Blade Heart Page 2

  His face close enough that she spotted a darker shade of green around his pupils, he drew his tongue out and licked her upper lip from one end to the other. A slow caress, a lingering stroke, a touch so soft her heart pounded in her chest. If her hands hadn’t been tied she would have brought his face closer. And when the tip of his tongue left her, she felt paralysed by a pang of loneliness.

  “I told you in the meadow. I’m Dead.”

  Chapter Three

  He stood up then, as quick and lithe as a predator. The vacant place where he had lain a second before exacerbated the sensation of emptiness she couldn’t quite shake off. Raising her head, she gaped at his expressionless face while trying to process this new twist.

  “Your name is Dead? You’re kidding me, right?”

  “That’s what people call me around here.”

  “But it’s ridiculous.” She used both hands on the mattress to push herself up into a sitting position. “I mean, I can’t call you that. I won’t.”

  “Suit yourself.”

  He shrugged. She had to admit he was very talented at shrugging things off, and his obvious ability to live in the moment without asking any questions amazed her. Now that didn’t mean she would let it go.

  “You must have a real name. What is it?”

  “Down.”

  Cara wished she was a man to possess the strength to strangle him. Did he take her for a simpleton or did he want to have fun at her expense? Yet when he uttered the word his fingers were already coiled around the handles of the daggers on his hips. He wasn’t teasing her—he was giving her an order.

  She heard a creak on the other side of the door right before two men burst into the room. Swords drawn, they lunged at the stranger. As both men pounced they were struck by flying blades.

  Striking with an impact so forceful the men seemed to deflate like toy balloons, the vibrating daggers embedded in their hearts. Only the handles stuck out. They went down like logs, two dull thumps giving evidence of their fall. Dead. And still no sign of a gun.

  As blood pumped in her veins, Cara’s gaze went from the fallen bodies, to the stranger who hadn’t even broken a sweat, and back to the corpses. Their swords lay beside them, useless. With her memories gone Cara wondered if she had ever been witness to such violent deaths before.

  Too shocked to speak, she watched him go to the window. He opened it to a starless night, the peaceful silence outside contrasting with the killing she kept seeing in her mind. If only she could switch off the replay button! Then he walked back to the door to bend over his victims.

  She instinctively raised her hands to her ears when he wrenched the daggers out of their hearts. No way she wanted to hear the sickening, sticky sounds. Yet she did as the string binding her wrists came into contact with her nose, pinching skin. Her eyes watered and she moaned.

  “I never thought you’d be such a sissy.”

  His attention on the two men, he hadn’t even glanced at her before clearly assuming her moan was directed at his retrieving the blades. Well, she didn’t care about his opinion. If she wanted to be a sissy, she’d be one.

  With rapid movements, he frisked them before searching their pockets. Nothing appeared to be of any interest because he began to drag their bodies towards the open window. The men must have weighed about a hundred and sixty pounds each yet it didn’t seem to bother him. Without a second thought he threw them out the window one after the other.

  Cara winced when she heard the impact. Looking at the unmoved stranger, she began to wonder if she should fear him.

  “You can’t get rid of them just like that.”

  “I can, and I did. But if it sets your mind at rest, we’ll be gone before they’re found in the morning.”

  What about his mind? Was it always at rest because no emotion ever crossed his heart? Well, maybe except lust when his tongue had lingered on her lip, when his sensual licking had unleashed a powerful emotion in her.

  “Who are they?”

  “Bounty hunters.”

  No memories, not a clue as to what she was doing here, odd surroundings that weren’t supposed to exist in the state of New York, bounty hunters barging in her room with swords at the ready and a cold-blooded killer named Dead as a companion. Her life definitely needed some re-evaluating. Unable to tackle the problem now, she sighed.

  “I’m hungry and I’m tired.”

  He nodded. Picking up their assailants’ discarded swords, he stashed them under a wobbly chest of drawers. When he straightened up the room looked just as plain as it had been prior to the attack. Except for drops of blood on the floor.

