Chapter 49 Meryn #2
Footsteps thud outside my door, muffled by the dark wood. I toss in my bed and shut my eyes, willing myself into slumber. But then my door swings open, no knock.
Stark steps into the room, his presence swallowing up what remains of the light.
“You’re here,” I say somewhat stupidly.
He stays in the doorframe, surveying the contents of my room. Since we’ve been on the boat, we’ve slept in his bunk room instead of mine. He hasn’t had to step foot in here, and I can tell instantly that he doesn’t like what he sees.
The entire contents of the bag I brought with me have been upended onto the floor—which is no longer visible.
In my defense, there wasn’t much of a floor to begin with.
The small armchair in the room is stacked with my mother’s journals and the book about the Sturmfrost Queens.
And the slim dresser has several garments slung over the top of it, obscuring the drawers.
Stark’s already scowling face darkens.
“Okay, you know what, I didn’t invite you in here, so spare me the judgment,” I say saltily.
He crosses his arms over his wide chest. “I didn’t say anything.”
“You didn’t have to. I can hear your thoughts, and we’re not even mentally connected right now.”
In three large steps—carefully avoiding piles of clothes—he reaches my bedside. “Scoot over.”
Stark pulls his shirt off and then, to my utter shock, drops it onto my mess. He barely even grimaces as he does it. He leaves his sleep pants on and gives me an expectant look.
I slide over toward the wall, creating room on the mattress for him. “Are we going to talk about—”
“No,” he cuts me off, folding his huge body next to me in the tight space. “Not now.”
I sigh, looking into his dark eyes. Reaching up, I brush a lock of his hair out of his face and resist the urge to kiss him. “Why are you here, then?”
“Because we both need to sleep, and I wouldn’t be able to rest knowing you’re in here alone, possibly ending up in that shadow realm with him.”
He slings a heavy arm around my waist, and there’s nothing sexual in it; we wouldn’t fit well in this bed unless we were closely together.
My throat tightens. He’s so angry with me that he doesn’t even want to talk to me, and still, he’s here. Still, he’s looking out for me.
“Okay,” I say quietly, pressing my forehead against his warm chest, breathing in his deep, amber scent.
And in my mind, I think: You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.
And: You make me want to become a person deserving of such devotion.
And: If I’m your right reason, you’re mine as well.
I don’t know if I send the words in his direction, but as I slide into a perfect, dreamless sleep, I’m sure his hand strokes my back.
It’s not quite sunrise when I wake; the light outside the porthole is the grayish blue of very early morning.
Except, I realize, it’s gray because it’s raining.
At some point in the night, Stark and I shifted positions.
He’s fully underneath me now, and I’m sleeping on top of him as if he’s the mattress.
The seas underneath us are a bit choppy from the storm. It must’ve been a wave that startled me awake.
I reach out mental feelers for Anassa, who senses me and sends back without words that she’s safe. She and the other wolves are sheltered on the lower deck, out of the rain.
Another wave crests, rocking the room back and forth.
Rocking me back and forth on top of Stark.
Which is how I discover he’s very, very hard.
His shaft slides between the apex of my thighs, and even through his sleep pants, I can feel him so completely. A small, needy noise escapes the back of my throat.
This is wrong. I’m not going to dry-hump a sleeping man.
Bracing my weight on my hands, I lift myself gently so I can move off him without disturbing him. But I don’t get far.
One of Stark’s hands comes to my hip, pressing tightly into my bone. The other wraps around my neck and the tattoos he placed there, squeezing gently as he pulls me back on top of him. His eyes are still closed.
Is he… asleep?
“Stark,” I whisper. Nothing. “Stark.”
The boat rocks again, and the hand on my hip grinds me tightly against him.
I moan helplessly.
At this, his eyes finally fly open—sleep-dazed, yet heated already. He guides me across his length again, and I bite back another moan.
“We haven’t talked yet,” I protest half-heartedly. “You’re angry with me.”
“Am I?” His voice is gravelly and low. Stark cants his hips into mine, and I moan again as heat builds at my core. “Is that what you think, Meryn? Connect with me. Let me show you.”
The hand at my throat loosens as he strokes my skin. Closing my eyes, I reach for the mental connection that lives between us, the one separate from our wolves and their mate bond.
We’re both only half awake, and it takes me a moment, but eventually it snaps into place. I’m both in him and in myself, and I can feel his emotions so deeply.
My breath stutters in my throat. It’s not anger. It’s heartbreak.
He pushes a memory toward me. Me, covered in a river of blood, the dagger in my chest. I see myself from his eyes, and it’s so fucking awful.
I’m dead. I’m well and truly dead. My skin has leeched all color. I’m not breathing.
Stark’s hands, red with my blood. He’s shaking. He failed me, he thinks—in the end, he couldn’t protect me after all. This has been his absolute worst fear: that I would choose to do something to myself that he couldn’t stop.
And it’s come to pass, even as he’s been protecting me from—
I see another memory through his eyes. Me, alive and cleaned up, sitting on the deck of the boat as I try to figure out where to go next. I’m so beautiful through Stark’s mind. My silver-white hair shimmers in the sunlight. His heart twists as his vision roves over my face.
It’s hard to believe I’m here, after what he saw just hours ago. Even now, he looks at me and all he sees is that dagger in my chest, that blood on his hands.
He’s not used to feeling scared. I scare him, the vastness of this thing between us.
I take a steadying breath and then lock eyes with him. It’s dizzying, our vision still doubling over each other. “You didn’t fail me.”
“Yes, I did,” he responds immediately. “I should’ve sensed what you were doing; I should’ve stopped you before—”
“No,” I cut him off. “Other people’s choices are never your failures. It’s important that you know that. I made a decision that I deemed right. I would do it again to save the three of you. To give our country a future. That was my choice, and it was my privilege to make it.”
“And it’s my privilege to be your protector, princess,” he murmurs. “Why are you so eager to deny me that?”
I put my hands on his face, his stubble rough beneath my palms. Then I lean close until our lips are almost touching. “I would never deny you anything. You must see that.”
He surges up to kiss me, and I feel it all—sensing both our mouths together. Tasting his breath and breathing it. His hands on my hips and the softness of my skin from his perspective as he slides one palm up my nightdress.
Stark maneuvers quickly and flips us so I’m pinned underneath him. Then he shifts my nightdress up to my waist and yanks my panties down, tossing them onto the floor. He shifts his large frame off the bed, kneeling on the floor.
“Doesn’t it drive you a little crazy not to pick that up?” I tease him.
Stark’s eyes meet mine, his gaze heated and hungry. “I’ll show you what drives me crazy.”
He pulls my legs over his shoulders and leans in toward my center. I’m in him and in myself; I can feel both the weight of my thighs and him underneath me.
His hot breath is on my center, but I’m also the one breathing it out.
I put a hand on his forehead, stopping him. “Wait. This is too weird. Isn’t it?”
“I thought you said you would never deny me, princess. Don’t deny me the chance to show you how you look, how you taste. How you feel to me.”
Letting out a surprised laugh, I say, “You know what? Fuck it. Yeah, go for it.”
The words are barely out of my mouth, and Stark’s tongue is on me.
What the fuck.