Remedy Maker (22 page)

“Would either of you like something hot to drink?" The chill of Rhy’s icy fingers had sucked the heat from her hands.

“Herbal tea would be great, if you have any.” Rhycious waited for her to get their tea ready and helped to set the hot mugs on the coffee table. Patience sat on the couch, and Daisy plopped down next to her. Rhy swished his tail to the side and planted his rear on the floor.

“How’d it go with Aleksander tonight?” Daisy asked.

“Good. We met our contact and received some information.” He rubbed his arms. 

Patience grabbed the couch blanket to wrap around his shoulders. She draped the length of it down his equine back.

“Thanks, babe.”

She smiled in return. “I’m new to the shake-off scene, so you’ll have to give the four-eleven on what comes next.”

“Huh?” Rhy’s eyes narrowed and his brows drew together.

Daisy gave a short laugh. “I’ll translate. Patience wants to know what’s next.”

Rhy shook his head and gave Patience a smile that pulled one side of his mouth in a moue.

“I’ll start with Daisy.” He cradled the warm mug in his hands. “Do you have time to look for Serenity?” He held up a staying hand before Daisy could agree. “I don’t want you going anywhere you’re not comfortable, and I don’t want you anywhere near human hunters.”

“As it turns out, I’m between projects right now, so, yes. I have time.” Daisy took a sip of her tea. “I don’t mind looking for her, but I think she’s fine. She’s probably hiding out somewhere. It’d never dawn on her that people might be worried. As far as the hunters go, I never want to see another one for the rest of my life.”

“I hope you’re right about Serenity.” Patience placed her cup on the table. “But my gut’s telling me different. This time, there’s something wrong.”

Seventeen

Kempor Aleksander pushed wet branches out of his face. Old habits die hard. The real ones, the ones that are legitimate don’t die at all, old or otherwise. Returning to the palace via an obscure route, rather than the frequented trail, was a habit drilled into his head.

Human hunters laid animal snares in what they thought were game trails in his peoples’ thoroughfares.

Assholes
. What the hell kind of hunting was that?

The outside world screamed outrage when a human child in the
desertlands
stepped on a buried landmine and blew off a limb. What about the Boronda young who had galvanized snares that wrapped flesh-stripping coils around thin, tender legs? Who cried outrage for the forest citizens?

None outside the mythological world.

A pebble had somehow worked its way inside his boot and made each step worse than the last. Damn toed feet. If he had his hooves fulltime, there wouldn’t be need for foot protection.

In the near darkness, he stopped near a fallen log and sat his butt on the damp ground. He emptied out the stone, and replaced the ankle high footwear.

Crack
.

Alek sucked in his breath, held it, and listened. Decayed wood popped and crunched, breaking under the heavy weight of someone, or
something
. Judging by the sound, the distance was less than five true Centaur lengths away.

Bear? Elk maybe. Alek slid lower, half reclining on the wet ground, moisture soaking through the seat of his pants. He’d been in worse situations. This was a cakewalk compared to the old days.

He slid the Daggert 2, ComboEdge blade from its sheath. The weatherproof handle secure in his hand, he forced himself to relax tense muscles and wait.

Directly behind the log, additional twigs snapped as a large object pushed through. Alek swiveled his head to catch the sounds.

Two sets of footsteps—each approached from an opposite direction.

Two sets of legs. With silent ease, he lifted his neck chain and slid it under his shirt to lie quiet on his chest.

“What information do you have?” Scratchy voice, edgy and hard.

“We annihilate in two weeks.”

Movement. A suggestion of human feet shuffled amongst leaves and brushwood. Metal struck a solid object, and clothing rustled.

Alek glanced over his shoulder to the top of the log—and froze. On the other side, two males leaned against the trunk with their backs to him, oblivious to his presence.

“I don’t agree. The
Centarus Protectorates
are ready to fight now.” The hard talking civilian pulled a smoke from his shirt pocket and lit up, the bright flame illuminating his features. “We should strike while the morale is high.”

Alek had approximately three seconds to study the man’s hawk-nose profile and that of his regency guard companion, before the match flew over the log. It landed squarely on Alek’s rain soaked crotch and sizzled—like his temper, with the ongoing venue of conversation.

