Chapter 6 #2
Her eyes snap to me, slightly more focused, as she gulps in air. “You don’t understand. It’s hard to stop. I’m scared of losing myself—taking too much blood.”
Her pupils are so blown they’re like round black buttons. The glow radiating from her fey lines burns so bright now that it must look from the outside like I’ve trapped a shard of sunlight in the greenhouse.
The cut on my wrist closes up in seconds, healed by her saliva.
I grip the back of her neck, lowering my voice. “Then take something else.”
Her hips begin to wiggle on the gardening table with a different kind of need.
“Basten.” Her voice is husky, brimming with power. “I want you.”
She leans back, spreading her knees, knocking over another clay pot that goes crashing to the floor. She doesn’t flinch at the sound. With one fist, she balls her velvet skirt up around her hips, sliding her ass to the table’s edge like the damn little temptress she is.
She wasn’t lying—she’s ready.
The greenhouse plants are writhing. Flowers blooming, vines twisting, condensation dripping onto the back of my neck. The scents are dizzying, thick. Heady pollen, sticky sap, stamens trembling like they’re about to come undone. The whole damn garden is in heat.
And the perfume—fuck, the flowers’ perfume. It gets to my head. To my blood. To my cock.
Yes, please.
My hand falls on my belt, wrenching it free, but I can’t help but flick an irritated look out the crystal-clear windows. We still have an awe-struck audience, and it’s about to get a hell of an eyeful.
“Wildcat,” I purr, “how about you use your newfound bond with nature to fog up the glass so we don’t have an audience?”
She blinks, slow and lazy like a cat in heat. I can see it in her eyes—she doesn’t give a fuck about being on display for watching eyes.
And yet, curiosity sparks in her gaze. She wants to know if she can. Testingly, she reaches back to press her hand to the nearest window pane, palm flat and fingers splayed.
Now, with her strength replenished by my blood, her fey practically ignites. A miniature cloud forms in the pitched greenhouse ceiling, complete with tiny bolts of lightning. A few fat water drops fall on me—more condensation from the greenhouse boiler, or is it now rain from Sabine’s storm?
Sure enough, the air grows thick with moisture, and my breath fogs. Muggy, hot fog creeps over the window panes until we’re sheltered from prying eyes.
Satisfied, she leans forward. “I told you I could do it.”
My eyes lock onto the glimpse of creamy breasts above her neckline. “Sweetheart, if you think I ever doubted you, you haven’t been listening to my prayers.”
I grab her hips, dragging her to the edge of the table, slamming her groin against mine. A pent-up gasp rattles up her throat, her breath fogging the steamy air. I finally free my belt with a sharp snap that makes her moan with desire.
She runs her hand up her velvet bodice, toying with the lace neckline, dragging her fingernails feather-soft over the rise and fall of each perfect breast.
“Fuck me,” she commands softly, her eyelids half-lowered.
Ready and willing, little violet. But, as I grip her thighs, a muscle twitches around my eye.
This time, something feels different. I’ve always been the dominant one when it comes to sex, bending her to my submission with bound hands or sharp commands she doesn’t dare disobey.
She’s always liked it. Begged me for it, even. But that look in her eye now?
She’s taking charge.
Not that I mind, exactly. Hell, she could command me to crawl after her on my hands and knees like a dog, and I’d thank her for the pleasure. But…that gleam in her eye is a power play I don’t recognize.
During the Gloaming, I gave her everything—followed her lead, moved at her rhythm, let her hunger set the pace. But now, I’m starting to wonder if what she needs isn’t just blind submission. If I submit, it might stoke the darker fae tendencies in her that crave power.
So, I purposefully slow the pace, taking my time unbuttoning my pants, drawing myself to my full height, towering above her. An anchor, grounding her before she drifts too far. She’s still what matters here—her need. But maybe I can keep her from burning too bright.
She huffs, impatient, hips wiggling as she reaches for my pants buttons.
I cuff her wrist, tsk-tsking. “Such a hurry?”
In response, she rolls her hips against my groin with nothing but pure sin on her mind. “Don’t tease me, Basten. Touch me.”
“You’re getting bolder, little violet,” I say deeply. “But you’re still mine. You haven’t forgotten that, have you?”
