The Dragon’s Daughter and the Winter Mage by Jeffe Kennedy

~ 15 ~

Honestly, the way the man behaved, you’d think she’d announced she planned to amputate the limb. In truth, now that she finally had a chance to examine him without the splint and associated wrapping, it did not look very good. Not surprising, given the almost total lack of medical care in this place, but still distressing to see how much muscle atrophy had set in. Isyn’s upper body remained strong—she hadn’t exaggerated when she’d called it impressive—his shoulder, chest, and arm muscles displaying the bulk and definition that came from a lifetime of hard work.

He was also scarred in so many places and ways that she shuddered to think of all he’d endured. With his natural pale coloring exacerbated by living in the Winter Isles, where overcast seemed to be the norm, the white lines of scars didn’t show up until subjected to close scrutiny. But now that she could look closely, they stitched and riddled his skin, a tale of suffering carved in a cicatrice design.

In contrast, the skin around the broken leg screamed in startling scarlets and purples. The ridged scar tissue billowed and folded, centering around a point mid-thigh, where she suspected there might be festering. That was not good. “The bone broke the skin?” she asked, gently skimming her fingers over the barely healing skin. He flinched, and she wished fervently that she had Stella’s gift of healing. Well, she had what Harlan had taught her, and that was still something.

“Yes,” he bit out. “Or so I’m told,” he added, relenting. “I wasn’t conscious for that part. I remember the snap of the break, the pain like nothing else, and waking up with the bone splinted and the wound you see now.”

“Is this painful?” Obviously it was, as he flinched reflexively, his muscles twitching no matter how gently she prodded.

But he understood what she was asking. “Nothing I can’t bear.”

“Just tell me if it gets to be too much. It will feel so much better when I’m done, I promise.”

He nodded, not replying, staring at the ceiling as if he could burn a hole through it with his gaze, seeming to ignore her completely as she examined the leg. Not only was it not good; it was bad. The upper leg muscles had atrophied from the long convalescence, as expected, but so had the lower leg, looking decidedly withered. In addition, he’d lost muscle mass around the hip on that side. Inflammation burned against her fingertips here and there, confirming a deep-tissue chronic infection, and she suspected nerve damage on top of that. Worst of all, the bone hadn’t been set properly. No wonder it hadn’t healed well. Frankly it was a wonder Isyn could move about on it at all. Someone with less ferocious will wouldn’t be.

That will of his had been a blessing and curse. For the first time she understood his conviction that his days were numbered.

Even if this injury didn’t kill him, he’d never be able to recover this leg. She wished she hadn’t allowed the thought of amputation into her mind earlier, because the more she examined him, the more likely it seemed that cutting off the leg might be the only option to save his life. How could she possibly tell him that, though?

“That bad?” he asked, his voice a sarcastic rasp, his green gaze now resting fully on her face, seeing too much.

“It was a bad break, for sure,” she replied with all the cheer she could muster.

He shook his head on the pillow, gaze fixed on her. “You, my lovely Briar Rose, are a terrible liar. That’s not an insult, by the way. It speaks well of you that everything you think and feel shows on your face—and by your face, I can see it’s bad. You might as well tell me the full truth.”

Pouring some warm oil into her palm, she rubbed her hands together and began to work on the hip. If she could stimulate blood flow and healing to that big joint, that could help considerably.

“You’ve lived a hard life here,” she observed. “So many scars.”

“Gendra.” He said her name flatly, his expression set into icy lines.

He looked so beautiful, his ivory hair spilling over the pillow, his contoured face elegant in its clean lines, the intensity of his green gaze like a hot summer afternoon. She longed to taste his pale skin, touch her lips to every scar, to feel those long, clever fingers against her skin. How could she break his heart with the truth? How could she not, because it was true that she’d never been any good at prevaricating, even when it mattered most.

“The bone wasn’t set correctly,” she told him, holding his gaze until he closed his eyes in pained acknowledgment and nodded.

“I think I knew and didn’t want to face it,” he said quietly. “The folk don’t understand human bodies. They mean well, but…”

She nodded, too, though he couldn’t see her.

“Can you break it and reset it?” he asked.

Could she? “I don’t know. I wouldn’t know where to begin. How I wish Stella were here.”

“Magical healing would be a miracle at this point,” he observed quietly, gaze on her again. “What happens if we don’t break and reset the bone—it heals crooked?”

