Chapter One
Southern Wales, early 1800’s
How could such an angelic smile be cast upon a monster?
The whispered words wormed their way through Rhys’s mind as he watched Alia Buchanan, daughter of the Merrick scholar he’d been
charged to protect, make her way across the flagstone courtyard. A lavender twilight was falling heavily over the hilltop where the ivy-
covered Buchanan cottage sat nestled amidst the surrounding forest, the autumn air scented with the compelling blend of wood smoke
and a distant storm rumbling on the horizon. Smoky shafts of purple and blue touched their fingers to the delicate angles of the young
woman’s face, lingering over the gentle swell of her breasts…the long, flowing locks of her hair. If he wanted to retain his sanity, Rhys
knew he needed to look away. And yet, his eyes refused to obey the command, riveted to the sight of her mysterious expression as their
gazes locked, then held, that soft, breathtaking smile still curving the sensual shape of her mouth.
No matter how distant he tried to be—no matter how rude or how savagely he scowled and glared—she always gifted him with that
same goddamn, infuriating smile. And it was slowly driving him out of his mind, the threads of his sanity slipping through his fingers
like spiraling streams of mist. No matter how hard he struggled, he could not catch them in his grasp.
Since the moment he’d first been introduced to Alia, Rhys had been obsessed with her. An unusual situation for a warrior who had
never found himself fascinated with anything or anyone, much less a whimsical slip of a girl he could too easily break beneath his
power and his strength. The Merrick blood of her ancestors—one of the original ancient, non-human clans—had been dormant in her
bloodline for generations, leaving Alia and her father with bodies that were as vulnerable as any human’s. It was madness for him to
even contemplate touching her, much less for him to fantasize about her to the point that she was a constant, aching presence within his
mind.
But he couldn’t stop. And God only knew that he’d tried.
If it had simply been her physical appearance that enthralled him, he could have found a way to see reason and put her out of his
thoughts. After all, he’d always been of the opinion that one pretty face could be easily replaced by another. But there was so much
more to the pull that kept drawing him to Alia, despite how hard he tried to resist. She was too intoxicating…too fresh. He could only
marvel at how she viewed the world, seeing it in a way that he was sure no one else did. Seeing it through eyes that could pierce and
penetrate, slipping beneath even the most hardened, belligerent defenses. That was how he felt now, holding her dark blue gaze, the
uncomfortable sensation swarming through his veins, giving him the impression that she could see him in a way that no one else ever
would.
He’d have attributed the odd sensation to the fact that she was descended on her mother’s side from a powerful line of Reavess
witches, but knew that it was more than that. There was something about Alia herself that resonated with him, allowing her to slip
under his guard, drawing his attention again and again. Consuming his waking moments. Tormenting his dreams.
Despite the coldness in his soul, her smiles always swept through the icy depths of Rhys’s body like intoxicating, melting waves of
heat, igniting a dangerous craving for things he could never have. With nothing more than that soft tilting of her mouth, the longing
sincerity of her beautiful gaze, she warmed a place within him that had never been more than a barren, desolate sheet of ice. Ironic,
really, considering he was a thing of fire itself. As one of the few remaining descendants of the Charteris, one of the original and rare
European dragon clans, Rhys’s body held the power to become a lethal source of heat. A dangerous, deadly power that only intensified
as his attraction to a woman grew stronger—and one that was capable of melting Alia Buchanan alive if he were to ever sink inside the
lush, delicate depths of her feminine little body.
He craved her. Craved everything about her, from her scent to her taste to the thoughts that filled her head.
And that was why he couldn’t have her.
She was forbidden fruit that was going to get him into trouble, and he knew it. Had known it from the second he’d first laid eyes upon
her five months ago, when he’d been sent to oversee her father’s protection. And yet, Rhys could not take his gaze from her lithe,
graceful form as she walked across the courtyard where he and four of his men had been vigorously training.
How in God’s name was he supposed to stop watching the sweetest, most beautiful thing he’d ever seen? Heart-shaped face. Impish
freckles. Light brown hair that couldn’t decide between golden honey and autumn red. She was beautiful and wild, like an ancient
goddess come to life. Her slim, winged brows swept over big, exotic eyes of a deep dark blue that reminded him of clear mountain
skies. Full, pink mouth that made a man’s mind slip into explicit imaginings of what it would be like to sink past those glistening lips and
seek the damp, warm heat within.
Though he’d done his best to understand his infatuation, he was no closer to comprehending why he couldn’t get her out of his mind
than he was to knowing why she always smiled at him so sweetly—but then, his entire world had been off kilter since coming to guard
Matthew Buchanan. He was certain of only one thing—that he needed to end his obsession with the man’s daughter before it sent him
reeling into insanity.