  Going for the door he motioned her to stay put with a pointing finger as if Cara possessed the freedom of movement or the liberty to go anywhere.

  “I’ll be back shortly.”

  True to his words, he re-entered the room a few minutes later carrying food and water. Attuned to the low rumbling of her stomach, Cara approached the table with careful steps. For all she knew the stranger’s killing impulses might still be tickling him. So when he unsheathed his dagger for no apparent reason, her blood froze in her veins. Almost afraid to breathe, she winced.

  “Would you please quit your sissy act? I’m nobody’s fool, and certainly not yours.”

  Again he addressed her like they knew each other, or like they had some kind of connection. Maybe they did, although she found it hard to believe. How could her mind have erased such a gorgeous, unforgettable man? The time to tell him the truth about her memory had come yet she hesitated. Could he be trusted? Should she reveal her helplessness and fears?

  He grabbed her hands and his blade cut the rope. Relief flooding her, she rubbed the insides of her wrists with gentle fingers. For a wonder freedom didn’t equal pain, not even pins and needles.

  “Thank you, although there was no need to tie me up.”

  “I know.”

  Yeah, yeah, yeah, he knew everything and a psychic would be no match for him. Been there, done that. Hey, look at me, I’m the king of the world. Too bad he had left his sense of compassion at home. Cara sighed as he sat down at the table and used his dagger to cut large slices of bread.

  No doubt cheerful chatting would have eased her confused thoughts. Instead they had dinner in complete silence, her timid attempts at conversation being thwarted by his shut-up-and-eat looks. His manner of eating corresponded to his personality—fast, precise and with no consideration for flavour. No surprise there. But who was this man?

  Soon a heavy weariness crept into her bones. She cast an envious glance at the big bed and felt hampered by a bout of politeness. She should probably wait until he finished his meal but… So what?

  He hadn’t exactly been civil to her on many occasions, had he? Chances were he had no code of honour and had never heard of good manners. Making her mind up, she pushed her chair back and went to the bed. She hadn’t covered half the distance before he barked.

  “What do you think you’re doing?”

  “I’m tired.”

  “And you’re still my prisoner, not my guest.” He pointed to the blanket on the floor with the tip of his blade. “That’s where you sleep.”

  She blinked. He wouldn’t do that to her. But the cold green eyes told her that, yes, he would. Straightening her shoulders, Cara walked to the spot where she had to spend the night, kicked her boots off and lay down on the cold floorboards. He soon followed suit, blowing out the candles on his way and sighing when the bed enveloped his body.

  Left in the dark she had trouble extinguishing the commotion in her brain. Although she understood that there was nothing to be done about her missing recollections, it proved difficult to let go. If only she could fall asleep. But in spite of her weariness, sleep wouldn’t come.

  Deep down in her heart she blamed the stranger for this unwelcome nervousness preventing her from reaching the land of dreams. She also blamed the damn hard floor grating her backbone and making her shiver with cold. On the other hand, the big bed had looked
so inviting! No sound came from the stranger. He probably slept on one side so what if she slithered into his bed unnoticed?

  Testing her stealth, Cara got up and moved to the empty spot. He didn’t react as she settled on her side and pulled the cover up to her neck. To her dismay, a lingering frostiness seemed to have taken up residence here as well. She’d have to make do with it. At least the mattress was soft.

  Heart beating fast from her audacity, Cara closed her eyes. She waited for sleep. Then waited some more. But she had stayed on the chilly floor for too long and her body needed more to get warm. An icy numbness got hold of her fingers and toes, biting the marrow in her bones. And a frozen…

  “Your teeth are chattering. It’s irritating.”

  Her heart lurched at the unexpected sound of his voice.

  “Sorry, I’m cold.”

  “I’d never have guessed.”

  This time she couldn’t have cared less about his sarcastic tone. She felt way too cold for that and the thought of being sent back to the bleaker floor caused her to draw her knees up towards her belly. He moved. She tensed.