If it heals at all.“Let’s give it a few days of this therapy and see.” She suggested that option almost desperately, unwilling to discuss the possibility of amputation right then—if she could even do that—or the even more depressing likelihood that this would kill him no matter what they did.

His gaze lingered on her face, perhaps reading there all the thoughts she hadn’t voiced aloud. “The massage does feel good,” he said, lifting a hand to trail his fingertips along her arm. “Thank you for persisting in the face of my curmudgeonly behavior.”

“I’m just glad I can do something to repay you for saving my life.”

“It was clearly self-serving,” he replied softly, sending a susurrus of warmth through her. “I couldn’t bear to lose your company.”

The man’s moods shifted like coastal weather. As Gen worked her way down his thigh, she did her best to ignore how good even the slightest flirtation from him felt. That kiss had turned her inside out, sweeping her away as she’d always imagined a kiss could do. She also determinedly ignored the proximity of his barely clad groin, the sprinkle of ivory hairs silvery on his pale skin, marking a path toward his member, which strained hard against the draping wool. She shouldn’t feel this desire to put her lips there also, not with him unwell, but nothing seemed to deter her suddenly awakened libido.

The fact that he was erect and had remained that way meant he wanted her, she was fairly certain, thinking back over Zeph’s ribald descriptions, the jokes with Lena. Men tended to be soft, hard, or somewhere in between, but they weren’t hard if they were tired. Or uninterested. Or drunk. Lena had gone on at length about that last one.

With a pang, she missed her friends suddenly and viciously. What she wouldn’t give to ask for their advice. Certainly having Stella’s healing would be everything, but Lena’s steadying acerbity would be the boost she needed. And Astar’s solid leadership, along with Jak’s wit. Even Zeph’s irreverence and Rhy’s brooding would be welcome. Lena would be studying the weather and finding a way to make the sun shine, if only for a little while. And Stella would heal Isyn.

She could picture them so vividly they almost seemed to be in the room. All of them, together again. Plus Isyn, of course.

“That’s a nice smile,” Isyn observed, still stroking her arm. She wondered if he was aware of it, but she reveled in his wanting to touch her, so she didn’t call attention to it.

“Thinking of my friends,” she replied. “You would like them.”

His expression hardened. “But would they like me?”

“Of course. Why wouldn’t they?”

He shifted restlessly under her hands, and she readjusted, moving farther away from the angry wound. “Did they like Henk?”

The question startled a laugh out of her. “Not at all, and not a one of them,” she admitted with chagrin. “Which, in retrospect, should have told me everything.”

“Why did you like him?”

That was an interesting question to consider. “He was handsome and charming enough. A good dancer.” She tried to think of something else, but those few days at Castle Elderhorst felt like a lifetime ago.

“Not a rousing endorsement,” Isyn commented.

“True.” She sighed. “To be honest, I think I liked him mainly because he paid attention to me. I know that sounds pathetic.”

Isyn frowned, puzzled. “Surely he was but one of dozens vying for your attention.”

She laughed, barely pulling it back from that bitter-spinster hysterical cackle. “You, dear mage, have been too long among the folk of the Winter Isles. Having a titled gentleman pay attention to plain, awkward, too-tall and gangly me was head-turning. I cop to that. I wanted to find true love so badly that I…” Hating that the thought of Henk and the disappointment of that interlude with him choked off her voice, she stopped speaking rather than fight it. Instead she focused on the ligaments around the knee, drawn tight from lack of extension and normal use.

Isyn’s fingers clasped her arm. “That you went to bed with him, an inexperienced virgin, and he took advantage of you.”

Oh, wow, that stung. Swallowing back the tears, she nodded. “I didn’t want to be an inexperienced virgin any longer,” she told him, mustering the determination she’d felt then. “I wanted to, well, get it over with.” She glanced up at him with a wry smile, finding him watching her with rapt attention. Listening to her. Though she supposed he was a captive audience.

“Did he hurt you?” Isyn asked evenly, but the calm was deceptive, anger boiling beneath.

“That’s the first question Stella asked, too,” she replied with a pang of nostalgia. “And she sounded exactly the same, like if I said yes she’d hunt him down and gut him for me.”

Isyn smiled ruefully down at his leg. “I would do that for you, if I could.”

“Well, we’re safe from that because he didn’t hurt me. Not really,” she amended, wary of the truth showing on her face. The penetration had been somewhat painful, but at least quickly over—and a minor twinge compared to the intangible pain. “Not the physical part.”