Anger ignited a slow burn inside him.

“No. We follow orders and wait. Our new leader must be given time to set his plans in motion. Once he’s on the throne, and Savella dead—” The guard spat on the ground, thankfully not where Alek remained hidden. “—the army of Protectorates can fight all they want.”

“I’ll pass the word. But be warned, the people grow restless.”

Not as restless as you’re making me
.

“Then do something about it, dammit. If you can’t control them, I’ll find someone who will.” The Centaur guard stepped away and rolled his padded shoulders to adjust the leather armor he wore. His sword sang a trembling note as he slid it free of its scabbard, the tip circled back to the civilian. “I will personally administer disciplinary action of anyone who jumps the line . . . by the edge of my sword. Do I make myself clear?”

“Yeah. Clear as Nymph water.” Grumbled dissatisfaction floated to Alek as the males moved in the direction of
The Mare.

A huge problem with wanting something other than what you have is, you never know if what comes next is worse. Savella had ordered the capture of the fascist pocket of conspirators, but following the trail up the leadership ladder, the scene got uglier with every step.

Aleksander waited until he no longer heard the blunt thud of footfalls going off in separate directions. He rose and sheathed the Daggart. The burn of the civilian’s herbal smoke stung his sinuses, so he pinched his nose and gave it a rub. The man had a distinct face he wouldn’t soon forget.

Keeping to the same, barely discernible trail, he marched out double-time in silent stalk mode and ignored his soaked ass. He’d tail the Centaur Regency Guard for as long as possible. Sergeant Dryas had some serious penalties stacking against him.

Alek would let him play out his hand, and watch from the shadows while he did it. Dryas obviously reported to, and took orders from, someone in a higher station. All Alek had to do was figure out who that someone was.

Easy.

He blew a short breath. Who was he trying to fool? Nothing in life was ever easy. His own life was a history lesson of hard knock examples. Some errors, made in the heat of passion, stayed with a person for life.

The drizzle cleared and ground fog set in. It crept along, swirling damp eerie tentacles of mist, winding around tree trunks and jutting boulders. Thankful for his first-rate night vision, he spied Dryas wending his way along the main path, headed for the palace.

Alek glanced at his three-dial chronograph watch. Luminous green numbers glowed the time: ten p.m.. If Dryas pulled guard duty tonight, he’d be at his post in one hour.

Excellent.

Countdown to taking out the armchair monarch had begun.

*    *    *

Patience took Rhy’s
ginormous
hand in hers and led him to the bedroom. Soft falls of his unshod hooves on the wooden floor vibrated up her legs and settled low in her tummy. When she reached the bed, she turned and faced him, wrapping her arms around his neck. “Will you stay with me tonight?”

“I should be the one asking, not you.” He chuckled. “You’re the boss of who comes and goes around here. I can’t leave, remember?"

Patience smiled. Rhycious may not feel the same unquenchable thirst as her, but she’d try to give him a glimpse of it in her kiss. Her touch. His strong arms circled her body, his hands strummed her bare back, and she deepened the kiss, pouring her love into him like a never-ending fountain.

He stepped a hoof forward and bumped her to sit at the edge of the mattress. Momentum swung the hanging bed in a pendulum motion. His tail whipped out and caught the door. With a light smack, he closed it part way.

“No uninvited guests shimmering in for this party.” The twinkle in his tawny eyes matched the wolfish grin he wore.

She smiled back.

Rhycious nipped her lips, and then he kissed the sting away while he leaned over and pressed her into the faux fur spread. Plush fleece warmed her back and skin, rubbing in a decidedly sensuous fashion.

Grabbing a square throw pillow, he tucked it gently beneath her head. She drew her knees up and hugged either side of his waist. Her arms twined behind his neck, keeping him as her prisoner.

From the top of her head to the indentation of her waist, Rhy’s hands caressed. They soothed and aroused, driving her feral with his touch. Thousands of tiny wings fluttered inside, and she rubbed her breasts over her blouse to quell the feeling.

