Myla By Moonlight by Inez Kelley Page A

imagined it would before peace was found, unless Taric could achieve it sooner than simply awaiting Marchen’s natural death.
    How fearsome he looked . Without armor or sword, wearing only his breeches, he embodied the soldier. There were no soft places on his body, other than his lips, and not one drop of excess flesh. He trained with his men daily and harshly, knowing any day could call them back to battle. Taric didn’t sit on the sidelines, directing troop maneuvers with a map and words, but charged into the fray with shouts and might.
    She had argued this strategy once when he’d been knocked from Falcon’s back. He’d been younger, leaner and bleeding alongside the campfire when she appeared to him.
    “Good day, my charge.”
    “Myla!” He shot to his feet but became unsteady and the next moment his ass hit the ground.
    “That swing was too close. Had I not strengthened your armor, you would not be speaking at this moment. You should stay behind the fight line and direct your soldiers from safety.”
    His dry, cracked lips had thinned, baring blood-smeared teeth, and he’d glared at her with a fiery pride. “Go away, Myla. No man will ever die in my place. Guardian or not, I’ll do my duty and defend my land and my people with my own blood. I don’t need to hide behind your magical skirt.”
    Conceding to his honor, Myla had simply bowed her head and misted back to him.
    Such valor increased her pride in her master. It also increased her responsibility. Many more times she had been forced to bleed her essence along his armor, doubling its strength to prevent his serious injury or worse. That he still bore bruises from the blows was painful enough to her, but she had stopped the most damaging of swings. Marchen was cruel and vindictive, seeking Taric out with his most hardened and practiced warriors. That the enemy chose to stay behind the lines and not risk his own hide, she considered not only cowardice but loathsome. He sought to bring misery to his nemesis by felling his only child but never by his own hand.
    “I can’t think anymore.” Fatigue lined Taric’s face when he turned to her. “I’ll figure it out later, but I still have some questions for you.”
    “Ask and I will answer.”
    “Will you?” He gave her no chance to respond. Taking her hand, he pulled her to his chair and down to his lap. She started to struggle, the replay of early evening too vivid, when his palm cupped her cheek. “Stop. Just sit and listen.”
    Myla forced her spine not to relax and sat stiffly on his thigh. She could not meet the laughing eyes under his arched brow. He laughed at her resistance and it mocked her arrogance, making her actions seem childish. Still, she couldn’t force the muscles to loosen.
    “Fine, perch on my knee like a bird on a fence. You’ll just tire yourself. I don’t bite, Myla. Well, at least, I won’t. Come on, ease back here.” She allowed him to coax her until her back curved against his chest and arm, her legs draped over his hip. It was much more comfortable and much more intimate. “Now, tell me. Why were you crying? Did I hurt you?”
    “No.” Stunned, she looked him full in the face. Concern shaded his eyes, the circles below bellowing his need for rest. Deep in her chest something broke, and tenderness rushed in. Her palm met the scratch of his beard shadow before she knew it had moved. “You can not harm me. You are so weary. Sleep now.”
    “Later. Then why did you cry? Did I misunderstand? I thought you…were enjoying being with me.”
    “I did…I mean…I was but…” Floundering, she struggled to find words for thoughts she barely comprehended. “I am your guardian. I fight for you, Taric, protect you, keep you from harm. Fear has never entered my mind…until you touch me.”
    “You’re afraid of me?”
    “No, not of you.” Her swallow was tight and tasted of salt. “I do not understand these feelings that erupt inside me when you kiss me. I do not like