“What part did hurt?” He slid his hand down her arm, coaxing her from her work on his knee to enfold her oiled fingers in his. “You can tell me.”

She hadn’t told anyone this, but oddly she did want to tell Isyn. “You know how I said that I liked him because he paid attention to me, because he seemed to see me?” Isyn nodded gravely, something shadowed in his gaze. “Well, there I was, naked, under him, our bodies as close as two people can be, and he’s, you know, looking down at me and… pumping into me.” She wasn’t even blushing, recounting this part, too cold and miserably sick inside. Isyn squeezed her fingers lightly, a reminder and a reassurance. “And I looked at his face—and he wasn’t seeing me at all.” Her voice crumbled a little, like the small piece of herself that had broken off in that moment. “I might as well have been anyone, or not there at all. I felt more… invisible than ever.”

“Oh, Briar Rose,” Isyn murmured, sorrow in his face.

Awkward, and vaguely ashamed, she withdrew her hand, focusing on his leg, which was supposed to be the point. Healing Isyn was exponentially more important than her imagined hurts and slights. “Anyway,” she said, making an effort to sound perkier. “I can recognize my own foolishness. I knew what I was getting into, knew that Henk didn’t love me.” Moranu take her that her voice wobbled a bit on that. Apparently recognizing a reality wasn’t the same as feeling it in your heart. “Which is even sillier because I didn’t want Henk to love me. I can see now that even I didn’t like Henk all that much. Sorry.” She winced at herself when Isyn grunted in pain at her too-vigorous assault of the tight ligaments in his lower leg. Working out one’s inner angst didn’t go well with tending to someone else. “So, I don’t know why I expected… more.”

“I think it’s reasonable to have expected more,” Isyn said quietly. “Don’t we all want to be loved?”

“Yes, but even I understand that love and sex aren’t the same thing. Zeph has had sex with practically everyone, but she’s only ever loved Astar. They’re not the same to her.”

“Are you a great deal like this Zeph?”

She had to laugh, glancing wryly at him. “Not in the least. We’re first cousins, close enough to be siblings—my mother is her father’s twin—but we couldn’t be more different, and… oh.”

“Exactly,” he commented, a rueful note in his voice. “Why don’t you come lie beside me for a moment?” He patted the bed beside him.

“I’m sorry I was rough,” she replied, hesitating. “I’ll be more careful.”

“It’s not that. Well, maybe it’s partly that.” He made a face. “I could use a break, and I think you could do with some comforting. Some simple human contact.”

The offer made her choke up a little. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

With a wry twist of his lips, he dragged the blankets and furs away from his other side. “Come lie against my good side, then. Just for a moment,” he coaxed.

Because she wanted, needed, what he offered, she nodded and crawled carefully over him, nestling under the arm he opened for her, cuddling against his side and allowing him to draw the furs over them both, as if she were a child to be tucked in. It soothed something raw inside her that she hadn’t realized had been bleeding still. Pressing her nose against his warm skin, she inhaled his scent, adding it to her memories for the nights ahead when she would have no one to hold her.

He twitched, laughing. “Your nose is cold.”

“Sorry.”

“Don’t be. Cold nose, warm heart.”

Now she laughed, tipping her head back to look at him. “I don’t think that’s a thing.”

Touching her nose gently with a fingertip, he smiled. “It is now.” Their gazes tangled and, caught, held for a long breathless moment. He broke it first, adjusting his arm under her to relax her against his side and turning his head to look up at the ceiling. “What did you say to him after?”

Ugh.Despite the delicious warmth of his body, the soft furs covering them, that creeping, nauseating chill coiled in her belly. Because Isyn didn’t seem to mind, and it made her feel better, she dared to put her arm around him, too, draping it over his narrow waist and resting her hand on his muscled chest. “I didn’t say anything,” she admitted.

“What, once the deed was done, you never spoke again?” he teased.

“Well, obviously we did, but not about anything important.” He’d told her how great it was. She’d made appropriate happy noises. And they’d gone to sleep. In the morning, she’d gone on as if nothing had changed, pretending to like him as much as ever, even when she truly wanted to get as far away from him as possible.

“I acted like everything was fine,” she admitted, wondering why that felt as shameful as anything else. “I tacitly agreed that the sex had been great. I didn’t say so, but also didn’t say otherwise. I smiled and flirted with him, same as I had been. I didn’t even tell my friends I’d slept with him until much later. I don’t know why.”

