Page 46 of Fate Promised

Fergal stood and stretched, yawning. “No idea.” His gaze flicked between Juri and Triska. “I’m off to the boat. Good night.”

Triska rose and walked over to him, her hands landing on his stomach. Her fingers trailed upwards, kissing his skin. “It’s just the two of us now.”

19

As Juri told his tale, with the light from the fire caressing him, making every hard plane of the muscles along his chest and stomach stand out, she’d never wanted anyone or anything more. She’d become bewitched by his story but even more so by him. He truly became the mythical, immortal being she’d known he was—but hadn’t quite understood. Not in totality, at least. She’d seen him as a vulk, known the path his life had taken, but at that moment, it crashed over her just what Juri really was.

Tales would be told about him in the distant future.

Ones about his strength, his power, how handsome he was, and how easily he slew his enemies. Yet he was also a bard who pet dragons to make them feel better. And he’d been the best friend to a lonely little girl, and when she grew up, purred for her—a secret, lulling sound.

Warmth bloomed in her chest. Maybe it originated from the ring, but most likely, it came from her heart. With each beat, it heated, a slow, steady lick of flame spreading through her veins. Each breath in and out was sweet nectar against her lips. The slight breeze from the ocean felt like gentle fingers caressing her.

She stroked along the waistband of his trousers, and he groaned. “I know you can’t take a mate.” She also couldn’t take a mate, but she would tell him the full story about that later. “I know our time together is short. But we have tonight. And we’ve known each other our entire lives.” Somehow, it felt like they’d always been leading up to this moment. Leading up to them finally being together. “Let’s play for just one night.”

He lay his hand whisper soft over her heart. Over his ring. “I don’t want to hurt you. I’ll be able to return to Ryba, perhaps even freely show myself now, but I can’t …” His hand lifted, and he cupped her face. “Already Hoyt knows about you and me. When he’s taken care of, I don’t want anyone else discovering you. If someone hurt you …” His eyes went red. Not just a flicker this time, but pure, scarlet red. “I’ve seen what my enemies will do to destroy the vulk. They will use anyone close to us they can. And it would destroy me if they hurt you.”

She pressed up, her toes sinking into the sand, and ran one hand up his neck to his face. His eyelids lowered slightly, and he turned and nuzzled her fingers, his eyes fading back to gold.

“I know you’ll leave, and my life needs to stay the way it is, too,” she whispered. “But tonight, we’re both free, lounging on an island that doesn’t exist. We’ll chase Hoyt tomorrow, and we’ll win, but right now, it’s just you and me.”

She traced the muscles of his stomach up to his chest. “When we were kids, we played hide and seek. You always found me, exactly like the hero in the story you just told. And each time you did, you’d tickle me and I’d shriek and try to get away from you. You remember?”

“Yes.”

She edged closer. “Let’s play again.”

His eyes darkened. “If we play now, I won’t just tickle you when I find you.”

“And I won’t try to get away.”

He shuddered but didn’t move to touch her. “Playing hide and seek with a vulk …” His voice was hoarse and gruff. He gestured toward the smoking ashes next to them. “It’s like playing with fire. I may lose control.”

“I don’t care.”

“Bedding a vulk is different from bedding a man. We’re more similar to wolfwalkers. You understand?”

Yes, she knew exactly what he meant. Chessa loved bedding wolfwalker males, and she’d described—probably over-described—how they knotted during sex. Since Juri was a wolfwalker, even if he’d turned vulk later, Triska had wondered if he’d be the same. She’d wondered … and imagined.

And Triska had a touch of wolfwalker blood, too. Wolfwalkers and vulk were compatible, so if a wolfwalker went into heat she could have a vulk child. However, it wasn’t something they needed to worry about tonight—Triska wasn’t in heat—but they were made for each other. In more ways than one.

Heat kicked low in her stomach. Her fingers curled on his chest. “I understand.”

His pupils dilated. “Then go hide, Triska, and think about what I’m going to do when I find you.”

She knew where she wanted Juri to find her, but she wanted him to search for her first. Wasn’t he a tracker, after all? Her heart pounded as she turned and ran down the beach. The night took on a surreal quality as she ran. Each step seemed to float the way they did in dreams, hampering the dreamer from going anywhere. Except she made progress.

She lit a small ball of white light in her hand. Her magic came so sluggishly when she called it, it was like squeezing it through a sponge to get it to work. Using her bit of light, she snuck down the beach toward Fergal’s boat, past the dim light from his bulkhead cabin shining over the water. Past Arrow trundling in tidal pools. She ducked up the path they’d taken when they first arrived.

When she reached the meadow where they’d met the harpies, she sprinted along the soft grass to the path that led back to Koschei’s house, but first, she tugged Koschei’s baggy shirt over her head. Her bodice had been soaked by the earlier rainstorm, and she’d left it behind. Now, her upper body was nude. She tucked her shirt in a hollow beneath a fallen tree. Koschei might not be pleased she left his shirt outside, but it would provide a temporary diversion for Juri.

Maybe.

She didn’t know how good his senses really were. Clad only in her loose trousers, she ran back toward Koschei’s home and hid.

As a child, she’d found inventive hiding spots, winning the game every time except if Juri was the seeker. However, she wouldn’t hide in the misty, dark forest. When she and Juri finally tangled together, she wanted him in the cocoon-like room Koschei had lent them. So, she huddled inside the armoire near the dining tables, among a scattering of linens, and waited.

He didn’t make a sound, and she didn’t see the door open through the slats in the armoire. Yet, awareness rippled over her skin. The same charge as when the winds changed while sailing, right before the sea turned from gentle to dangerous. Her breath hitched in her throat.

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