Free Kiss of Destiny by Deborah Cooke Page B

he felt sympathy for her.
    “It was hot yesterday,” he said. “Did you drink all the water you’d brought?”
    She nodded, then halted to offer the skin back to him.
    He smiled, knowing she must still be parched. “Drink some more. It won’t help me as much as it will help you.”
    Again she studied him, little discernible of her features except those glinting eyes. She drank again, gratefully and greedily, and the pilgrim was glad that something good had come of his journey.
    “You’re going to the garden,” she said, when the skin was nearly empty. She offered it to him again and he drained it.
    Then he nodded. “Well, I was, but I won’t make it there now.”
    “Why not?”
    “Because I am sick, so sick that no one can help me.” He shrugged. “I had an idea that Hera herself might show mercy upon me, if I asked her politely.”
    The old woman cackled. “Can you ask nicely enough?”
    He grinned. “I could try.” She gave him such a skeptical look that the pilgrim had to consider himself, so gaunt that his bones showed, running sores on his flesh and his hair almost gone. His teeth had fallen out months before and his nails had turned black. The idea of him courting the favor of a great goddess, even as he looked as he did, made him laugh at the absurdity of it all.
    That launched another coughing spasm, one that left him shaking beneath the tree long moments later. The blood in his spittle was bright red. He could taste it and knew there was more of it than ever before.
    So, he would pass under this tree. It was no so bad a place to die.
    To his surprise, the old woman hadn’t left. “You are sick,” she said, helping him to sit up. She had an unexpected strength and her hands, when he glimpsed them, were as unlined as those of a maiden. She hid them away so quickly that he wondered if his vision was fading, as well.
    “I am dying,” he said, having no need for pretense. “It will not be long now. You should go. Take the rest of my provisions, and may your journey go well.”
    But she didn’t go. She moved closer and took his hand in hers. He would have looked but the pain rose within him, and he closed his eyes against it, taking comfort from her touch.
    “I will stay with you,” she said, her voice gentle. “If you like.”
    The pilgrim gritted his teeth against the rise of another spasm, trusting himself only to nod.
    “I will tell you a story,” the old woman said, settling herself beside him with his hand firmly locked in hers.
    * * *
    Thad awakened hours later, relaxed and content. The sky was turning rosy in the east and the plants in the garden were heavy with dew. He could still see stars in the western sky, but his attention was captured by the beauty nestled in his embrace. Aura had been everything he’d hoped and more. The firestorm had lived up to its reputation. And now, Aura would have his son and they would create a life together.
    He bent and kissed her forehead. A spark crackled between her soft skin and his lips, making Thad withdraw in shock.
    Had he imagined it?
    Aura turned and nestled against him, her hand trailing down the length of his chest. To Thad’s astonishment, a glow lit in the wake of her caress, as if the embers of the firestorm were being stirred to life again.
    But how could that be? The firestorm was always satisfied the first time a Pyr and his destined mate made love. He and Aura had made love more than once the night before. How could the firestorm still burn?
    There could be no doubt, though. The light caress of her fingertips summoned the heat within him again, and radiance began to grow between them. The light was deep orange but becoming brighter and whiter by the moment.
    She wasn’t pregnant.
    She wasn’t carrying his son.
    He was being punished. But why? Why was he unworthy? He had served with his fellows. He had hunted vipers. He had been enchanted and survived, then returned to finish the viper Cadmus. He had obeyed Drake without