feet. "Now go back to your own bed!"
The growl started as a low rumble from beside her and then grew. "She-devil!" Cahill spat as he turned and threw himself on top of her. "You'll pay for that." His slobbering mouth fell upon hers, forcing her lips apart, driving his tongue down her throat. Brea tried to kick free, but his weight bore her into the suffocating mounds of mattresses beneath her.
Everything was all wrong. Cahill's kisses, his body, his anger, his voice. This was not the Cahill she loved. This was not a man she wanted to marry. This was her nightmare version of marriage come true.
"You like it rough, Princess?" he slobbered in her ear.
"Yeah," Brea sobbed. "I like it rough." Then she slipped her hand beneath the pillow and withdrew her dagger, slashing blindly in front of her.
"My hand!" he cried. "Why, you bloody bitch."
But Brea didn't give him another chance to attack. With both legs she kicked him from her bed. Cahill tumbled back, his body thudding dully against the wooden floor, twenty mattresses beneath her. "And don't even think about coming back or I will kill you."
She heard him rise slowly to his feet. He fumbled blindly in the dark, finally found the door and slammed it shut behind him.
Brea dropped the dagger, covered her face and wept.
At the break of dawn, Brea dressed, her traveling cloak around her shoulders, her purse of gold hidden beneath her tunic, her heart empty and desolate. She felt as if her soul had died and left her body drained and numb. With slow steps she descended the stairs to the foyer where the queen waited with the captain of the guard by her side, probably having been alerted to her departure by the footman she'd asked to ready her mount.
As Brea approached, the queen stepped into her path and said, "My dear, I'm so sorry to see you l-"
"Get out of my way." Caring nothing for the queen's gasp of surprise, Brea pushed roughly past her. She had her sights set on the door. She had to get out. Now.
Just as she felt the doors swing out beneath her hands, she heard the unmistakable sound of rapid footfalls down stairs. Her empty heart dropped into her stomach, and suddenly all of the emotions that eluded her returned with a vengeance.
"Brea! Wait!"
Brea ran. She ran for the stables where Elrond stood, saddled and waiting. With a hop she was on his back and riding hard across the courtyard.
"Stop!"
Brea kicked Elrond into a gallop, only to have to pull up on the reins as she came upon a closed drawbridge. "Open the bridge!" she shouted to the keeper.
To her relief, the bridge started to move under the loud clanking of chains against cogs.
"Stop! Stop that bridge!" Cahill ordered as he sprinted toward her only a few hundred paces behind.
With a thunderous squeal, the drawbridge ceased its movement. Brea cursed and then spun Elrond around to face her once-again nemesis. "What do you want?" she scowled.
Now that it was obvious she could not leave, Cahill slowed his stride. He put his hands up in supplication. "Please, Brea. Wait. There's something I need to say."
"You said everything you needed to last night."
"What?" He paused and then continued. "I just wanted to tell you that I don't want to marry you."
"You don't..." Brea didn't think her heart could break into any more pieces. But it could and it did. "You're no better than any of them, do you know that? You're a stinking, filthy, rutting pig." Brea sat straight and tall in her saddle. She looked down her nose at the man who stood beneath her. The man she'd thought she loved. The man who'd hurt her worse than even the dragon who'd scarred her. With a flare of her nostrils, she sucked all the moisture from her mouth and spat on the ground by the side of his boot. She turned back toward the bridge and said, "Tell the keeper to lower the bridge."
She didn't hear him give the command-perhaps it was as simple as a flick of his wrist-but the bridge roared to life and Brea closed her eyes to wait as tears gathered behind her lids. But all she could see was Cahill. His expression, pale and crushed. His hands held out to her, pleading with her; open, strong, those hands had given her such pleasure.
Frowning, Brea realized there was something wrong with the picture in her mind. What was it? Suddenly she spun her horse around, finding Cahill standing in the very same position she'd left him, as if she'd turned him to stone. "Show me your hands."
"What?"
She rode up to his side, leaned over Elrond's back and grabbed his arm. She flipped his right hand over. Nothing. Not a scratch. "Show me your left." Cahill gave her his hand. She inspected it. Again, nothing. Brea nearly fell off her horse. She shut her eyes and drew a deep breath. It wasn't him last night. It wasn't him!
Cahill snatched his hands from hers and drew his sword. His movement was so sudden Brea was left with her mouth open in shock and confusion. But Cahill wasn't looking at her. He was looking at something over her head. Suddenly a great shadow passed between the ground and the sun, and Cahill cried, "Breanna, watch out!"