He popped the top button of her jeans. Her breath hitched when her abdominal muscles contracted from the light scrape of his short nails. The zipper grated a slow trek downward in its metal tracks, and molten heat pooled deep within her. Patience clenched her thighs tight around him. 

Under the bottom hem of her shirt, his hand moved to skim the material up and over her head. Nuzzling her, Rhy kissed and stroked, licked and sucked.

“You’re exquisite, Patience. Your breasts are mouthwatering.”

Every lap of his moist tongue over her pebbled nipples unraveled one stimulated layer at a time. A moan pushed out from deep in her throat.

Rhy’s voracious lips kissed a merciless path from her breasts to nibble her ribs—one by one—and then paused to swirl in and out of her belly button. Her hands fisted in his hair, and she marveled at the motion in which his head moved to ply her body.

Patience wanted more of his rippling muscles. She craved it worse than her desire for a bolt of black velvet.

“I want to see more of you.” Dark tendrils curled on his forehead, and she slithered her fingers through the silky locks to reach for his shirt. “This needs to come off.”

Material bunched in her fists and she struggled to pull it over his head.

“Yes, ma’am.” Rhy followed her lead and straightened to grasp the fabric behind his neck. He laughed and wrenched it off, tossing the shirt over his shoulder to the floor.

Impressions of potent strength separated the heavy pectoral muscles of his chest, and quickened her pulse. Humming her appreciation, she moved her hands over his smooth skin, skimming the hard strength beneath.

Flecks of scars, some pink and others white, added a depth of character to the man who healed others. Light colored hair furrowed downward in a narrow trail below his navel. She loved how it blended into a carpet of tan hide that formed his forelegs.

He brushed his lips against hers, thrusting his tongue into her mouth, kissing her deeply. His calloused palms cupped her swollen breasts and slid down her body in an agonizing sweep. She arched her back in thoughtless abandon, whimpering, shivers of delight followed his touch.

Gripping the top of her jeans, he pulled downward. “I want to see more of you.” Patience’s own words echoed back to her, and she flicked her gaze to his smiling face. “I
need
these off of you.” So damn handsome, he took her breath away.

Each tug peeled the butter-soft jeans further down her thighs, and each slide of the material revealed a growing amount of skin. The more her pale flesh unveiled, the darker his bronze eyes became.

Arousal sped up her breath and fluttered the beat of her heart.

Undies and pants sailed through the air. They smacked on the floor, somewhere near his shirt. For a man who measured his movements with calculated efficiency, all that control went by the way of their clothing.

She giggled at his urgency.

He smiled and gracefully knelt on the floor front legs first, then scooted his long body to the very edge of the bed frame.

His palms glided up her shins and thighs. “So soft,” he murmured. He fit his large body between her legs and she welcomed his heat near her core. Excitement zinged like an electric current when he adjusted her legs to drape over his shoulders.

Rhy’s tender kisses rained on her lower belly. So sweet, each kiss made her swell and ache. Her nails scraped his scalp through the nutmeg strands, slipping like blades of spring grass between her fingers.

Each kiss brought his lips one-step lower.

He placed a hand behind each of her knees. Her breath caught as he held her legs open to his very heated view.

An unwelcomed heat crept into her cheeks, and she tried to press her legs back together. Gods, his nose hovered mere inches from where she was thoroughly drenched. He inhaled her scent, her essence.

Aroused and hot for Rhycious, she had a moment of over-exposure down below that caught her breath. Her cheeks heated further after he groaned and whispered her name.

Rhy pressed his mouth against her center and tongued her inner folds. She saw his eyes, large glittering ovals of approval.

“So, so wet.” His warm breath blew over her exposed flesh. He lifted his gaze and licked his shiny lips. “Thank you, Patience.”

“What are you thanking me for?” she rasped out. His lips brushed over her clit, the comforter wadding in her fist as she struggled to maintain her sanity.

“For showing me how much you want me.” Barely audible, words hoarse with emotion.

Rhy held her folds apart with his thumbs and used his wicked tongue to taste her. Once. Twice. Finally, three times. Two fingers touched her inner core, and he held them up to show the slick moisture coating them.