  Then he put his chest against her back, his stomach pressed tight around her buttocks. When she felt his arm circling her waist and a hand coming to rest on her belly, the crippling sentiment of forlornness vanished. Even through their shirts his warmth reached her to dissolve the dreary cold.

  A single tear dropped out of her eye, only to die on the pillow.

  She slept.

  Chapter Four

  Cara woke up just before dawn, at the time when night relinquished its clutch to the light of day. Warm, at peace and still curled up on her side, she realised they had slept through the dark hours in the same position. Except that in spite of the layer of clothing, his hand was now locked around her breast. And something hard pressured the dividing line of her buttocks.

  His regular breathing told her he still slept. She didn’t move, just stayed there to enjoy the safety of his body for a short while—and maybe the exciting sensation of his fingers on her breast. As she watched pinkish streaks tint the horizon, he contracted his hand. Although the spasm could only be attributed to a natural reflex, the fierce effect it caused flipped her stomach.

  As though punched by a luscious flame, a wild breath whizzed out of her lungs. The first sunray hit the window. She blinked. Lips dry, nostrils flaring, goose bumps all over her body, she suddenly yearned for his touch on her bare skin. With all her will she forced herself to remain motionless. Until a second contraction coursed through his hand and she clamped her mouth shut.

  As if her nipple had become alive it seemed to jut out of her top. Swollen, hungered, stretched towards the firm palm, desperate to be fondled, strained against the shirt, in need of the raw touch of strong fingers, wanting to be imprisoned between thumb and forefinger, craving the…

  He moved his hand a fraction to the side and she gasped. Liquid heat burning her insides, she had no option but to acknowledge the ravishing sensation. Lodged inside the thin fabric, her erect nipple demanded to be kindled by the stranger’s palm. And as Cara fought the savage lust rising from her belly, the rhythm of his breathing changed.

  Down below, his trapped sex stiffened. He rubbed his cheek on the flat of her shoulder and squeezed her breast. He breathed in the scent of her hair, his voice sounding coarser after a night’s sleep.

  “You smell like the meadow.”

  He took hold of her aroused bud like it was a precious jewel, his fingers so gentle that excitement licked her whole body. He twirled it softly. Shards of pleasure pierced her flesh, drilled her limbs. He captured her nipple. Heart pounding hard enough to beat in her ears, she bit her lower lip. He fondled her tit. Thumb and forefinger united in a slow whirl, he caressed it. Her mouth dropped open.

  Stabbed by a violent pleasure, she pushed her buttocks against his hard-on. He groaned into her neck. Seemingly filled with a sudden urgency, he brought his hand lower. He placed it on her belly, holding her. Then he pressed hard to rub his stiff sex against her butt. Eyes squeezed shut, she pictured his gorgeous features taut with lust, the green eyes darkened with desire. She moaned.

  Her distinct expression of satisfaction seemed to alter the atmosphere. Unannounced and unwelcome, reality penetrated their shelter. The rubbing stopped. She kept still until he removed his hand to place it on her hip. Uttering a pissed-off sound, he pulled himself back and rolled over. She heard a shuffling as he put his boots on.

  He didn’t speak, and which words could have explained what had just passed between them? He wanted her. He had been about to have sex with her, but something she couldn’t fathom had made him change his mind. In spite of her forgotten life experiences and knowledge, she sensed his withdrawal had nothing to do with her moaning.

  Breathing deep to quench her acute thirst for him, Cara also got out of bed. While buckling her boots she watched him from the corner of her eye. He never turned towards her but retrieved the swords from under the chest of drawers and grabbed his cloak.

  Time to go wherever they were going.

  They left the quiet inn without being noticed. Outside she spotted two farmers harnessing a grey horse to a cart full of straw. Neither of the men spared them a glance. They probably hadn’t seen the dead bodies yet.

  A little chilly after the heat she had felt in bed with the stranger, Cara crossed her arms over her breasts. He handed her his cloak. As soon as she had taken it he headed straight on without looking back.