She narrows her eyes, sly and sexy.
Slowly—testingly—I give her what she wants. A hand curled around the back of her neck, fingers twisting ever so slightly in her hair. My other hand drops between her legs, stroking her through the soaked fabric of her panties.
A moan tears out of her. She bucks against me, searching for more friction, and I test how much I can hold her back.
“Beg me for it,” I say softly.
Her eyes flash, her tongue snaking out in a way that shows her incisors. Sharp. Dangerous. “What if I don’t want to beg anymore?”
My heartbeat kicks up a warning.
I lean in close to her ear, plunging my thumb under her panties to tease the hot, slippery button there, and from the way her eyes roll back, I know I’ve brought her back to this. This moment.
I growl, “Then I’ll fuck that pretty throat until you forget how to speak entirely.”
Her thighs tighten around my hips, as she runs her palms over my shirt, fingers twisting in the fabric, ready to rip it off. Buttons snap free under her newfound strength. It isn’t long before the shirt is forgotten on the floor.
Her fingers curl around my bare shoulders, her grip growing more possessive as it moves down my body to the bulge in my pants. Locking her eyes to mine, she unbuttons my pants and takes out my heavy cock.
She rocks her hips to line up with mine.
“I’m begging, Basten Bowborn,” she says, eyes locked on me. “For you to make me scream so damn loud every bird in the kingdom takes flight.”
A ripple of pleasure—and a twinge of surprise—rolls through me. Fuck, I’ve never heard such words on my little violet’s lips before. Filthy. Sinful. Far from the innocent virgin I took behind a waterfall, at least at first blush—but I’m not fooled. Even then, I saw the wildness in her.
I anchor one hand on her hip to hold her steady, still stroking and teasing her wet cunt with my knuckle. I keep at it, punishing her until her little whimpers are real begging.
As a reward, I take her in one thrust.
My cock slams deep inside her—and fuck, it feels amazing. Her head falls back, a gasp escaping her lips. With her hair loose down her back, I can’t stop myself from wrapping it around my fist, guiding her to arch her back more.
I pull out, only to slam in again.
She angles her hips, matching my thrusts, panting through it, and commands, “Harder.”
I hesitate, unsure about her raw, wicked tone—but there’s a real need in her voice, too, that has nothing to do with control.
So, I tug down her lace neckline, freeing her breasts. I squeeze and cradle and toy with the right one, then take the left nipple in my mouth.
She bucks against me, hissing with pleasure, as the miniature cloud overhead lets out a tiny bolt of lightning. The orchids strain toward us, splashing their scent all over the greenhouse.
“Blessed be these perfect fucking breasts,” I murmur in her ear. Blood, sex, prayer—it all sates her. Everything I have to give. “Blessed be your mouth, gasping my name.”
“More, Basten.”
“You want a fucking litany? Will that get you going? How about I worship you until you come undone on every saintly fucking inch of my cock?”
With each uttered prayer, her fey lines glow brighter, pulsing with her building passion.
“Basten—don’t stop. I want to feel everything.”
She’s so needy. So insatiable. Even with her pointed ears, there’s still something so innocent about her that it makes my cock rock hard.
I trace a hand down the curve of her back, planting a firm palm against the small of her back, letting her know I’m not going anywhere. I drag my lips up from her nipple over the throbbing fey line on her throat, then settle them on her lips.
She sighs against my mouth, nudging my lips open so she can slip her tongue inside.
Our tongues war with each other, in rhythm with our frantic thrusts.
More condensation drips from the ceiling.
The glass is fogged, but I’m well aware that while her storm might hide us from prying eyes, we’re making enough noise that they can hear us even in the stables.
Deep inside, I smirk to myself, almost hoping Woudix is still nearby.
Let the God of Death get an earful.
Her cunt tightens around me, and I know she’s close. Her power is snapping and popping, making the plants go haywire around us. My balls ache and tighten. I’m close, too, but I want to give her pleasure first.
When she comes, she makes such noises—sweet and sinful at the same time. Her fingernails dig into my back, tearing open wounds barely healed from our last bout of lovemaking. The sweet bite of pain shoots straight to my cock, swelling it even more.
