Chapter Fifty-One
FIFTY-ONE
HAWK
Ireach over and tug the shirt over her head and then untie the laces of her corset, grumbling at how many layers women wear. All the while she pets and toys with my cock. It seems to take forever to get her undressed, but once her clothes are pooling at her feet, there’s nothing but soft, dimpled flesh in front of my eyes and I want to feast on her forever.
I cup one heavy breast, pleased that it’s large enough to fill my hand. Her nipple puckers and I stroke it even as I rub my muzzle against her face and neck. Her hand continues to tease my cock, but it doesn’t take long for me to get as hard as a rock. I know from my hazy memories of our time in the crypt that Aspeth is responsive, but she needs to be petted a bit first. So I haul her over to the bed, set her down on the mattress, and lie down next to her. I use one hand to play with her gorgeous breasts while I finger her cunt until she’s slick with arousal.
She makes these sweet, gaspy noises when I touch her that set my body on fire with need, and I stand up to move between her parted thighs, murmuring encouragement as I fit my cock to her entrance. She’s hot and wet and clutches at my cock like a glove, and when I rock over her, she moans and wraps her legs around my waist.
“I like the knot,” she pants between my thrusts, her tits bouncing as I fuck her, “but this is nicer.” Her hand strays down my arm, and she digs her nails into my muscles, her back arching. “Oh gods, you feel huge even now.”
Such flattery.
I make love to my wife, my strokes leisurely and deep as I claim her, and when Aspeth comes, she quakes around my cock and holds tightly to me, her orgasm a thing of beauty as she falls apart in my arms. Then it’s my turn, and I slide my thumb over her clit, making sure she feels every stroke as I pound into her. Her cunt clenches around me a second time as I come, and then stars dance before my eyes, my hooves slamming on the wood floor as I grind deep inside her, shooting my release.
Aspeth runs her fingers over my pectorals while I come back to myself. “We never had birth control. In the crypt. Or now.”
It’s something I thought about, days after, while Aspeth sat in prison and waited for the king to arrive in Vastwarren. I reach for the table next to the bed and pull out the drawer, producing a bead on a leather thong. “You can wear this.”
She sits up—or tries to, except I’ve got her pinned, her hips locked to mine. “Is that a Prellian pause-bead?”
“Aye. You’ve seen them?”
“Heard of them. The books were very reticent to discuss anything that affected female anatomy. How does it work?”
“As long as you wear this, even if you’re pregnant now, nothing in your womb will advance in time until you take it off. We’ll handle the whole children thing when you’re ready.”
Aspeth pauses. “What if I’m never ready?”
“Then you can wear that to your grave.” I nuzzle another kiss against her jaw. “I just want you to be happy, Aspeth. I’ve never demanded children from you. Never would.”
“I know. I just…I’m not ready yet. I think I would like children but not now. Not with everything so uncertain.” She slips the bead over her head. “Maybe in a year?”
“Whatever you decide,” I say, and I mean it. “You—”
There’s an urgent knock at the front door.
We both groan. Aspeth skitters out from under me, grabbing a robe and wrapping it around her body. “Are you expecting someone?”
I shake my head. “Perhaps one of the others forgot something? They’ve been moved into the repeater barracks.” Her expression clouds, and I know she’s thinking of them and the trouble she’s caused. I squeeze her hand, because it wasn’t as if she forced anyone to do anything. They are her friends and chose to help her. They have a chance to enter the guild again next season. “Don’t blame yourself.”
“I can’t help it—”
The knock at the door occurs again, louder and more insistent, and I growl in frustration. If it’s Magpie, I’m going to march her to the nearest jail. I shove pants on while Aspeth cleans up, and I head out to the main entrance, my hooves stomping and expressing my irritation loudly to all. When Aspeth appears in the doorway to the bedroom with the robe tight around her body, I move to the front door and fling it open.
A guild scholar is there, his hand raised as if he means to knock a third time. He shrinks back at the sight of an angry Taurian looming in the doorway, uncertainty on his face. He holds a box in his arms and clutches it tightly even as he steps back. “I was told Lady Aspeth was here?”
“ My wife is tired. Guild business can wait.” It can wait forever, as far as I’m concerned. They’ve made her miserable enough. “Come back tomorrow. Or next week. Or next month.”
