“Is it impossible?” I demanded. “A girl like that and a man like me? Tell me it’s fucking impossible. I know it, I just need to hear it.”
She huffed as she put her hands on my shoulders and forced me back down into my seat. “You might have a knack for animals, Bors. But I have a knack for people. You might be just what that girl needs. A man who’ll treat her the way a woman ought to be treated. Take her away from a joyless existence.”
I felt my heart and cock ache at the same damned time. I couldn’t tell if she was speaking sense or the whole idea was insanity.
“I’ve seen too much of the evil in this world. I’d break her. I’d ruin her,” I said, not entirely sure that was a bad thing.
Angelica poured me another mug of ale. Without breaking my gaze, she said, “Storms come on sunny days. Night follows day. The light needs the dark.” She smiled, her cheeks full, eyes wise. “That’s the way of the world. All things need their counterpoint.”
I considered her words as I drew my ale from the mug in gulps that would have drowned a normal man. I’d demanded she tell me my thoughts were wrong. Instead, she’d approved. She’d stoked the fire that burned within me. Angelica was right. She knew people. Sara was mine already and my body shook with the sense of possession and need inside me.
As I considered my next move, there was a noise from outside. A sharp sound, followed by a yelp, and Angelica turned to me as I rose again to my feet, my fighting instinct impossible to quell as I stomped out the door.
Right at that moment, I was in more of a fighting mood than in as long as I could remember. But, what I wanted to fight for was different than anything before.
I wanted to fight for her.
For Sara.
Sara
I peeked through the window of the whitewashed cottage and my worst fears were confirmed.
He was in Angelica’s house—the woman who ran Weschail’s house of sin, as it were.
Or at least she used to. Long before I was old enough to know such places existed.
I knew her reputation, and while I didn’t judge her like some of the townspeople—my parents included—the sight of her serving him food and beer, touching his arm…
Oh no, no, no.
I felt the clutch of my heart in my chest as my eyes burned. I knew enough about the ways of men and women together. I had seen animals breed on the farm. I’d seen men driven crazy by lust. There could only be one reason he was at her house: to relieve his animal instincts. Either with her or another girl, younger, able, willing…I felt a mixture of disgust and jealousy, all tangled up together.
I knew I shouldn’t be spying on him, but I couldn’t help myself. I carefully placed my market basket at my feet, not taking my eyes off Bors for a second.
Once, when I was a child, there had been a lunar eclipse and I found I couldn’t look away. For hours I stayed awake, until my eyes stung, watching and waiting, studying every curve of the moon, memorizing the stars. I felt the same pull now as I looked at Bors.
He sat in the chair with his long legs spread wide, like he was too big and burly for ordinary furnishings. His scarred arms were immense, rippling and straining against the fabric of his shirt; the once-white cloth pushed up to his elbows. His boots were enormous, the leather battered and worn. The veins in his forearms seemed to throb. My eyes fell on his neck and throat, his Adam’s apple and the dark stubble along his jaw.
His dark hair was long enough to tuck behind his ears, yet not to cover the collar of his shirt. Its waves called for my fingers and I dreamed of running my hands through the shiny silk, telling him my secrets as he kissed my neck, making me shiver.
Looking at him ignited the same feeling between my legs as I felt in the town square. Even now, seeing him with her, I wanted him.
And I wanted to hurt her.
As my breathing quickened and my cheeks grew warm, I felt another rush of wetness trickle from my sex and I resisted the intense desire to touch myself.
Suddenly, I felt a hard, stinging smack on my bottom and yelped, hands going to my lips as I whirled around. Before I could make sense of what was happening, I was in the wiry arms of a vaguely familiar man.
He had the unfocused, moist eyes of a drunkard and he smelled like spoiled beer and unclean hair. I pulled my face away and planted my arms on his chest to push him off me. But he was too strong and too drunk to notice.