Free Wendigo Wars by Dulcinea Norton-Smith Page A

fingers and palm touched his skin she felt as if she were on fire. Though Dash’s skin was no hotter than hers the touch sent a thousand tingles through her palm and finger tips, up her arm and into her chest.
    Dash gasped for air and then settled into his steady breathing pattern again. Mathilde started in surprise and pulled her hand quickly away from his chest but then lay it back down again before she could stop herself. Now that she had crossed that barrier and touched him once she felt like her hand was pulled back and held in the same spot, as if a magnet lay under his skin with the partnering magnet under her own.
    Mathilde’s head told her to go back to her seat in the corner, move your hand, stop touching him, move back , but she couldn’t move. Mathilde could feel Dash’s heartbeat under her palm, his chest was comfortably warm and she could feel the slight scattering of rough hairs under her hand. His pulse pressed against her fingertips and she moved them slowly to stroke the part of his neck where the blood pulsed through his veins. Mathilde could hear her own breath now and felt her own chest rise and fall. She wanted nothing more than to lay her cheek on this stranger’s chest or to lightly press her lips against his and feel the breath from his nose against her face.
    Mathilde pulled her hand violently away from Dash’s chest, causing him to move and frown a little in his sleep. She shot back to her chair in the corner, embarrassed and scared at the strength of attraction she had felt. This wasn’t her. She was always in control, she had never felt like this before, and over a stranger? It just felt wrong.
    Mathilde spent the rest of the night pressed into the corner. Dash’s breathing faltered a couple of times but Mathilde could not bring herself to go to him, not trusting that she could come away again. For the first time Mathilde did not try to avoid looking at Dash but instead stared at him from a safe distance. She examined and memorised every shadow on his face, his pale and perfect skin with the thick black stubble, his red lips which were neither thick nor thin, and his straight perfect nose. His jawbone was straight and squared. His dark hair curled over his collar and locks of it stuck to his forehead. It took all of Mathilde’s will power not to go to him and stroke the hair off his forehead.
    By the time that Violette arrived at 6am Mathilde knew every part of his face and her head swam dizzily. Her mind swam with images of his face and the beginnings of fantasies that made her blush. As Violette came into the room Mathilde felt embarrassed, as if Violette were Fleur and could read her mind. Of course she couldn’t but she did raise a confused eyebrow at Mathilde’s flushed face.
    “Anything happen overnight?” asked Violette with concern for her patient.
    “Nothing,” said Mathilde a bit too quickly “I’m off. Battle plans to make,” Mathilde said as she
    stood quickly make her escape but as she walked to the door she heard the voice which she had successfully avoided for the past few days, heavy with a permanent hint of humour and sadness in equal measure, rich with the Romanian inflections.
    “Come back to visit later, after lunch.”
    Mathilde jumped but forced herself not to turn around. To see him awake after some of the thoughts that had been going through her mind just moments earlier would be mortifying.
    “Erm I am not sure I will have time. There is a lot of work to be done with the Protectorate”
    “Please?” the voice drawled, deep and persuasive.
    “Maybe,” said Mathilde and she hurried out of the door, happy that she had made her exit without having to look at her beautiful enemy.
    Mathilde arrived back at Violette’s alcove to the smell of bacon  cooking and the sight of Seb’s face grinning as he towered above the stove making it look like a child’s toy.
    “Good night Tills? You look in a foul mood. Does the freak snore?”
    Mathilde glared at Seb,