Aspeth pushes past me, squinting. Then a look of surprise crosses her face at our visitor. “Archivist Kestrel? Is something wrong?”
He brightens at the sight of Aspeth. “Lady, pleased to meet you again. Nothing is wrong. Well, not yet. There is a matter of some urgency and I thought to ask you something. You can read Prellian, yes?”
She glances up at me and then gives a tiny nod. “Old better than new, of course. New Prellian is region-dependent and we don’t have great examples of some of the more far-flung regions….” Aspeth trails off as he opens the box in front of her, revealing it like he would some sort of offering. “Oh. A sistral?”
The archivist nods eagerly. “You know of them?”
Aspeth pulls the thing carefully out of the box. “Just that they were musical instruments. So few of them have been found intact and I’m told the only two enchanted ones are in Lord Besral’s care.” She holds it reverently, squinting in the flickering light, and then makes a frustrated sound. “Come inside.”
The little man hurries inside, carefully giving me as much space as he can. If I wasn’t in the process of going to bed with my wife, I’d be amused. As it is, I’m cranky and feeling protective. “Aspeth has had a long day,” I warn him. “This had better be quick.”
“This is an instrument scheduled to ship out to Lord Besral tomorrow, actually,” Archivist Kestrel says, trotting after Aspeth as she strides toward the nest’s communications desk. “That’s why I’m here tonight. I need a second opinion on the inscription, and my colleagues and I cannot agree. I know Lady Aspeth is supposed to be an expert with reading glyphs, and so here I am.”
I grunt, still annoyed. Aspeth’s no longer part of the guild—they made that quite clear. If he harasses her even a little, he’s going to find my hoof in his arse.
But my wife digs around in a drawer, looking for a magnifying glass and carefully holding what looks like a hand-sized harp on a stick—the sistral—in her other hand. After she finds the glass, she makes another frustrated noise at the shadows. “It’s too dark in here.”
Sighing, I pull an unlit candle from its wall sconce and bring it to the desk, then light it and set it in a holder. “Better?”
“Yes, thank you, love.” She peers down at the sistral with the magnifying glass, and I try not to preen at being called “love” in front of another. Ridiculous. I’m not some green lad in love for the first time, and yet my ears twitch and I catch myself beaming at my wife as she works.
Because she’s mine .
“Oh dear,” she says after a moment.
“What? What is it?” the archivist asks.
Aspeth straightens and turns to him, biting her lip. “I’m sorry, did you say that you’re shipping this out to Lord Besral in the morning?” When he nods, she winces. “I’m sorry to tell you, but I believe this is a fake.”
“A fake?” He sputters, though the sound isn’t all that convincing, and my hackles go up. “What do you mean?”
“Do you see this glyph?” She pulls the magnifying glass out and holds it over the sistral’s handle, pointing at a tiny triangular shape with her pinky finger. “It’s the correct glyph, but the proper usage would have it after the descriptor, not before….”
She trails off as Archivist Kestrel begins to chuckle, clasping his hands in delight. Her gaze flicks to me.
“It’s a fake,” Kestrel hoots with delight. “You are quite correct!”
“You seem rather excited about that,” Aspeth says, expression careful. “Lord Besral—”
Kestrel waves a hand in the air. “It’s not being shipped out. I was lying. I just wanted to test you one last time before I was certain.” He looks absolutely thrilled. “It is indeed a fake and I should know; I created it for training purposes.”
Aspeth’s gaze slides to me again. “I don’t understand. Why bring it here now? It’s almost midnight.”
I shrug, because I’m puzzled as well.
“Because I have to offer first!” The archivist reaches for Aspeth, and when I growl low, recoils again. He clasps his hands in front of him once more. “I want you to join us. We are not part of the guild officially, but we are employed by them. We take each uncovered artifact and record it and its purpose, and we study the ones that are mysteries. We look for ways to fix the broken ones, and work with the lord holders when they wish to acquire a magical artifact. We write treatises upon the artifacts in our care and train the guild’s fledglings on how to properly spot a fake. I cannot think of anyone who would be better for archiving than you, Lady Aspeth.”
