Myla fought a formless sadness, tasting the first wishes to be more than magic, to be human. Were she human perhaps she might understand the emotions flowing through her when his mouth pressed to hers. But it was not meant to be, could never be. She was his guardian, nothing more. No matter how her body responded to his touch.

To protect him tonight, she’d played the whore to his advances. It shamed her that the role had been so easy to imitate. Taric’s hand in her hair and his eyes on her body thrust her heart rhythm to speeds unimagined. Not even a wrestling match or battle could produce the breathless burn his lips had when tracing her throat. Keeping him safe should have been her only desire but he’d cupped her breast and her mind had scattered.

She had given no real thought why she appeared as a woman to him. Maybe a male guardian would have better served him. Perhaps her gender was because his mother had created her. Had Tarsha wished her to be able to comfort her child without fear of replacing his father in his young eyes? It didn’t matter, female she was and could be nothing other. But she had never felt as female, as feminine, as when he pressed against her with that part of him which was most male. The salt of his skin tingled her tongue, coating it with thick wine-like desire. She could not drink in enough of his taste.

Myla forced her thoughts from her lusty yen and focused on her anger. Taric had placed himself in harm’s way needlessly. She knew him. He acted to protect her like one of his subjects. She was the protector, not him. The twisted logic wrenched another jolt of venom from her essence and she fought to prevent lashing out in the presence of his father. How could Taric be so uncaring of his well-being? He had bound her with magical ties and should danger arise, he would die while she watched from within. Helpless.

Taric moved. Leaving the comfort of his parent, he sought his bedchamber and a bath. Silently snarling in frustrated displeasure, Myla unleashed her rage and his knees crashed to the stone floor.

“Damn it, Myla, stop!” Guttural and tense, his voice seeped to her but it was not a command to come forth so her anger did not abate. Once more she vented her unhappiness and heard his low groan. “Please, Myla. Look, stop jabbing me and I’ll call you out after I bathe. Just…leave me in peace for a few minutes. Please.”

Mollified, Myla released her livid clutch on his soul. The silky warmth of bathwater and the strong spice of his soap invaded her senses. Each weary muscle in his frame unbound and unknotted. He was so tired. Empathy swelled and Myla felt a niggle of guilt for inflicting pain on her master. It was small and easily shoved aside. He deserved to be turned over her knee and paddled for his reckless behavior. Didn’t he understand the risk he took? If anything happened to him, a scratch or bump or scrape, she’d never forgive herself. Taric was her life.

“All right, Myla, I know you’re upset so let’s get this over with. Come to me, my guardian.”

Wet lion-gold hair took shape as she formed behind him. The marbled lines of his bare shoulders trickled down to a narrow waist. She’d skimmed fingers up that back, raked nails down those shoulders, ran her hands around that waist. Below, a form-fitting pair of black leggings cupped the firm muscles of his ass. An ass she had saved on too many occasions for him to risk it now out of male ego. Her eyes pinched in fury.

Her palm connected with his skull. “Do not ever do that again!” she spat. “Have you any idea of the danger you placed yourself in?”

Rubbing the back of his head, Taric whirled to face her. “I’m fine. Nothing happened. Did you have to hit me?”

“That was not a hit. That was a tap. Do not command me to stay within again, Taric. You bind my power. I could not have aided you tonight unless you called. The risk is too great. Swear to me never again will you call or hold me against my will!”

“Fine, I swear it. Just stop screaming. I had enough of a headache before you whapped me.” Wearily, he sank into his chair and palmed his forehead. “Marchen carries the bonding mark of my mother.”

“I know.”

Burnt amber eyes flew to hers and his tawny brows furrowed. “You knew, too? First my father, now you?” A damp toweling cloth slapped the floor with his roar. “I’m sick to death of being coddled like an infant.”

Coddled? If she wanted to coddle him, he never would have had a fleabite let alone a bruise or minor wound. No, she never coddled, she only kept him from death. She pointed her finger and advanced on him.