“Sometimes it’s easier that way,” he noted, turning his head to kiss her forehead. It felt like a benediction, traveling through her to warm and soothe the cold, sickly raw places. “We learn not to dwell on pain, so it’s not so distracting. We just soldier on, pretending that we’re fine.”

“That makes sense, though it’s not the healthiest approach in the long run,” she added, feeling she should mention this to him, as his determination to ignore his own pain had likely done him lasting harm.

He chuckled mirthlessly. “I can vouch for that.” He nuzzled her hair, just at the border where it met her skin, his breath wafting sweetly over her skin, and she closed her eyes to savor it. Whatever he was willing to share with her, she’d take with gratitude. “Why do you smell like tropical flowers?” he asked. “I know you washed with fish oil soap. You should smell like that now.”

“It’s Annfwn, I think,” she answered, the sense of home wrapping vividly around her, the nostalgia both welcome and agonizing. “It’s magic, you know, everything about the place. Weatherwise, it should be like the bordering kingdoms of the Thirteen, but it’s not. It’s tropical and lush and lovely, all because of the magic that was concentrated there for so long.”

“Magic that makes her children capable of shapeshifting.”

“In part. So it’s as if the magic that gives us flesh is the same that makes the flowers bloom.”

“What a lovely way to think of it.”

“Annfwn is a lovely place.”

“Tell me about it.”

That was easier, so she painted the picture for him, telling him about the shining white cliffs that faced the clear turquoise sea, the shimmering sands and how people made their homes in cliffs—those who didn’t prefer to live away from the city in the forests, rivers, and wilder climes, according to the pull of their innate animals. She told him about the fruit trees and the flowering vines, the games children played sliding down tunnels to the beach, and the long, winding road that snaked back and forth, climbing to the meadows atop the cliffs and the snow-capped mountains rising behind.

“I always wanted to visit Annfwn,” he said on a wistful sigh as she wound down. “One of many regrets.”

“You still could. I’ll take you there.”

He rolled his head to look at her, his smile sad. “I think we both know I’m never leaving this place.”

“No, I don’t know that!”

His arm tightened around her when she moved restlessly in her desire to refute his gloomy outlook. “I saw your face, Rose,” he said softly, remorselessly. “When I asked you about breaking and resetting the bone in my leg. You don’t think there’s any point because you know I can’t survive this wound.”

She searched for a way to lie to him, to compose her face into an earnest expression of hope that he might believe. Watching her, he smiled widely, eyes sparkling a lighter green with amusement. “Amazing. I can actually see you trying to figure out how to trick me into believing a hopeful prognosis.”

“I wish I were less transparent,” she muttered unhappily.

“I don’t.” He kissed her forehead again. “I love that you’re so honest that it shines through your every word, expression, and gesture. You’re incapable of being anything but your authentic self, and that’s an admirable quality.”

She gazed at him, deeply moved. “That might be the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me.”

Caressing her cheek with a light finger, he held her gaze, seeing her, something unspoken traveling between them. “I wish I’d met you a long time ago,” he whispered.

“You’ve met me now.”

“When it’s too late.”

“As long as we’re alive, everything is possible.”

A line formed between his brows. “That feels… true.”

“It is true.” She poured all that earnest belief in her into the words, pressing against him so he’d feel her presence. “We have each other right now, and we’re alive. So everything is possible.”

He smiled a little, the curve of his lips fading quickly as his expression intensified, green eyes going dark and intent. “My Briar Rose…” The fingers caressing her cheek curled under her jaw, and she waited, breathless with anticipation. Excruciatingly slowly, he lowered his mouth toward hers, until only a whisper of distance separated them. Then his lips touched hers, a sensation sweet as nectar from honey blossoms. She sighed into him with her entire body, melting into him where their bare skin touched. He drank in her moan and answered it with a deep hum of desire and need.

Emboldened, she caressed his chest as he kissed her, tracing the lines of carved muscle, finding the lighter tracery of scars and the softer skin that moved with pleasure under her touch. The desire rose between them, hot and fulminous, and she learned him breath by breath, lips joined, mouths moving together. This was a kiss that couldn’t be ignored, Isyn filling her mind and senses. Her own body thrummed with desire, yes, but more important was the sheer delight of touching him, of being close to him. Not unlike the healing massage in a way, she discovered him, finding each place that heightened his need, that made him hum in answering desire. Making love to him, she realized, fed and succored that raw and needy part of her.

