Page 8 of Highland Warlord
Perplexed and drugged soporific by the pleasure he’d just given her, she could only stare up at his shadow in puzzlement. How could she answer him in a language she’d never learned? Oh dear, this just became way more complicated. What did he want? What had angered him?
“I’m sorry, warrior,” she ventured, her chest fluttering with panting breaths. “Do you not speak English?” It was almost certain he didn’t speak in her native Gaelic tongue.
“This heaven is for the Northmen,” he growled back at her in perfect English. “You sound like a Pict and speak in the English tongue.”
Brows drawing together, she lifted herself up on her elbows. “Iama Pict,” she confirmed. “And, while Yorkshire is a lovely place, I’d hardly call itheaven.”
“Yorkshire.” He tested the word as though it were alien to him. Then sprang off her with a feral curse, and snatched up his axe and swung it toward her. The blade came to a halt in the valley between her breasts, kissing her sternum but not breaking the skin.
“What are you?” he demanded. “And if you lie to me, I’ll spill your blood.”
“You can’t spill my blood, Berserker.” Morgana said calmly, trying to maintain composure while she gathered her wits and clenched her thighs together. “I am your mate.”
Chapter 5
“Nie,” Bael’s nostrils flared on a breath of pure desolation. “I’llnotdo this again,” he snarled, tempted to press the axe deeper into the quivering flesh of the temptress sprawled on the moss, and end them both. This wasn’t happening. He was supposed to be dead. He’dearnedit.
“What do you mean, again?” she asked softly. “We’ve not met before this day.”
Bael’s eyes widened. He’d heard that voice before. Heknewthat face. Would kill for it. Die for it. Forher. He’d left his army behind for her, and they’d likely been slaughtered by the Saxons and claimed their reward in the afterlife.
“Nie!” he groaned, flinging his axe to the ground. “Nie, Nie,Nie!” Bael’s punch felled a tree, and the woman leapt to her feet, blindly trying to find him in the dark.
“Please, don’t be upset,” she begged. “I didn’tmeanto kiss you. It’s just that—you were dying, you see, and my hands were bound so the only way I could save your life was to breathe magick into your lungs. I had noideaat the time you were a Berserker.”
“You had no right!” Bael roared, furious enough to shake the woman. Rattle her teeth. He dare not touch her, though. He wouldn’t be responsible for his actions if he caught sight of those tempting breasts bouncing with movement. “My life was not your responsibility to save. There is glory in death.Release. You have stolen that from me,witch.” He thrust his finger at her.
“We prefer the termDruid,” she corrected, then squeaked when irritation flared and he took a threatening step toward her. Covering the noise with false bravado, she distracted him by planting her hands on those generous hips. “And do forgive me forsaving your life.” Her sweet voice dripped with sarcasm. “But I needed you.”
Of course that was why. This wasn’t even a misguided attempt at kindness, she was just another woman wanting to use him, make demands of him.
Bael hated that he couldn’t stop drinking in the sight of her like a doomed man drank mead. She would be just as honey-sweet on his tongue. “What do you want from me?” he couldn’t stop himself from asking.
“I need your help… saving the world,” she ventured.
Bael retrieved his axe. “Did you not hear me, Woman? I amdonewith this world!” He thrust his axe into her hand and used his own to shackle her fingers around it before pressing the blade against his skin. “This is your mistake, now fix it.”
“What do you mean?” she eyed the weapon skeptically.
“I was dying when you found me. Send me to Valhalla.”
“Nay!” she cried, struggling in vain to break his grip.
“Do it!” he goaded through clenched teeth, desperate to be free of yet another hellish lifetime of loneliness and rejection. He couldn’t face it, not again. “Do not shackle me to you. It is too cruel.”
Hurt flared in her wide, clear eyes and anger followed it. “You seemed to want me plenty only moments ago, and after I healed you.”
Memory returned to him as his beast rippled beneath his skin, closer to the surface now. He’d been mated. That first kiss, the one that had breathed life back into his body had bound him to her for the entirety of her life. Bael shuddered. There was nothing in the world as sweet as her lips. He still wanted her plenty. So much it was physically painful. “That wasn’t me,” he said irritably, trying to push the memory out of his mind. “I mean—it was—my Berserker beast.”
The witch didn’t stop her struggling against his grip. “I rather likedhim,” she muttered.
He’d liked her too, Bael thought bitterly. Liked her enough to mate with her.
Gods be damned.
“Hold still, witch,” he said more gently.
“Druid,” she corrected again, still tugging against his hold.
