Chapter 23
Chapter
Twenty-Three
This morning, Kronos’ guards dragged us to the border, our hands bound and our mouths gagged.
Kronos didn’t even let Vane wash off Sora’s blood.
He kept looking at it, dried on his clothes and hands, as if he couldn’t quite believe it was there.
He would be dead from his wounds if he were mortal, and I couldn’t stop thinking how that would be a mercy.
The mortal king of Aren owns us now. My brother, June, found me before Kronos sealed the border to Arcadia, vowing to stay by my side. It's a small comfort.
—Anabeth, D’anna
Well after sunset, Morgen finally stirred, restlessly murmuring Nya’s name. She was propped up on the couch behind him, his head in her lap. She touched his face carefully and asked, “How are you feeling?”
He groaned softly, tugging her down. “Why were you sitting up?” he asked in a sleep-roughened voice. He sounded mostly lucid again.
“Should I not be?”
He blinked a few times, obviously trying to get a sense of his surroundings. She had surmised the small room they were in was off the back of the house, lit only by dim gas lamps that had begun to glow of their own accord just as dusk set in.
“It’s nighttime, isn’t it?”
She nodded against the pillow he had practically shoved her against. “You needed to sleep. You used too much magic portaling us back.”
“Mm, ‘figured it would happen. You need to sleep too. I can tell you’re tired.”
She said nothing, fairly certain he drifted off again until he sighed against the hollow of her throat. “You’re staying awake on purpose, aren’t you?”
“It was safer that way. You were…very much not yourself.”
He made a discontented noise then he slid his tongue over the scar at her throat, nearly causing her to cry out. She stopped herself at the last minute, but he did it again, and a soft moan escaped her lips before she managed to ask, “Are you still magic drunk?”
“No,” he replied. “Just a bit tired.”
“Then why are you—Oh.”
He sucked against the scar, and at the same moment, he cupped her breast under the loose tunic she wore. Her back arched, and, on instinct, she reached for him, clutching at his shirt.
“I’m trying to help you sleep,” said in her ear, circling her nipple with his finger. A maddening ache began to pool at her center, slowly, and then all at once as he pinched the puckered flesh lightly between his fingers.
“I can’t sleep,” she gasped. “It’s not…not safe.”
He nipped at her lower lip. “Hush.”
She whimpered, the sound dragging itself up at the back of her throat when he slid his hand between them, pressing firmly against her throbbing core.
“Is that what you want?” he breathed against her mouth.
She shook her head slightly, and he paused and started to move away, misunderstanding her. She caught his hand and whispered, “No, I mean I need you.”
In the dark, his eyes met hers, the embers ebbing faintly in his irises. “We’re not alone here,” he said, and she opened her mouth to say she didn’t care, but then he added, “I’m going to need you to be quiet. If you think you can’t, bite my shoulder. Understood?”
She nodded, and he parted her lips with his fingers, his gaze dropping to her mouth. “Good.”
“I want to do something first, though, okay?” she whispered, guiding him up so he sat with his back against the couch cushions. “Something you’re going to need to stay quiet for too.”
His nostrils flared as she moved onto her knees. “Nya, you don’t need to—”
“Believe it or not, I want to,” she said, brushing her nose against the indent where his hips met his pelvis. “Unless you don’t?”
He shivered, lifting her chin so she met his eyes, shining in the dim light “Not too fast, alright?”
Her lips curved as she palmed his erection through his pants. “I’ll try to go easy on you,” she said in a low voice.
His head fell back, throat working. “Fuck, I’m serious, Nya. I don’t want to—”
But the rest of the words were lost as she undid the clasp of his pants and loosed his cock, wrapping her fingers around the thick base and pumping a few times.
She had only ever done this once and was sure it hadn’t been good.
But with him, everything felt right, every motion driven by some innate, primal instinct within her.
She darted her tongue over the tip where it dripped salty precum, and his cock twitched in her hand. When she wrapped her lips around him and started to suck, he fisted a hand in her hair, a low moan escaping him.
She glanced up, releasing his cock with a soft pop. “I thought we agreed on being quiet.”
He stared at her, wide-eyed and chest heaving.
Then, without another word, he tugged her into his lap, kissing her fiercely.
She slid her hands beneath his untucked shirt, moaning as she felt every time his muscles flexed and twitched beneath her touch.
He hooked his fingers under the waistband of her pants, tugging.
“Off,” he moaned, hardly breaking the kiss.
She slid her nails over his abdomen with just enough pressure to make him hiss.
She pulled back momentarily and tugged the pants down.
The fabric got caught around her ankles, and as she struggled with untangling herself, he slid his fingers between her legs.
She gasped softly and dropped her head against the pillow when she couldn’t hold back her moan.
He tugged her pants, managing what she apparently couldn’t when he freed them from her ankles, all while still keeping a slow, steady rhythm against her clit with his other hand.
“Nya, look at me,” he said gruffly.
She shook her head, face still pressed against the pillow. “I can’t…can’t stay quiet.”
“I know. But I’d rather you bite me than the pillow.”
A shiver raced up her spine. She was already so close.
It was dizzying, the notion he could wring an orgasm out of her in less than a minute.
She dragged herself off the pillow, pushing away his hand even as the unresolved ache at the loss of his touch made her want to scream.
His brow creased in confusion, though only for a moment.
He gasped as she positioned herself over his cock and slowly joined their bodies.
“Now you can touch me again,” she managed to say between heaving pants.
He did, and she drew blood at his shoulder by the time she came. His eyes were closed, muscles completely tense, when she found her surroundings again.
Gently, she touched his cheek and whispered, “Morgen?”
He exhaled slow. “One moment.”
“You know you don’t have to do this, right? I’m honestly impressed you haven’t come yet, and I don’t need you to keep holding out. I want you to come.”
His jaw tightened beneath her fingertips. “I know, but I really didn’t trust my ability to pull out when you were coming around me.” He opened his eyes. “Which I should. I should have the first time too, I just… I was being stupid.”
For some reason she didn’t fully understand, her stomach sank a little. Which made no sense. She didn’t want a child any more than he did, and even if she did, now was most definitely not the time.
He smiled sadly at her expression and brushed the tip of his nose to hers. “I know…I know. It’s okay. That feeling you have right now, it’s just the embers. Life trying to make life.”
“How did you know?” she whispered, shutting her eyes.
He kissed her again, slower this time, and the world grew hazy. “Because I feel it too, oíche rionn. Fates know I’ll always wonder what that would be like with you, Nya, and not just because of the embers.”
Her breath hitched. He had not called her that in so long.
She ignored the tears when they started to run down her cheeks at the unfairness of it all. Neither of them had asked to be what they were; choice didn’t exist when you inherited power like theirs, not in Arcadia.
But, for once in her life, she chose. She let herself fall fully into Morgen and finally gave herself permission to love him without stipulations or shame.
“Nya, I—”
“Shh.” She kissed him softly, moving her hips in a slow, steady rhythm. “I know.”
He lifted her abruptly, panting against her mouth as he came.
She didn’t say it, and she didn’t let him either, even though she knew they both felt it clearly within every touch, saw it reflected in each other’s eyes. Telling him felt too final, and she had a terrible feeling stirring somewhere in the back of her mind that it would be.
So, they pretended it wasn’t important. They didn’t talk about their shared soul, or the impending doom of the void, or the fact that Sol was assuredly breathing down their necks. She just held him until he was asleep and began to silently recite her histories and poems and lists.