Guild Hunter 02 - Angels' Flight

he’d laid before her didn’t squelch her piercing awareness of him, this weapon of a man who was somehow becoming hers.
    “I can carry you anywhere you want to go.”
     
    No one had ever offered her such freedom. No one had ever fought to show her the world. And she knew he must have fought. Because until Galen, no one had seen beyond the twisted wing and to the hunger within. The one thing she’d never ever factored into her decision to dance with him was that
he’d take her with him
when he left. Heart tearing wide-open, she looked up to catch him watching her, felt her stomach clench. But she didn’t shy. Instead, she moved the hand she had on his wing to the taut muscle of his thigh.
     
    His body went rigid.
     
    Skating her gaze over the primal hardness of him, she stroked once before rising… and moving between his legs. Cupping his face when he bent toward her, his hands on her hips, so large and warm, she initiated a kiss for the first time. It wasn’t as difficult as she’d imagined it might be, not with a partner so very enthusiastic that she found herself trapped between two muscular thighs while her breath was stolen from her.
     
    It was exhilarating and petrifying and rather wonderful.
     
    When Galen’s hand fisted in her gown, she knew she should stop him—the library was by no means deserted during the day—but she didn’t. Instead, she wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed her breasts to the heated iron of his chest, rubbing to assuage a sudden wild need. Galen’s groan was deep, his hand unclenching and fisting again in her skirts. “Is that a yes?”
     
    Using her mouth to taste the thick line of his neck with the fascination of a woman who wanted to explore every tiny partof him, she drew the dark, unalterably
male
scent of him into her lungs. “Yes… and thank you.”
     
    Galen went motionless, his hands closing over her arms to pull her away from his beautiful sculpture of a body.
     
    “Galen?”
     
    His jaw a brutal line, he sai#x201C;You understand you could be flying into war?”
     
    For such freedom, she’d pay any price. “Yes.”
     
    “We leave tomorrow morning.”
     
    “The children—”
     
    “You must know people who can step in to continue their education while you’re gone.”
     
    “Of course. It’s their spirits I’m worried about.” It would be unbearable to reach for her dream knowing she’d left heartbroken children behind.
     
    “Speak to the little creatures—something tells me they’ll understand.”
     
    With that, he walked out of the library. No good-bye, no kiss. Arrogant, confusing barbarian of a man. One she was beginning to, quite simply, adore. “Bad temper, arrogance, and all.” Her laugh came from deep within, from the girl she’d once been.
     
    That laughter reappeared again when she spoke to the children. The “little creatures” did indeed understand. Not only that, they admonished her to be careful of strangers and to make sure to send them a letter with every messenger. A hundred sweet, fierce hugs later, she walked down the pathway to her parents’ home… and though she tried so hard to hold on to it, the laughter faded.
     
    “This Galen is strong?” Rhoswen asked, naked concern in the eyes she’d bequeathed her daughter.
     
    “Yes. My trust in him is absolute.”
     
    “Forgive me, Jessamy.” Rhoswen cupped her cheek. “A mother never stops watching out for her child. I wish we could’ve given you this—”
     
    “You gave me everything in your power.
Thank you
.”
     
    “My beautiful girl.” A hesitation, as if Rhoswen wanted to speak other words, but as always, she kept her silence.
     
    Heart full of love and pain both, Jessamy walked into her mother’s embrace. Later, her father kissed her temple and squeezed her hard enough to leave bruises.
     
    “I love you,” she whispered to them both, and then she turned and walked away, a knot in her throat. To look back might be to see tears, bright as diamonds, marking Rhoswen’s face.
     
    T he sun was but a mirage on the horizon the next morn ing when Galen lifted into the air with Jessamy in his arms. Her legs, long and slender, lay over his arm, clad in thick woolen stockings of purest black, her tunic—the color of autumn leaves—ending just above the knee. It was strange to see Jessamy in clothing other than the long, graceful gowns that flowed around her as she walked, and he could tell she wasn’t quite comfortable in her