You can’t possibly know that, she protested, but again she didn’t sound sure.
Of course I can, he said, keeping as sober as possible. Elite hunters have to notice every detail around them. I registered the lake last night . . .
She stirred in his mind, giving him the impression of a raised eyebrow. I thought you were entirely focused on me.
Exactly, he replied smoothly. With the small exception of noting the water and shoreline as we passed by.
Her laughter teased at his mind like the brush of butterfly wings. I will concede the reeds seem to be a bit more under water than I remember them. And maybe the two trees on the southern end look as though the waterline moved up, but that’s all. I checked the snow pack and there’s absolutely no problem with it, and the glacier is totally intact.
I’m certain the prince will be happy to hear that. And we can reassure him that the volcano remains dormant. Zev’s voice was droll.
She laughed again, sounding carefree, a sound which he hadn’t heard from her ever. He loved that he’d found a way to get her to relax, to forget about what she’d seen and heard in Lyall’s mind. Lycans and Carpathians would have to find a way to ferret Xaviero out and rid the world of him, but Zev wanted to keep Branislava as far from the mage as possible.
They took their time, hunting leisurely for sustenance, dropping down near a farm to talk casually with the farmer and his wife. They laughed together at the antics of horses, and Zev helped the farmer put a tire back on his broken cart. When they had fed, they left the couple sitting on their front porch, smiling happily, remembering the nice couple who had stopped by to inquire about the beautiful handmade quilts the wife had hanging up to sell for extra money. Her pocket was fat with cash and one of the quilts was missing.
“That was fun,” Branislava said, hugging the quilt to her. “They’re nice people.”
Zev took the quilt from her and threaded his fingers through hers. “I agree. We’ll have to check on them once in a while. It’s always a good thing to make friends with neighbors and locals. Mikhail is quite charismatic and he takes the time to fit in. Those living in the village are very loyal to him.”
“Are we going to make our home here?” Branislava asked.
He caught the little note of apprehension in her voice. He brought her hand to the warmth of his mouth, his teeth nibbling at her knuckles. “I told you we would always stay close to Tatijana. I like it here, and if we use these mountains as our base, with our ability to fly, we can get to places very fast if need be.”
He stopped walking, turning to plant himself directly in front of her. “When I said I would cherish you for all time, Branka, that I would put your happiness above my own, I meant it. You never have to do anything you don’t want to do.” He slung the quilt over one shoulder and tipped her chin up with his fingers. “I treasure each moment we have together, I do, but if I have to go off hunting rogues, or tracking vampires or the Sange rau, it will always be your choice whether or not you leave our home and accompany me.”
Tears swam for a moment in her vivid green eyes but she blinked them away rapidly and managed a mock scowl. “If you think I’m going to let you go off somewhere hunting rogues, vampires or Sange rau without me, you’ve got another thing coming. Someone has to look after you.” She reached up to circle his neck with her arm and pulled his head down to hers. “You take too many chances, Zev, and I’m not willing to let you go. So stop.” She punctuated each word with a fierce kiss.
His heart turned over and heat rushed through his veins, not just the heat of desire, but the heat of love. He had no other way to describe it. She ran through his veins like life’s blood, an addiction and obsession, that scorching hot love she poured into him every time she entered his mind, or kissed him as she was doing. Every time she touched him, sparks leapt between them, igniting an overwhelming rush of pure love he felt for her.
He wasn’t a man with fancy words. He never would be. He was a predator, a wolf, an elite hunter and rough as hell. But he knew without a doubt that he loved her fiercely, with every cell in his body, with every beat of his heart. Had he been a poet he would have written her something beautiful, but he only had his body to show her how he felt.
He kissed her, pouring that hot, ferocious love he had for her into her mouth. He was demanding and rough and insistent, sweeping her up into a vortex of fire, as alpha as it got, forcing her response, yet knowing she gave it to him freely.
Branislava clung to him for a moment when he lifted his head. She kept her body tight against his, as if he was her sanctuary. He wanted to be that haven for her, a shelter she could always count on. He closed his arms around her and held her to him, counting her heartbeats, listening to the rhythm of her breathing until his body followed the tempo of hers.