Warrior, Opposed: Book One Of The Comhairle Chronicles

Chapter Eleven - Claim or Control

How had she acquired a scar? It should’ve been almost impossible for her to mark in such a way. Had it come from another wound cause by Raghnall and his ilk? Tor didn’t dare dwell on it, not if he wanted to control his temper. Instead he allowed himself to admire his mate, his woman, the siren who called to him night and day.

She stunned him.

The warrior tattoos down her left side seemed blacker on her than his did on him, contrasting as they did with her pale, fey complexion, and making her appearance even more exotic than it had seemed previously. Everything about Deòthas enchanted Tor, from her beauty to her courage, from her ability to fight to the idiosyncrasies which must be behind the open paranormal romance on her bed. He wanted to praise every strength, learn even eccentricity, and shore up any weakness so that she’d never again feel she was on her own. So that she never had to be alone or undefended ever again.

And he wanted so much more than that. Oh, to be allowed to go over to her, to place his hands on her hips and his mouth on her throat. He longed to kiss her jaw, her chin, her lips. He longed to hold her and know she was his and that he didn’t have to fear her flight. If only she’d allow that.

“Deòthas,” he breathed her name without meaning to, captivated, his appreciation obvious.

She glanced his way, and a frown touched her exquisite face before her expression softened with disbelief. She didn’t believe that he could want her? Was she really so incapable of seeing in herself what he saw? Had her perception of herself been carved by the Comhairle, or by the mother who’d starved her and left her to fend for herself?

Deòthas swallowed nervously at his scrutiny, but her eyes sparked with a need that reflected his own. Did she want him too? Really? Was there hope for their mating, an attraction he could build on if he took it slowly? Please, Ràsbàrd, let it be so.

“Tor?” she whispered, shifting her weight uncertainly from one foot to the other.

Her shy reserve seemed so at odds with what he’d seen of her in battle, and even at his victory celebration. Yet he adored each side of her. She truly was beautiful. Truly. And she would be his, if only he could persuade her to let him claim her. If only she would claim him... He’d give himself willingly if she asked.

The ball of fire in Tor’s gut drew him forward at that thought, towards her, pulling him as if by invisible strings. Deòthas froze at his approach, her eyes growing wider with each step he took. He could feel the warmth radiating from her body when he finally stood in front of her, and he imagined sunlight would’ve felt the same on mortal skin. It would be warm and life-affirming. Essential.

Tor reached out, brushing back a stray strand of Deòthas’s white blonde hair and tucking it behind her ear as he watched anticipation and uncertainty play back and forth across the sharp planes of her otherworldly face. Her anticipation encouraged him, but the uncertainty, that was enough to bring him to his senses. Almost. Leaning down so that his lips almost brushed her ear, he whispered softly to her, hoping she’d see the truth in his words.

“You’re incredible. Don’t let anyone make you feel otherwise. Alright?”

Her fragrance intensified and her sharp inhale of breath told him everything he needed to know. Yes, Deòthas was definitely attracted to him. His fangs elongated, responding to the scent of his mate’s desire even as relief flooded his thoughts. Thank the gods. Her attraction was a start, if nothing else. It didn’t mean she wouldn’t run, not when she’d been pushed aside all of her life, but it meant she might give him a chance to prove himself. If only he could keep control of himself for now.

Pulling back, Tor forced himself to resist the urge to kiss her. He wouldn’t push her, and he intended to leave the first move up to her… even if it killed him. He’d do as Tancred had ordered and help the recruits. He’d be there for Deòthas if she needed him. He’d do nothing more than that.