Chapter 13
Lyra
My wife.
Heart in my throat, I could not look away from Roark’s hands. Doubtless, I’d misread the word. Surely, his hands moved too furiously, I’d interpreted something else entirely.
“I’m…I’m not certain I understood you correctly.” Each word was rough over my tongue.
Roark’s eyes burned like a trapped flame. To seal a sjeleven bond would make you my wife, Lyra.
All gods. I blinked, once, twice. How many knuckles I cracked, I wasn’t certain.
Roark’s wife.
My hunter. My protector. My lover. My liar.
Could he also be my husband?
My head spun. “I…I need a moment.”
A bit of my heart cracked at the flicker of hurt on his face, there and gone. Soon enough, Roark was the unflappable, unbreakable Sentry again. He dipped his chin, and instead of sending me away, he stepped through another door at the back of the bedchamber.
Alone, I collapsed, knees against the edge of the bed.
I slid to the woven rug, my face buried in my palms. What in the two hells was I supposed to do?
It felt as though with every step I took my life was at risk, every delay returning to Stonegate meant Kael suffered, and every thought always returned to Roark.
Be it as my villain or my savior, my steps continually entwined with his.
From the first sight of the fierce Sentry, the man had burrowed under my skin, a shadowed tattoo on my bones. I let my brow drop to the tops of my knees, desperate to slow my pulse.
Memories of simple moments with the man, before I ever would’ve dreamed the truth, fluttered through my mind. On the longship that took us from Skalfirth to Stonegate, he’d demanded my compliance for my safety. He’d been an enemy, but also a strange sort of ballast in the chaos.
And the fara wolf in the Phantom Forest sent to tear out my throat, he’d stopped it. The beginning of his betrayal toward his own clan and his first step of loyalty toward me.
I looked around the room, locked in a childish past long gone. I could almost imagine a small, playful Roark practicing how to hold a knife, likely attempting to imitate his elder brother.
My chin trembled.
For what he had suffered, all because that boyish heart saw me as more than forbidden craft, it would’ve been understandable if he’d slit my throat and been done with me.
Instead, the Sentry of Stonegate, the Death Bringer, kept me upright when fears overtook me; he reunited broken folk when he’d arranged for Hilda’s and Edvin’s families to join them in the royal keep; he wounded his own soul to defend me.
I sniffed and used the heel of my hand to wipe away tears from the corners of my eyes.
Roark had loved me.
In the truest sense.
Kael loved me, no doubt. We were a family who found each other.
We’d yearned for such a connection, clung to it, become a brother and sister in every way save for blood.
But Roark loved me despite his instincts, despite the cruelest craft demanding he end me, despite his own desires and loyalties. He had loved me to his own detriment.
And he never stopped.
A pitiful sob broke from my chest, not from pain, but from a twisted sort of delight. My mouth split into a watery smile the tighter I hugged my knees against my body.
Roark chose me over Thane, his own found brother. From the moment the Dark Watch surrounded our makeshift camp, their prince had never backed down, even destroyed one of them, all to keep me breathing.
Roark was no hero, not for me. He was the darkest, most beautiful sort of villain whose sharper edges stirred my soul.
My grin widened. Skul Drek always told me I brightened the night, but with Roark, his darkness was shelter against a blazing sun.
I wiped my eyes once more before rising. My fingers trembled when I clasped the latch on the door.
True enough, Roark had kept secrets, he’d lied, and he’d killed.
But the more I thought on it, the more it all paled beside everything he had done to prove there was no line he would not cross for me. How could I turn away from such a vicious, unbending devotion?
I could not deny it—I wanted Roark Ashwood.
But I wanted all of him.
—
He looked weary.
Seated in a tall chair, his chest still bare, and one boot propped on the stone lip of a smaller inglenook, Roark studied the flames, his chin propped on the claw of his hand. I wasn’t certain he even heard me enter the smaller room, a study of sorts connected to his bedchamber.
I leaned one shoulder against the frame of the door. “Is this what you want?”
Roark spun in the chair, startled. One brow lifted with his palm. What do you mean?
Slowly, I crossed the space and stood in front of the flame.
Heat kissed the backs of my legs, and the constant thrum of my pulse quickened when our gazes locked.
“As a servant, I had certain freedoms. Strange, I know. One was being permitted to love and wed freely. No one cared who their servants chose to wed, as long as it was not their sons or daughters. As a prince, you did not have a choice, nor as Sentry. King Damir would’ve arranged a match for you.
