– the same symbol that was on his saddle and on his parents' arms.
The symbols that meant he was now tied to Isabelle – and she to him.
He had known it would happen, but seeing the mark meant he had nearly completed his quest. He hadn't failed his family or his people as he feared he might. The sooner he returned home the better, which meant they needed to leave that day.
Finally he would return to his much-loved kingdom and his family. He washed himself off and thought of his mother's smile and his father's teasing that was sure to follow his return. As he pulled on his trousers he could well imagine all three of his brothers waiting to taunt him about being the last to arrive in Drahcir with his mate.
Just as he finished fastening his jerkin, his smile slipped. Something was wrong. Isabelle was frightened and anxious, as if she were running from something. Lucian bolted for the door and jerked it open to see her dashing down the path to the village. He looked around for a threat, but found nothing. That’s when he realized his mate was running from him.
For a moment, he couldn't fathom why she would suddenly bolt after the night they had shared, but he didn't allow himself more than that moment. He ran to his mount and took hold of his horse's mane. After he swung onto his back, he nudged Elad into a run. He didn't try to grab Isabelle, instead he ran Elad in front of her. Only then did he give a tug on Elad’s mane to bring him to a halt.
“I must get to the tavern,” she said, not meeting his gaze.
Lucian's heart felt as if it had been ripped from his chest. Where had he gone wrong? She had agreed to return with him last night. Her cries of pleasure had told him she willingly took his seed and gave him her virginity.
So what had happened?
“Why do you run from me? Do I frighten you?” he asked, praying that he was wrong.
Slowly her gaze rose to his. “Aye, you do. It was as if last night there was some type of spell on me, and this morning I saw everything as it should be.”
“Meaning that you willna return with me, that you doona believe my story that I told you.”
She shook her head and backed up a step.
Lucian slid from his mount. “You believed last night.”
“I wasn't myself last night.”
“So, you regret the passion between us.”
She hesitated, and that hesitation gave him a sliver of hope. And hope was all it took to keep him going.
“Nay. I never expected to experience anything like that in my life.”
The mark on Lucian's arm began to throb, signaling that what Isabelle said was the truth. She might have enjoyed the passion, but she would not leave her home. “Is there nothing I can say that will convince you my words are the truth?”
“Nay.”
He felt as if someone had just hurled a dagger into his heart and twisted the blade. “Doona run from me. It’s your home. I’ll leave,” he said and started for the house.
There was no need to see if Elad followed him, for he always did. It was difficult for Lucian not to look at Isabelle though, to see if she watched him as he left or if there was any indecision in her eyes. He prayed she returned to the cottage so he could have one last time to convince her.
Lucian's mind raced with possible alternatives for them, but if she refused to return to Drahcir then all would be for naught. He entered the small stable that was all but falling down and grabbed his saddle. His hand smoothed over the intricate symbols that had been chiseled into the leather. He and his three brothers had each been given such a saddle upon their sixteenth summer. The saddle reminded them of the curse and all that was at stake.
He brought the saddle to Elad and began to fasten it. Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted Isabelle leaning against the doorway watching him.
“If my words and the passion between us didna convince you that what I speak is the truth, I ask your forgiveness.”
“Why?”
His hands
The symbols that meant he was now tied to Isabelle – and she to him.
He had known it would happen, but seeing the mark meant he had nearly completed his quest. He hadn't failed his family or his people as he feared he might. The sooner he returned home the better, which meant they needed to leave that day.
Finally he would return to his much-loved kingdom and his family. He washed himself off and thought of his mother's smile and his father's teasing that was sure to follow his return. As he pulled on his trousers he could well imagine all three of his brothers waiting to taunt him about being the last to arrive in Drahcir with his mate.
Just as he finished fastening his jerkin, his smile slipped. Something was wrong. Isabelle was frightened and anxious, as if she were running from something. Lucian bolted for the door and jerked it open to see her dashing down the path to the village. He looked around for a threat, but found nothing. That’s when he realized his mate was running from him.
For a moment, he couldn't fathom why she would suddenly bolt after the night they had shared, but he didn't allow himself more than that moment. He ran to his mount and took hold of his horse's mane. After he swung onto his back, he nudged Elad into a run. He didn't try to grab Isabelle, instead he ran Elad in front of her. Only then did he give a tug on Elad’s mane to bring him to a halt.
“I must get to the tavern,” she said, not meeting his gaze.
Lucian's heart felt as if it had been ripped from his chest. Where had he gone wrong? She had agreed to return with him last night. Her cries of pleasure had told him she willingly took his seed and gave him her virginity.
So what had happened?
“Why do you run from me? Do I frighten you?” he asked, praying that he was wrong.
Slowly her gaze rose to his. “Aye, you do. It was as if last night there was some type of spell on me, and this morning I saw everything as it should be.”
“Meaning that you willna return with me, that you doona believe my story that I told you.”
She shook her head and backed up a step.
Lucian slid from his mount. “You believed last night.”
“I wasn't myself last night.”
“So, you regret the passion between us.”
She hesitated, and that hesitation gave him a sliver of hope. And hope was all it took to keep him going.
“Nay. I never expected to experience anything like that in my life.”
The mark on Lucian's arm began to throb, signaling that what Isabelle said was the truth. She might have enjoyed the passion, but she would not leave her home. “Is there nothing I can say that will convince you my words are the truth?”
“Nay.”
He felt as if someone had just hurled a dagger into his heart and twisted the blade. “Doona run from me. It’s your home. I’ll leave,” he said and started for the house.
There was no need to see if Elad followed him, for he always did. It was difficult for Lucian not to look at Isabelle though, to see if she watched him as he left or if there was any indecision in her eyes. He prayed she returned to the cottage so he could have one last time to convince her.
Lucian's mind raced with possible alternatives for them, but if she refused to return to Drahcir then all would be for naught. He entered the small stable that was all but falling down and grabbed his saddle. His hand smoothed over the intricate symbols that had been chiseled into the leather. He and his three brothers had each been given such a saddle upon their sixteenth summer. The saddle reminded them of the curse and all that was at stake.
He brought the saddle to Elad and began to fasten it. Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted Isabelle leaning against the doorway watching him.
“If my words and the passion between us didna convince you that what I speak is the truth, I ask your forgiveness.”
“Why?”
His hands
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