As if to tempt him beyond endurance, she chose to move in his direction as she made her way around the courtyard fountain, its
gurgling rush of water often soothing Rhys in the cold hours of the night when he would stand in the shadows and watch her window,
waiting for a glimpse of her profile as she prepared for bed. Her path brought her closer to where he stood with his sword still gripped
in his hand, her scent carried to his nose by the gentle breeze, and he clenched his free hand into a hard fist as the warm, sensual
fragrance of jasmine overwhelmed his senses. Her smile melted into his body, under his skin, making him uncomfortable and hot.
Making something in his chest go tight. It made no sense for her to waste that sweet, endearing expression on someone like him. Too
often, women turned away from him in fear or unease—not that he blamed them. He was too big. Too scarred and hard and dark. Too
goddamn scary looking.
And yet, as she moved past him, her soft, sweet smile seemed to be filled with a deep, desperate longing that matched his own.
You fool, he silently sneered. Angels don’t yearn for monsters.
Forcing himself to turn his back on her, he stiffly spun around, the wind chilly against his face now that her smile no longer warmed
him. Doing his best not to breathe in her scent, Rhys stared out over the verdant valley below. All looked calm…peaceful, and yet, he
had the strangest premonition of doom. Of evil rolling in on the cool, crisp breeze. With a deep scowl settling between his brows, he
stared out over the endless rolling hills of green, searching for the unknown threat. Despite the fact that the months he’d spent there had
been quiet, Rhys knew the circumstances could change at any moment. Buchanan’s work was so secret, few of the Consortium—the
body of leaders who governed the remaining ancient clans—even knew of his research, or the fact that Rhys and his men were there to
protect the father and daughter, but that didn’t mean the danger was any less real.
“Are you going to continue staring out over the valley, or are we actually going to finish this exercise?” a deep voice drawled from
behind him. Turning, he found Barrett leaning his left shoulder against the stone wall that lined the east and west sides of the courtyard,
a wry smile tipping the corner of the soldier’s mouth. A self-proclaimed “mongrel,” Barrett’s bloodline held so many different strains of
non-human blood, he’d been left with bits and pieces of traits from each. He had an excellent sense of smell, as well as keen night
vision, both of which made him an exceptional tracker. He was also strong, and fast, which made him one of the best sparring partners
Rhys had ever had. Too often, the men in his command weren’t able to keep up with him during practice, his strength and speed too
much for them.
Sparring with Barrett now would no doubt be a good release of the tension in his muscles, but it wasn’t going to help with the
dangerous thoughts creeping through his mind. Slipping his sword back into the sheath that hung from the wide leather belt at his waist,
Rhys met his friend’s curious gaze. “I believe we’ve trained enough for the day.”
“I thought that might be the case,” Barrett murmured, his dark gaze shifting to the setting sun as it melted into the horizon, the tight
expression on his lean face making Rhys wonder what he was thinking. He’d have asked what was troubling Barrett, but his own
thoughts were mired in turmoil and confusion. He was too restless to stand there and talk. He needed to get away…to escape, and it
crossed his mind that he should head into the local village of Wolcott and find a woman to at least sate his lust and get his bloody mind
off of Alia, if only for a few moments.
Go to the village. Go, goddamn it, before it’s too late.
He scowled, suddenly turning to head into the forest before he could change his mind, thinking that the long walk would do him good,
but Barrett’s grip on his arm pulled him back around. “Heading to the village?” his friend asked, releasing his hold, the knowing look in
Barrett’s eyes telling Rhys that the man already knew exactly where he was going. And why. “I was going to suggest it myself. A bit of
a diversion will be good for you, Rhys. You look…tense. Best work out some of that aggression in a more natural way,” he drawled,
“than taking it out on the rest of us.”
Rhys arched one brow at the grinning ass. “What are you complaining about? You’re still in one piece.”
Barrett’s white teeth flashed in a crooked smile. “I’ve faired all right, so far. But ‘tis the truth that you’re growing more aggressive
every day, and the others are growing weary of their injuries.”
Shaking his head at the soldier’s teasing, Rhys said, “Just make sure that the men stay sharp,” and then he turned away. Raking one
hand through his hair, he ground his jaw and once again forced himself to head toward the forest, in the direction of the village. It might
leave a sour taste in his mouth, but he badly needed a distraction, just as Barrett had suggested. And while Rhys knew his trip to
Wolcott wouldn’t ease his dark, insatiable craving for the innocent Alia, he prayed that he would at least be able to find a fleeting
moment of peace whilst there.
From the book: EDGE OF CRAVING by Rhyannon Byrd
Copyright © 2009
® and ™ are trademarks of the publisher.
The edition published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.
For more romance information go to: http://www.eHarlequin.com/
An Unedited Excerpt from Rhyannon Byrd’s
EDGE OF CRAVING
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