Page 32 of Impossible
Rushing forward, she hesitated when the moaning stopped. She stood just outside the door, her pulse roaring. Then it started once more, and she jumped in reaction.
It was an awful, gut-wrenching sound. She couldn’t ignore it.
Then he screamed.
Ada pushed into the chamber, heedless of what she might find, only knowing that she had to help whoever was making that terrible noise.
As if she didn’t know.
The chamber was nearly dark, with only the coals in the hearth for light. The keening had stopped, but the figure in the bed thrashed. Then went suddenly quiet.
She crept to the side of the bed and made out his form. He lay on his back, his arm cast over his eyes as his chest heaved. Was he awake?
“Warfield,” she whispered. The covers were pushed away, and he was nearly nude, garbed in only small clothes covering his groin. A nasty scar, far angrier than the ones on his face, marred his thigh. Letting her gaze rove upward, she saw more scars on his chest—a small round disk on his right shoulder, a long, thin arc across his chest, another burn on his left side between his shoulder and collarbone.
He cried out again, startling her once more. “Warfield,” she said more loudly, reaching for him. The moment she touched his arm, she realized she’d miscalculated.
He vaulted up and grasped her, turning her so that he pinned her to the bed. Then his hands wrapped around her throat, his eyes open but sightless as he stared down at her.
“No!” she managed to shout.
His hands fell away. “Oh God.” He collapsed beside her and drew her against himself. “I’m so sorry, my love. Forgive me. I would never hurt you. I thought you were someone else.” He brushed the hair that had come loose from her braid away from her face. “It doesn’t matter,” he whispered. “You’re here.” He stroked her back as his lips found hers.
Ada went stiff with shock, but only for a moment. Her body decided she didn’t mind his touch or his kiss, and she found herself clasping his shoulders.
His tongue drove deep into her mouth, stirring a sultry desire she’d hoped was buried. Alas, it roared to life, stoked by his caresses.
She clung to him, gripping the back of his neck as he moved over her, pressing her into the mattress. He was hot and hard, and his weight upon her was delicious. Lust pulsed in her sex, making her mindless and desperate.
He skimmed his hand to her breast, stroking her through her clothing and bringing her nipple to a tight peak. She arched up, kissing him with hungry abandon.
He murmured something she didn’t understand, a foreign language perhaps, as he licked along her jawline. This was wrong. She didn’t think he knew who she was. Perhaps he didn’t even know where or when he was.
But then he rolled to his side and went silent and still. Ada stared at the bed hangings above her, unable to move. Her heart raced and her skin tingled. She felt him next to her, his arm against hers.
He twitched, then made a sound that was part gasp and part grunt. Then he was gone, pushing away from her. “What…?”
She turned her head to see him staring at her in horror. “I thought you were having a nightmare.”
“I was, I think.” He sounded breathless. Glancing down at himself, he swore. Her gaze followed his, but she knew what she’d see—his erection, because she’d felt it between her legs, pressing against her in the most glorious way.
Ada sat up as he leapt from the bed and grabbed a dressing gown. He wrapped it around himself and fastened it closed before turning to face her.
“Why are you here?”
“I shouldn’t have come, but I heard you and I was concerned. I wanted to help. Is there anything I can do?”
“No,” he croaked before running a hand through his already tousled blond hair.
She chose her next words carefully. Curiosity was going to kill her, but she refused to submit. She really did just want to help. “Would you like me to sit with you for a bit? Just sit here. Together.”
He didn’t answer for a long moment, his head slightly cocked as he stared at her. “I suppose.” Slowly, he returned to the bed and sat beside her, but not close enough to touch.
“I used to have nightmares,” she said, closing her eyes briefly and taking a long, deep breath to calm her racing heart.
“About your parents who died?”
“No, it was about my sister, Clara. She was younger than me by eight years.”