Aspeth’s eyes grow wide as he speaks. She looks at me again, excitement on her face, and then back at the archivist. “But…I’ve been forbidden…the guild…”
“You have been forbidden to join the guild, yes. No one said anything about the archivists. We are the ones who find ourselves not quite right for guild work, the ones who would rather study all day long instead of climbing through tunnels. We work in the guild hall and in the libraries, doing recordkeeping instead of excavating. As for the guild…Rooster himself recommended I come here this evening to speak my piece before others arrive.”
Rooster did? I shouldn’t be surprised. Even though he’s overfond of politics, he always looks out for the guild, and the archivist is right—Aspeth would be an amazing archivist.
“It sounds like a dream,” Aspeth breathes, and then pauses. “Wait, you said others are going to arrive? What others?”
Archivist Kestrel shakes his hands in the air with excitement. “Why, all the others, dear lady! Ever since that day in the artifact training room, word of your skills and knowledge has spread around Vastwarren. Every black-market merchant is going to be looking for ways to pay you to assist them, and every forger is going to want you. That’s why I had to come here in the middle of the night. I had to get here before you agree to work for any of them. I would love to work alongside you, lady. I truly mean that.”
Her lips part, and Aspeth’s soft expression is gorgeous to see. It makes me ache, because now I want this for her. “I…I would stay here with Hawk, yes? I’m not going to leave my husband’s side.”
“Of course. It’s a short walk from here to the archives. You will sleep in his bed every night, unlike a guild explorer.” Then he colors red, as if he realizes what he’s just said. “I mean…”
“She knows what you mean,” I say dryly. “Well, Aspeth?”
Her eyes wide, she nods. “Yes, of course. I would love to.”
“Splendid!” The archivist races forward and hugs Aspeth, then skitters away again. “I’m sorry! That wasn’t well done of me! I’m just excited! You should see the things we have in the archives that are waiting to be deciphered and recorded. There are so many who can’t read Old Prellian quite as well as me and I don’t trust their interpretations, and I could truly use another set of hands and—” He gives a full-body shiver. “This is so very exciting!” He bounces toward the door, then pauses and scrambles back toward the desk. “Could I retrieve the sistral…? It’s the best fake I have.”
“Oh, of course.” She helps him box it back up.
When he clutches the box again, he beams at her once more. “I will return in the morning with the official guild contracts. You won’t accept anyone else, will you? I’ll insist that your salary be the equivalent of any man’s.”
“I won’t disappoint you,” she promises him.
“Then I will return at dawn!”
With that, the excitable archivist races back out into the night, leaving me amused and Aspeth dazed.
“Congratulations, little bird,” I say to my wife. “It’s not quite guild work but—”
“It’s better,” she blurts out, pressing her hands to her mouth. “Oh, I don’t mean that. It’s just…I think I’m vastly more suited for studying and analyzing than sleeping in tunnels and prying rings off the dead. I’ve felt so very guilty about everything in the crypt, Hawk. I don’t think I could do it, even if I wanted to.”
“Well, now it’s decided. You’ll work in the archives by day and come home to my bed every night,” I tease.
She lets out another girlish squeal and then flings herself into my arms again. “Oh, Hawk! This is wonderful! I shall need new spectacles! Two pairs, at least! And more books! And—”
Her giddy delight fills me with joy. “And save it for the morning, sweetheart. There’s time enough. For now, you need to relax. It’s been a long day.”
“The longest,” she agrees, sagging against me. Then she pauses. “Do you suppose his name really is Kestrel? Is he like Lark and named after a bird?”
I snort. “No, the archivists take bird names as well.” I lift her chin and kiss her on the mouth, and I think I’m getting better at this with practice. “You can be Sparrow after all.”
“Your Sparrow!” she cries triumphantly. Then she pauses. “Don’t hawks hunt sparrows?”
“They devour them.”
Heat flares in her gaze. “Sounds lovely.”
“It does, doesn’t it?” And I lock the door behind me, then carry my wife back to our quarters. The future will have a lot of changes—there’s an archivist to be inducted into her work, and a guild master who’s going to need fledglings. There are repeaters—Gwenna, Kipp, and the others—to get settled.
There’s a Taurian ring ceremony that needs to happen.
But all of that can wait until the morning.
Tonight—and every night thereafter—Sparrow is mine.