Stroke of Midnight (Nightcreature #1.5)(30)

Still bemused by her reasons for helping him, she put the needle in the box and replaced it in the cupboard. Finding an old rag, she wiped the blood from the floor, then pulled a blanket from the cot and spread it over the wolf.

Feeling suddenly weak from all that had transpired that night, she dropped into one of the chairs and wrapped her arms around her waist. She was hungry and tired, so tired. She glanced at the cot against the wall, thinking how good it would feel to lie down and sleep for a few hours. And then she looked at the door. This would be the perfect time to get away from him.

And that was just what she would do. Going to the cupboard, she pulled out several pieces of dried venison. She put all but one in her skirt pocket and moved toward the door.

She stood there with her hand on the latch, unable to make herself walk out the door. It was true that Reyes had killed her uncle and her cousins and kidnapped her, but it was also true that he had saved her from being ravished by one of his own men. She couldn't leave him, not now, when he was hurt.

Turning away from the door, she went to the cot and sat down, her gaze resting on the wolf while she ate the dried venison. Then, with a sigh, she slid beneath the blankets, asleep as soon as her head touched the pillow.



Reyes opened his eyes, awakened by a shaft of golden sunlight filtering through the cottage's single window. He drew a deep breath and his nostrils filled with the scent of the woman. Was she still here?

Turning his head, he saw her curled up on the cot. She had tended his wounds last night. Even now, he found it hard to believe, not only because they were enemies, but because he had been in his wolf form. Why had she helped him? He had done nothing to incur either her friendship or her concern, yet she had stitched his cuts and covered him with a blanket. He grinned wryly, wondering which of them would be the most grateful for that this morning.

Sitting up, he ran a hand over his neck and shoulder, remembering how gently she had washed the blood from his wounds, the compassion in her voice as she sewed the gash in his neck and shoulder.

His stomach growled, reminding him that he had not eaten since the night before, and not much then, since his mind had been on the woman instead of the meal.

Rising, he wrapped the blanket around his waist, then rummaged through the cupboard until he found a few strips of dried venison. He ate three pieces, then, grabbing a cast-iron pot, he went outside to fill the container. Returning to the cottage, he lit a fire in the hearth, hung the pot from the tripod to heat.

His gaze returned to the woman. Her hair fell over her shoulders like a waterfall of auburn silk. He sucked in a deep breath as he remembered the feel of it against his cheek, the flowery fragrance that clung to each strand.

Why hadn't she left last night?

He noticed the soft curve of her cheek, the slender line of her throat, the arch of her brows, the swell of her breasts beneath the blanket.

The woman stirred, but didn't awaken.

Desire stirred within him. She was here. She was his to do with as he pleased. The words whispered through his mind, urging him to take her, willing or not.

It was tempting, so very tempting. Had she not come to his aid the night before, he might have surrendered to the longing that burned through him, but she had not only helped him, she had stayed with him through the night. He could not repay her kindness by forcing himself on her.

Lost in thought, it took him a moment to realize she was awake and staring at him, the look in her eyes telling him that she knew every lustful thought that had crossed his mind.

"Good morrow," he said, his voice gruff.

She nodded, her gaze moving over his bare chest and the blanket tightly wrapped around his waist.

"Thank you for tending my wounds."

"You're welcome," she murmured.

"How did you get past the gates last night?"

She stared at him. Was he so foolish as to think she would tell him?

Reyes nodded. "Why did you not leave here when you had the chance?"

Her gaze slid away from his. "I know not."

"You should have gone when you had the chance," he said curtly.

She looked up at him, a glimmer of hope in her eyes. "You could let me go now."

"No, I cannot." He gestured toward the hearth. "There is hot water if you wish to bathe."

She nodded, but made no move to get up.

Grunting softly, Reyes left the cottage.



Throwing back the covers, Shanara slid her legs over the edge of the cot. Did she dare bathe with him prowling the grounds outside?

Keeping one eye on the door, she found a chunk of soap and a piece of toweling. Moving quickly, she washed her hands and face, then removed her stockings to wash her legs. She was drying her feet when he knocked on the door.

"Nay, do not enter!" she cried, her heart pounding at the thought of him seeing her bare legs.

Moving quickly, she finished drying her feet, then drew on her stockings and shoes, smoothed her skirt, ran a hand through her hair.

He knocked on the door again.

Shanara took a deep, calming breath, then called, "Enter."

Reyes stepped into the room and moved toward the hearth.

Shanara's eyes widened as he reached for the cloth she had used. "Do you mean to bathe?"

"Aye."

"I will wait outside."

"No."

She stared at him, speechless. "You cannot expect me to stay while you wash!" she exclaimed in horror.