30. Dryston
Chapter 30
Dryston
“ I never have,” Dryston muttered under his breath as he watched her walk away.
He lay there for a bit longer, steadying his breaths and bringing his mind back from that precipice it had been teetering on. That ice-cold feeling doused him again, shame and a keen unworthiness. Her body responded to him, but he also knew that didn’t have to mean anything about actual desire. And if she was actually his ...
He shook his head, shutting down that thought.
Onora being his mate would be politically terrible and very unlikely. But on a personal level, her being his mate meant he’d get to spend the rest of his life being rejected by her like he was just then. Being deemed unworthy.
He trudged up the stairs to his room, lying in bed, mind racing and replaying the image of her straddling him, stroking his horns and grinding against his cock.
He was rock-fucking-hard right then and he closed his eyes, trying to shut the scene out, forget about her, and go to sleep. But his cock grew harder, aching, as he recalled her harried breaths with perfect clarity.
The expression on her face when his hands had palmed her breasts had been euphoric. He wanted to chase that feeling.
No. He shook his head and buried it in the pillow. It had felt like ages since he’d given himself any release and it had been actual ages since he’d had a partner. Months. And traveling chained to Onora hadn’t helped with that any.
He could relieve himself, get it over with, and think of anyone but Onora.
He stroked himself, thinking of anything else but her, some vague and nebulous idea of a partner. She knelt before him, taking his cock in her mouth, swiping her tongue around as she sucked hard and pulled him in and out of her. He moaned into his pillow, the pleasure mounting, rising.
But it wasn’t some vague female anymore. The wings he’d been imagining morphed and shifted to nothing, the hair turning from dark brown to the color of sun hitting wheat stalks. Gray-blue eyes gazed up at him, those lips that had entranced him from the moment he met her wrapped around him, her deft hands stroking the shaft.
And before he could stop himself, before he could change the image in his mind’s eye, he spent himself, biting the pillow to muffle the groan as his cock twitched in his hand.
He stared at the ceiling for a long while, exhausted, but unable to sleep for the pair of blue eyes that haunted him late into the night.
Night still blanketed the world when they awoke, a darkness so vast that the moon overhead felt like a beacon, the stars scattering and dotting the sky. Dryston met Onora downstairs, her eyes taking him in slowly.
Heat flashed over him too, the memories of the night before flooding him. He wanted her, right then, right there, on the kitchen table.
She offered him a mug, steam curling in the air and a floral fragrance meeting his nose. “Tea?”
He took it, giving it a sniff. “It’s not poisoned, is it?”
The corners of her mouth tugged up, mischief in her eyes as she turned back to the boiling pot of water to pour over her mug. “I suppose you’ll just have to try it and find out.”
He walked to the counter, leaning against it and encasing her, looking over her shoulder. Her movements slowed, her eyes flicking up to him for a moment before looking back at the dried tea leaves she was placing in a bag.
“Do you need something?” she asked.
He looked her over for signs that she was afraid, but he saw none—only the fresh color on her cheeks.
“No,” he said, shifting so his chest pressed against her arm, savoring the contact, wanting more. “I’m just looking at the ingredients.”
She made a low humming sound, then picked up her mug and shifted to face him.
“You’re awfully comfortable in Tannin’s house,” he said, trying—and failing—to keep the bite out.
“I’ve spent plenty of time here.”
He felt like he’d been lanced through the heart, and he gave a rueful laugh. His body felt possessed, something primal coming over him that wanted to meet the challenge in her eyes, in her words. He stepped forward, pinning her against the counter, leaning over her.
“What would he say if he knew you were straddling and stroking me last night?” Dryston wanted—needed—her to face that moment they had shared, have her admit that she also wanted him—to some small degree. Something that rumbled deep in his chest wanted to claim some part of her, even if it were only her desire.
“That’s none of his business,” she said and casually took a sip of the tea, commanding, in control, unbothered.
Which was infuriating. He hadn’t imagined it last night or all the other times. But she could stand here and act like it was nothing?
He thought he might be going insane when she placed her palm on his chest, making his heart race and he almost crumpled, willing to fall to his knees and beg or do whatever else she wanted. She slowly and carefully drew her hand down, down, finally resting over the top of the band of his pants, a single finger tracing a line there.
Nothing mattered or existed anymore. He pressed against her, grabbing her hips and pulling them against him, eliciting a sharp intake of breath from her. He would have her right here, moaning and crying out his name for all to hear.
But footsteps coming down the stairs made them halt, and in a moment she pushed him away, stepping so far from him that it felt like a slap across the face.
Tannin appeared around the corner and Dryston leveled a glare at the elf before he could compose his face. He raised a brow but said nothing, floating over to Onora.
“Here’s a tracking crystal,” he said, placing it in her hand. “He and I often used them to meet up in the woods.”
“You two are very close?” she asked.
He swallowed, brows pinched in sadness. “Yes.”
Onora’s face softened for a rare moment, her hand on his shoulder, and gave him a squeeze. “We’ll find him.”
Tannin followed them to the edge of the woods, locating the path, then waved as they continued on without him. It was odd traipsing through the woods with her but not tied to her. He didn’t think he would have missed it, but he did miss her proximity.
What in the burning and flaming pit was wrong with him? He felt like a moon-eyed lad, obsessing over his first crush. Or a panting dog desperate for water.
As they trekked, he slowly noticed that the birds stopped singing and no other sounds of wildlife followed them. Only the roaring of the river filled the air, no birds overhead except vultures. His mouth went dry. This was all too familiar.
Dawn was just peeking through the leaves when they saw it. A ring of black soot bursting out, coming right to their feet.