“I do not coddle you. Who carries your sword into war? You. Who feels each scrape and rub of armor? Whose arms ache after the sword’s swing? Whose ass gets numb from the saddle? Yours! Coddle! Bah! You would not know coddling if it bit you.”

“What else do you know that you haven’t told me?” he snapped.

“I know as I need to know. Had I knowledge that could aid you, do you think I would keep it from you?”

“I don’t know, Myla. I don’t know what I know anymore.” Thrusting out of his chair, he paced the room, back straight, fists clenching and unclenching.

“I am unable to lie to you. If I have something you seek, I am unable to hide it. It is impossible for me to deceive you. I was created for you, Taric.”

Before the unlit fire pit, he stood still, his breath loud in the silence. “So you’ve said, created for my protection.”

Spinning, his feet seemed to fly to her. His hard fingers pressed into her upper arms, sharp and biting, pulling her close. Ripples of unfurled want encased her.

“You can’t lie, right? Not to me? Then tell me this, my guardian. Did you like my kisses? Did you want more? Do you feel the burn inside when I touch you? Because I feel it. You kissed me back in the meadow and tonight…tonight… Myla, I didn’t want tonight to be a ruse. I wanted you to respond to me for me. Me! Not your charge, your duty, your promise to my mother. Tell me you weren’t drawn to me. Tell me those whimpers and sighs I heard coming from your lips were faked. Tell me!”

“I cannot.” Shuddering the confession in a half-whisper, she was unsure he’d even heard. Until he crushed her to his bare chest and took her mouth with a fierceness that stole what little breath she had. Fear evaporated in his arms. She was a magical warrior but she could not fight the seductive attack of his mouth. A bonfire of desire deep inside her throbbed and ached with nameless yearning. Although she was not dependent on food or water, she craved his taste, hungered for his possession, thirsted for his touch.

A sound brushed the night and she noted offhandedly it came from her throat. Her tongue sought his and found it waiting. Her leather-shod heels left the floor and he pulled her to him, cradling her closer to his heartbeat. A song rejoiced in her temporal body and grew lush from his caress. In Claverham, she had fought to withstand the bombardment of sensations but now, here, alone with no prying eyes, she let go. She simply felt what being with Taric could be like. It was perfection.

Taric’s tongue slid along her chin and the soft linen of his bedsheet met her back. Above her, his heated skin called and she didn’t think, rising to nip and lick. Damp and cool, his hair glided through her fingers. So hot, she was so hot, she burned from within for him.

The silk of her chiton whispered against his chest, the fullness of her breasts straining against the thin fabric. Only in the frigid water had her nipples tightened and tingled like this, but she was far from chilled. So hot. Panting in soft puffs, when his thumb circled a crested peak, air sailed into her lungs. A joy near exquisitely painful spellbound her as his hands covered her breasts. She burned but he blazed. She arched into his touch, desperate to be consumed by his fire. Hard muscles slicked under her palms as she traced them down his spine, wanting him closer. Beneath her jaw, he found a pulse point and licked with each frantic pound of her heart. Taric was her heart.

Myla tasted her name on lips that commandeered hers, his tongue thrusting inside to claim her breath. Air kissed her shoulders when he tugged the chiton from her, parting it and peeling it down her arms until she was bare to her braided leather belt before him.

A sizzle ignited the room when skin met skin. How different he was. Hard where she was soft, growing harder while she grew softer. Damper. Emptier. His mouth slicked down her throat, his tongue delving in the hollow above her collarbone. Need infused her. Hungry, so hungry. So hot. His hands cupped her naked breasts and flameless fire engulfed her. She could not possibly burn any more and not ignite. She was black powder and he was a tinder spark. One touch, one more deliciously wanton touch and her mind would shatter.

His lips closed around one hardened peak in a wash of wet intensity.

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