All Brea had time for was a quick glance up, into the fiendish yellow eyes of her true nemesis, the enormous mother of all dragons. "Spawn of the damned," she cursed. She reached for her sword just as the beast swooped and grabbed the back of her cloak in its reeking muzzle.
"No!" Cahill cried.
With a swing of her arm, Brea embedded her sword in the side of the monster's neck. It pitched its head in an attempt to toss Brea to her death. But she held onto her sword with all her might, her legs kicking instinctively to find purchase. The dragon dived and weaved, but Brea held on. Heading directly for the castle, the enormous beast flew straight at a wall, trying to wipe Brea off on the stone facade. Instead, she simply used the stone as leverage for her flailing feet and pulled herself up to straddle the neck of the fiend.
However, this dragon was so large, she could scarcely sit astride its breadth, and Brea was afraid if she pulled her sword loose she would lose her hold and fall to her death. Suddenly the dragon swooped again and flew only a horse-height above the ground. Brea considered jumping off, but she knew her chances of getting in position to kill the beast again were slim to none. It was only when she looked up and realized that the dragon was flying straight for the yawning opening of the gates of the castle walls that Brea realized what the brute intended to do. Knock her off on the lintel stones as it flew through the opening to freedom.
"Fires of hell!" Brea muttered. With only seconds to act, she knew what she had to do. Somehow she had to flip her body so that she clung beneath the beast, not on top of it.
Just as she was about to pull her leg over the dragon's neck, Brea felt a vibration along the length beneath her. She looked up and there sat Cahill, looping a length of rope around the dragon's curved horn and pulling himself into position. He drew his sword, lifted it and plunged. The dragon squawked, but something was wrong. It wobbled and shuddered, but the dragon did not die.
"Cahill! Grab my hand!" Brea shouted. He reached back for her, and their hands locked just as the monster pitched awkwardly to the left. If it wasn't for Cahill's grasp, Brea would have fallen. But his grip was firm and Brea knew, without a doubt, he would not let go. Cahill pulled her up the dragon's neck while she tugged on her embedded sword. With a wet, sucking sound, her sword came free, and Brea found herself wrapped protectively by Cahill's right arm.
"Now," she shouted as she raised her sword. "Let me go."
"No. Give me your sword."
"Cahill! I can do it!" It was only a split second, but it seemed like an eternity as she watched Cahill at war with himself, wanting to save her yet trusting Brea to save herself. Brea needed only to narrow her eyes at Cahill for him to loosen his grip. Once free, Brea lunged forward, raised her sword above her head and plunged it straight into the eye of the dragon. With a final shudder, the creature expelled its last burst of fire and dropped like a stone to the ground.
Without a second to spare, Brea jumped and rolled to safety amidst the sound of confusion, terror and horrible cries of pain. "Cahill?" she cried as she leapt to her feet, certain the screams were his. "Cahill!"
Cahill appeared from the other side of the downed beast, his clothes torn, his face streaked with dirt and dragon blood. "Here, Brea. I'm here."
Brea sprinted to his side and threw herself into his arms. He hugged her tight then drew her back from the dragon's carcass. "Oh no! Look!"
There, sticking out from beneath the gigantic body of the dragon was the bottom of a gown and a pair of fine satin slippers that kicked once, then twice before falling limp. The queen was dead.
"Help!"
Hand in hand, Brea and Cahill rushed toward the cries of distress only to find Peacock, the captain of the guard, also trapped beneath the beast. His legs were surely crushed, but he still lived. He held his hands out to Cahill and Brea, asking to be pulled free. Cahill reached for him, but Brea stopped him.
"No," she said. "Leave him." For across the palm of the captain's hand stretched a nasty gash. A dagger wound. Made by the dagger at Brea's waist. She pulled Cahill back to safety just as the dragon combusted, flames shooting high into the air, singeing the tips of Brea's hair. Peacock's screams died out almost before they began.
Cahill held her in his arms and kissed her face and hair in relief. "I don't care about my title, Brea. All I care about is you."
"I know."
"We don't have to marry, not if you don't want. But I do need you, Brea. I need you to stay with me."
All Brea could do was shake her head. "No," she said. "No, if I stay we do this right."
"What are you saying, Princess?"
"I want to marry you, Cahill. I want to belong to you and I want you to belong to me."
Cahill studied her for a moment, then he lifted her off her feet and twirled her in the air as he hooted with joy.
Grinning and giggling like she hadn't done in years, Brea added, "I think you'd better call the clergyman immediately. There's something I really want to try."