Exploring him, savoring every bit of his enticing body, the unblemished skin and the ridges of scars alike, her seeking hands found their way to his groin, the silvery hairs there a silky path leading the way.

“Gendra,” he murmured against her mouth, his hand buried in her hair, fingers combing through it as he kissed and kissed her. “We should stop.”

“Because you don’t want this?”

“I want this.” His fingers tightened in her hair. “I shouldn’t want it, but I’m finding I can’t resist you.”

“Then don’t resist me.” She slid her hand closer to his erect cock.

He groaned, hips encouraging her. “You don’t have to.”

“But I want to,” she murmured back. “Do you mind?”

He breathed a laugh. “At this moment, I want nothing more than your hand on me, but I don’t want to push you.”

“I want this.” When he hesitated, drawing back to study her face, she added. “Truly. I promise.”

He nodded slightly, kissing her deeply. She traced her way along the clean line of his hip to the point of his pelvis, finding the root of his erect cock and encircling it with a ring of her clasping fingers. He groaned, body moving in an urgent wave that broke into an inarticulate gasp.

Not knowing exactly what to do—and not wanting to think about Zeph’s detailed advice, as Isyn was right: she and her cousin were nothing alike, and it was time for her to stop comparing herself—she proceeded as she had been. Learning the shape and size of him, the length and girth, the softness of his skin and the turgid solidity beneath, she discovered what he liked, moving with him as he pressed through her encircling grip, sensing the increasing tension in him from the way his lips moved over hers, how his grip tightened in her hair, and the sheer waves of need shimmering back and forth between them.

She was giving him this. Her touch made him moan and gasp. The intimacy and power filled her with iridescent delight.

Then he went rigid, all of him tightening like a bowstring and then releasing with a thunderous crash. He tore his mouth from hers, throwing his head back in a taut arch, the cords standing out in a rictus of release, a strangled cry tearing from him akin to a wolf’s howl, calling on a cold night. His hands, though, they tightened on her in a fierce grip as he rolled onto his side, thrusting his cock through her grip and into the compressed closeness between them, his seed spilling over her fingers to slide between their bellies as they moved against each other, her panting breaths as harsh as his.

Finally, the vising need released him, all of Isyn going boneless in a full-bodied easing that flooded her as well. His head fell deep into the pillow, his hands at last relinquishing their fierce grip, as if he no longer needed to hold on to her for his very life. Feeling her way still, she soothed him with light caresses, gazing upon his clear face, at peace for the first time since she’d met him, suffused with calm and so beautiful with it.

She stored that away, too, memorizing how he looked in this moment. No matter what came after, she’d remember him like this, his ivory hair spilling around him, his body entangled with hers. Their hearts, pounding hard in a slowing rhythm, exactly matched.

She also wouldn’t let this be all there was. Because we’re alive, everything is possible, she reminded herself.

With a shuddering breath of a laugh, Isyn stirred, his eyes opening, the green of sun-dappled leaves, warming her like the sun she’d left behind. His smile took a wistful turn. “That was miraculous, but are you all right?”

Her heart, already so taut, so filled with unnamable emotion, burst with heat and light. This was love. This was what she’d been seeking, and she’d been looking for entirely the wrong thing. “I’m wonderful,” she answered.

“You are,” he agreed warmly, “but how do you feel?”

She laughed, the delight purring through her and reflected in his answering smile as he snuggled her even closer, dipping his mouth to catch hers in a lingering kiss. “Do you need a cloth to clean your hand?” he asked as he drew away, then fastening his lips to the underside of her jaw, kissing her there where the softer skin surprisingly hummed to life at the caress. “Or do the Tala not care for such things?”

She really didn’t. All she cared about was staying this close to him, for him to kiss her like this always and always. Everything is possible. “I don’t want anything that involves you moving away from me,” she answered, then winced a little at her excruciating honesty. Too needy? Probably.

But thankfully he only chuckled, warm and dark. “I absolutely sympathize with that sentiment, Briar Rose.” He licked along her throat, and she shivered at the extraordinary sensation. “I feel like I’ve been starving,” he murmured, “and I’ve barely tasted the feast.”

His hand curved around her waist, sliding up her ribs over her thin slip, hovering just below her breast. Pulling back enough to see her face, he studied her very seriously. “I’d like to touch you. Would that be all right?”