So”—I took a small step closer—“is this a match you desire?”
Roark rose to his feet. I have failed you greatly if you do not already know my answer.
“No, truly consider it,” I said, my voice rough. “I have no plans to wed out of convenience. No matter how I feel about you. I have no plans to be ignored, discarded, or some man’s regret five seasons from now.”
A low rumble rolled from his throat, a sign of his disapproval for my words, but I held up a palm.
“You’ve not known me for long. Perhaps the way I thrash in my sleep will aggravate you in the future.”
The smallest twitch of a smile teased his lips. I will hold you in my arms to keep you still.
“I have a fierce taste for star plums and have no shame stealing them off the plates of others.”
I never took a liking to them. I’ll gladly hand them over.
“With too much ale, I am quite the fool, embarrassing myself and others. I will endlessly stumble over words and my feet.”
Roark tilted his head to one side. Then I will carry you home.
I traced a finger along the stones surrounding the hearth. “I can be rather stubborn.”
I assure you, I am aware.
“To the point of being hardheaded,” I said, chin lifted. “If I do not want to do something, I will dig in my heels so fiercely, you will need to toss me over your shoulder to get me to move.”
Roark’s eyes darkened. If that is the consequence, I hope you always stand your ground.
Gods. I fought my own smile, the burden of reality fading into the darkness for a moment. I stepped closer to his chair. “I’ve seen your chamber, Ashwood. You’re rather…disorderly. I like a tidy space.”
I make no promises there, he said, his fingers brushing over my palm. But I swear to always plead for forgiveness. Roark paused, then tugged on my wrist, forcing me to settle over his lap. His words were spoken against my heart. On my knees.
Breath lodged in the back of my throat. With a bit of hesitation, I touched my fingers to the edge of his bottom lip. “There could be another way to keep us both alive, surely.”
But none with such a guarantee.
I swallowed. “Why? Why do you want this? I need to know you do not say this, ask this, because you feel you must.”
Roark had the decency of considering my words and not speaking straightaway. At long last, he placed his open palm over my heart and: Tap. Tap. Tap.
His words were like smooth satin against my skin.
Because this is mine. The brushes of his fingers were slow, gentle, a whisper. He guided my palm to his chest, patting my hand against his body three times. And this is yours. It will always be yours. I would not offer this if I was not wholly in love with you, Lyra.
Gods, I did not know what to say.
Heat spread under my ribs, filling me soul deep.
I loved Roark Ashwood. Secrets and curses, violence and danger, I loved, I craved, I wanted.
A cruel sort of grin spread over my mouth when I levered my thighs in a straddle over his hips. Roark’s lips parted and his hands went to my waist when I rocked, just so, over him.
I tilted my head, whispering against his ear. “All of me?”
He nodded, his fingers digging into my waist, no hesitation.
Without warning, I pulled away and stood three paces from him. Roark’s eyes were narrow and burned with a new sort of heat.
I held up a palm. “You say you love all of me, for you’ve had all of me. But I have not had all of you.”
Roark arched one brow in a question.
I tugged at the laces of my borrowed tunic, opening the front enough to reveal the cleft of my breasts. “You broke my heart, Roark. That comes with some consequences. You remember my love for torturing men, don’t you?”
He swallowed with effort. I watched the movement of it down the length of his corded neck.
I seem to recall a moment or two when you had a man screaming.
I flashed a vicious smirk. “Good. I think you need to pay for the pain you’ve caused me.”
Oh? Roark’s face shadowed. How shall I do that?
I leaned over the chair, one palm on either arm, caging him. When my lips nearly brushed his, I spoke. “By doing nothing.”
Again, he arched a brow.
I nipped at his ear. “You are not allowed to move a damn finger with what comes next. You. Will. Watch.”
Lyra. He spoke against my cheek. What are you doing?
I pulled back again, opening the front of his tunic a little more so he could nearly see the flush of my nipples. Roark let out a strangled sort of cough but did not rise from the chair.
“You asked me once if I would take all of you, and I agreed. But I didn’t know what I was agreeing to at the time. I did not know your depravity, a dark edge whose touch I feel on my skin. How is it fair that you have had all of me, but as I said, I have not had all of you?”
Roark lifted one palm, fingers shaking slightly. You want…?
He didn’t finish, but I nodded. “Yes. I want you to watch what the most vicious piece of your soul is about to do to me.”