The most glorious smile spread across Cahill's face as he hugged her so hard she could barely breathe. He kissed her head, her nose, her cheek and finally her mouth. "I have a feeling that the two of us are going to live happily ever after."
"Cahill," Brea chided as her hands slipped down his back to his splendidly firm backside. "You know I don't believe in fairytales."
"No?" He planted a deliciously wet kiss on her lips. "That's funny, because you're living one."
About the Author.
DL spent her youth living by trial and error. From touring with an international performing group, backpacking through northern Africa to living bohemian style in Berlin, she pursued adventure and passion from one place to the next, never really knowing where she'd end up. It wasn't until she met the love of her life, the son of a Nakoda chief, and started a family, that DL found her true calling-writing. Now, she writes about passion and adventure, and she is happy to say she still never knows where her characters are going to end up. To learn more about D.L. Snow, please visit www.dlsnow.ca.
One act of kindness cements a destiny she couldn't fathom.
Wolf 2010 Cara Carnes An Enchanted Enchanted Story Story As a child, the Lost Woods were Hannah's passion. A place where she dreamed of mysterious creatures, including one she saved-a man who magically changed into a wolf. Now, twelve years later, the woods are her refuge from a horde of marauders who killed her mother.
This time, it is the wolf who saves her. And he is no dream.
Stephan can't help but remember the time Hannah encouraged him to free his injured leg and continue the soul journey required of his kind. The child unwittingly bound herself to him, and now the woman tempts him like no other. Yet if she learns his secret, her fragile trust could be broken for all time.
Hannah doesn't see how she can possibly fit into Stephan's world-especially when their overwhelming passion reveals the one reason she should not trust him. Stephan has fought more than his share of battles, but the one for Hannah's heart is the one that could break his own...
Warning: Kickass, shape-shifting alphas will leave you breathlessly begging for Lost Woods. Be careful...they may know what you think!
Enjoy the following excerpt for Wolf: Wolf: Stephan.
My pulse quickened and I fiddled with the hem of my borrowed dress. I gawked at his powerful body as he greeted Nalla. His eyes danced with adoration when around her, and I wished I could see the same glimmer in his eyes when he thought of me.
The same type of clinging leather pants molded against his powerful thighs. Muscle rippled across his stomach, partially visible through the open wood-colored vest. His chest was unmarred by hair. My fingers longed to trace the contours of his smooth skin.
Heat spread through me to center at my nether regions. I squeezed my thighs together and looked down because I was afraid my cheeks were stained with shame. My attraction to him had grown, and my body refused to behave.
His long legs brought him to me faster than I was prepared for. I stood, my legs wobbling as my breathing accelerated. His hands grasped my arms, steadying me with a strength that made me shiver. Not even the mightiest of my village's fighters were so honed and muscular. I'd seen enough of his people to know none of the men in his pride were like the men I was accustomed to.
"Thanks."
Thanks. Not only was it a naive and foolish thing to say, but it came out with a meekness that made my mind scream at my blathering tongue. I'd thought of clever retorts and envisioned conversations with him about many things for the past few nights. I'd even fantasized about him.
And all I had to say when he stood before me was "thanks". A flicker of darkness appeared and disappeared in his golden eyes.
Nalla shuffled a chair. The dragging sound across the bare floor of the eating area pulled me from my lustful thoughts. I focused my attention to where his fingers touched my skin. Tingles danced there and spread through me like molten fire. Heat rushed to my core. My pussy moistened. My nipples hardened.
I fought the urge to tug on my dress or look down to see if it was apparent. I refused to sever my contact with him.
"She's been asking about you." Nalla's voice quashed the connection I'd felt. I stepped back enough to allow my heartbeat to slow, but his assessing gaze remained on me, and I was lost in the tumbling waves of desire his presence had incited.
"Really?" His voice, filled with curiosity, made me smile. "I've been catching up on pride issues. Some of it is quite tedious. I'm sure your company would have broken up the monotony."
"She has a restless spirit, much like you." Nalla chuckled. "Were she one of us, she'd be prowling in animal form."
Stephan grinned. I couldn't understand their amusement, but I knew she had no ill regard for me. She sat at the table and regarded us.
"Is her leg healing well?" he asked.
I hadn't realized how injured my leg was until Nalla had begun treating it. "Those poultices of hers don't burn anymore. Surely that's a good sign."
Nalla laughed. The rich tones of her wise voice soothed me. I hadn't realized I missed my gran until that moment. They were too alike for me not to be drawn to her.
"She's been asking about your talisman and wanted to walk the village. Perhaps you can appease her."