Page 8 of Desire

I spun around to face the rest of the space and ran for the cupboard that hid the entrance to their cold storage. Swinging it open, I climbed the shelves like ladder rungs and pulled myself up into the loft.

Lying flat on the floor, I waited. It didn’t take long for the door to crash open. I jolted but didn’t make a sound as I listened to the grunts and curses that followed. Then everything quieted inside and out.

“That’s all of them,” Brandle called.

All of them? They’d beaten the trackers?

“Edmund,” Darian called.

A whisper of sound came from below.

“Stay hidden, Kellen,” Edmund said from inside.

I waited until I heard him moving to lift my head and peer between the bedframes to the space below.

Edmund hoisted one of the unconscious men and threw him out the door. The second one followed. Corded muscles rippled beneath his now tight, fitted shirt as he moved about the cottage, righting a chair here and bedroll there.

I barely noticed Edmund’s efforts to fix the mess they’d made as I stared at him. My memory of the night before hadn’t been wrong. He had changed somehow. So much so that he towered over the table and tiny stool. Yet, his features were almost the same. A bit larger and more spread out but still Edmund. A handsome nose, swollen and brushed with blood. Beautifullypassionate eyes. A split bottom lip pulled down in a frown as he picked up the broken pitcher.

He stalked toward the door, and I watched him shrink before my eyes the moment he stepped over the threshold.

“It’s safe to come out now, Lamb,” Daemon called.

I set my forehead on the planks and breathed, struggling not to feel the fear and confusion I wanted to feel.

“Kellen?” Garron called.

“I need a moment,” I said.

“Are you hurt?” Brandle asked.

I heard his concern and knew any answer I gave would not be enough to assure him I wasn’t. So I picked myself off the floor and climbed down the shelves on shaky limbs.

When I emerged, no trackers remained in the yard. Only my protectors. Garron had his shirt off, and Brandle was looking at his stitches. Darian was holding a cloth to his nose. Liam, now wearing pants, had an eye already swollen shut.

Beaten and bloodied in their efforts to keep and protect me.

Edmund and Eadric strode from the trees together. Eadric was limping.

“None of that,” Daemon said, watching me. He lifted his hand and wiped a tear away.

I jerked away and wiped my face in disbelief. I wasn’t one to cry. Ever. It was too dangerous.

Yet, the tears continued to fall. A noise escaped me.

“Ah, Lamb.” The tender way he said it was my undoing. He held me close as I wept for all that I’d lost and all that I still faced. And I wept for the men who would suffer alongside me, hoping for help I didn’t know how to provide.

A hand stroked over my hair.

“Are you hurt, Kitten?” Brandle asked.

“N-no,” I said. “I’m angry.”

Daemon chuckled. “You have an odd way of showing it.”

“You didn’t see her swing the hoe,” Darian said.

I lifted my head and looked at them. “Did I kill him?”

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