  By midmorning another dusty path had led them past cornfields, wheat fields, potato fields, orchards, orange and lemon groves. Although fun at first, the new landscape became monotonous after a while. Still, it proved less mysterious than staring at his straight back. By the bye, how come he always walked in front of her? To be the man, to lead the way or to avoid conversation?

  Tired of admiring vegetables and of trailing after him, Cara increased her speed, his long cloak an inch from the ground but keeping her warm. Half trotting, half jogging, she caught up with him.

  “Is New York far away?”

  “Never heard of that person.”

  Right. She heard him loud and clear. He had decided to make her life a world of discomfort and frustration.

  “Where are we going?”

  “To the Blue Forest.”

  “Ha! I guess it’s fancier than the green forest.”

  He stopped dead in his tracks. For the first time she found herself ahead of him. Swept along by her brisk pace, she had to turn round. Head cocked, motionless in the middle of the path, he had that look on his face again. The look that said something was wrong with her.

  “What? What did I say?”

  He shook his head, somewhat like a bad dream needed to be dispelled. Then he shrugged and resumed his walk. The man was so weird!

  Determined not to lose the small advantage she had earned, Cara quickened her pace to keep up with him. She quickly had to lower her sights. Whatever she did he undid. His long legs carrying him much faster than she could ever achieve, he managed to maintain the same gap between them.

  When they reached the edge of the blue forest that appeared totally green, she was sweaty, dirty, thirsty and hungry.

  “Please, I need a rest.”

  “We’ll stop by the brook. It isn’t far from here.”

  True enough, Cara heard a fresh gurgling sound that brought her tongue across her lips. They went straight to the small stream. On their knees, they cupped their hands to drink long gulps of water.

  Once she had taken his cloak off her shoulders and spread it on the thick grass, they sat down. He lay down the stolen swords within easy reach then proffered fruit he had picked on the way and stuffed in his pockets. Not a great lunch but enough to appease her hunger.

  Besides she had no idea when the next meal would come. Prisoner of her own volition, she still depended on him to provide everything. As soon as he finished his last piece of fruit she caught his gaze.

  “Are you married?”

/>   He snorted and regarded her as if she belonged to a mad tribe. “Why would I ever do that?”

  Yes, why indeed? How could she ask such a silly question? Probably because she wanted to know why he had interrupted their moment in bed. Did a woman share his life? Did he think of her?

  “Are you?”

  “No.”

  Brutal release flooded her. Only when her muscles loosened did Cara realise she had been dreading his answer—but why? Okay, he looked like a god and his hands were divine instruments of pleasure, but he was a stranger and she had nothing to do with him. From the first moment they’d met he had treated her like a prisoner for no reason. She feared he wasn’t quite right in the head. At the very least too odd for her taste.

  “Are we done with the chitchat or do I have to tell you stories about my life when I was a little boy?”

  Definitely odd. And cynical. And sarcastic. And she felt like shaking some emotion out of him. Any kind of emotion.

  She puckered her mouth, well aware he wouldn’t get into her sulking mood. In fact, he had shifted his consideration somewhere else. Inching a hand along his cloak, he tensed. While he ran heedful eyes over the edge of the forest he gripped the hilts of his daggers. Brow furrowed, he suddenly stood up.

  “What is it?”

  “Shush!”

  Cara had learnt one thing from him—although he might well be the most baffling man in the world, he’d never fake danger just to show off. Blood pulsing, she scanned their surroundings—trees, bushes, brown and orange leaves on the ground, unidentified vegetation, a squirrel climbing up a large trunk.

  Clueless, but intrigued, she was about to get up when he moved. Knees slightly bent, one arm along his side, the other extended towards the direction he faced, he had already thrown a dagger. The rocketing blade struck something she didn’t see. A howl of pain ensued, making her shiver.

  Without pause he swivelled his head from left to right. He shot his arm forward and a second dagger whizzed through the air. In total control of his body, movements fluid and deadly, he looked magnificent.