I come a second after her, burying my cock root-deep, practically bending her over the table as my cum empties inside her.
Fat, warm raindrops fall on my bare shoulders, rolling down my sweat-soaked back.
I press my forehead against Sabine’s as we both catch our breath, bodies trembling from the aftershocks. Her fey lines glow steadily now, bright as a freshly filled lantern.
“That’s it,” I praise her, smoothing a sweat-soaked strand of hair off her forehead. “You take everything I give you so well.”
It swells in my chest. Raw, blistering, masculine satisfaction that I was able to ground her when she started to spiral. I tamed her storm, made her choose me instead of chaos.
She won’t be lost to me—not like Solene in those paintings.
I step back, still riding the high, until I feel a tug around my ankle.
Frowning, my gaze drops.
A vine is coiled half a dozen times around my left ankle, with inch-long thorns stabbing outward like a warning: Move, and bleed.
Sabine is oblivious to the vine—I’m sure she didn’t consciously ask it to trap me here.
Regardless, it’s there. Fierce and possessive.
My stomach tightens. A ripple of concern crawls back into my mind—that maybe the ancient part of her that I saw in the foundation pictograms was the one holding the reins all along.
Sabine, however, merely sits upright, eyelids heavy and sated, a cat-like smile on her lips. She adjusts her dress back over her breasts.
“Tonight,” she breathes, her eyes glowing with hopeful excitement, “I’ll take a pot of soil to the throne room and show my father how I can sprout a seed. Show him what Woudix helped me unlock.”
I flinch, forcing down a growl at the god’s name.
“You sure you’re ready for that?” Quickly, I give her a reassuring smile. “I know you’re more than capable—but once your father sees your ability, what will he make you do? Let’s not forget he tried to kill us both. The man is ruthless.”
She cups a soft hand around my tight jaw. “I haven’t forgotten. But this is about helping the river valley refugees.”
“You think Vale gives a fuck about the refugees?”
She slides her arms around my neck. “I’m not as naive as you think I am.
I know Vale has greater priorities—and that those are almost always selfish.
But that isn’t what I meant. I don’t want to show Vale my power for his approval—it’s for his intimidation.
So he knows he can’t ever force you or me to his will. ”
Oh.
I’m speechless for a minute, berating myself for thinking of her as soft when I’ve known from the start her core is pure steel.
“Then show him,” I murmur in agreement. “Show everyone—we’ll summon the entire court.”
In the back of my mind, I’m thinking that this show of Sabine’s powers could be the perfect distraction for me to sneak back into the basement.
With everyone rapt by her display—and let’s be real, drunk out of their minds, like always—no one will notice if I slip downstairs to search for more murals. More secrets.
As I start to button my pants, her heartbeat kicks up again. She bites her lips in that telltale way, thighs drifting apart again.
Gods, wildcat,” I say in wonder. “Again?”
She gives a cat-like smile.
A knock at the greenhouse door rattles us both. She slides to her feet so fast she knocks over a potted fern.
A year ago, I would have yelled for whoever it is to fuck off. Back then, I was just a huntsman. A lone wolf. Now? I don’t have that kind of luxury. Not when gods-damned royal blood flows in my veins and an entire kingdom is looking to me for guidance.
Sighing, I give Sabine a deep kiss before buttoning my pants and grabbing my belt. As I thread it through the loops, I stride over to the door and wipe my fist against the condensation.
Whoever it is had better have a damn good reason for the interruption.
But once I squint through the streaky glass, my irritation crystallizes into something uglier.
The brutish face staring back at me belongs to an old, cantankerous warhorse of a soldier I could happily go my whole life without seeing again.
Maximan—Rian’s longtime bodyguard.
Behind me, Sabine comes to my side, eyes wide as my own as she stares at the old soldier.
“Basten—" she whispers but doesn’t finish.
I only grunt in response. I know we’re thinking the same thing.
It’s not just that Maximan and I don’t get along—granted, we don’t.
It’s because of what his presence here must mean.
Sabine knows it, too. Maximan wouldn’t have left Old Coros, crossed the border wall, and ventured all the way across enemy territory to Norhelm—on the brink of war—without a good fucking reason.
It’s about Rian.
The man I tried to forget.
The person I wish I’d lost my memories of.