Chapter 21
Lyra
“Thane wouldn’t…he wouldn’t allow Kael to be harmed even if he believes I am the killer of the king, would he?”
Roark’s hands stilled on his belt, half unbuckled.
He faced me, allowing the belt with the dagger sheathed across his lower back to fall to the floor.
He’d practically forced me to sit and eat when we returned.
Half the boiled roots and seasoned fish were gone, but the unease toiling inside would not allow for more.
With slow strides, Roark crossed the room to me, lowering to one knee. He took my palms in his hands, a discomfiting grimace on his features.
Thane the Bold was a subject we had not broached much since fleeing Stonegate. Roark told me in the forest that he deserved Thane’s hatred, and perhaps it came from knowing the man to his soul, but the thought of it pained him more than anything.
Doubtless, Thane would believe me to be responsible for the death of Damir. The dead Jorvan king had planned to force me to use my craft in melding every Stav Guard of his army. Motive for me to be rid of Damir was there. Queen Ingir would never confess her role, nor give up her accomplice, Fadey.
To Thane’s knowledge, I was the only melder alive.
He had witnessed Roark’s dark soul emerge, knew he was Skul Drek, the assassin who nearly sent him to Salur.
Part of me avoided talking of the Jorvan prince to spare Roark even the slightest bit of pain; another part was too focused on what moves to make to end Fadey and Ingir and free Kael.
But Roark knew Thane better than anyone here.
“Do you think he would?” I asked again, softer than before.
Roark flipped my palm toward the rafters overhead and spoke gently over my skin, Loyalty is everything to Thane. He will hate me, but he is not Damir. Any betrayal he feels will not be leveled at anyone but me.
“And me.”
Thane will likely be more inclined to believe I bespelled your soul somehow before he hates you.
A timid grin spread over my lips. “You did, in a way.”
Roark traced a finger over my bottom lip. It is the other way around.
He kissed me, slow and sweet. I fell into his touch, the unrelenting pull he had on my heart.
Everything.
Even before the soul sealing, Roark had become my safety. Warmth from the fury of a storm, a haven from the darkness in the lands. To not only accept the bond, but nourish it, crave it, he became a beacon in the shadows. He was vicious, cruel, and deadly, but he was my home.
I kissed him harder.
Pain, frustration, fear, joy—all of it pressed against the heat of his mouth. The balance between my love and happiness with this man and the rage against those still out there, lost and at risk, was a narrow line.
For a moment I gave in to the peace of his scent, the pleasure of his touch.
And Roark took it all. He welcomed it.
His palm curled around the back of my head. His teeth scraped over my bottom lip when he ripped his mouth away. I leaned in, chasing his taste, but he pressed his brow against mine for a long, raspy breath.
I let out a small shriek when he lifted me from the chair, urging my legs to wrap around his waist, and crashed his mouth back to mine.
Roark walked us across the room, toward our bed, and tossed me back onto the mattress. A frenzy lived in his eyes, one that hinted that he might need to forget the chaos for a moment as fiercely as me.
Without pause, Roark tore at my gown. I nearly shredded his tunic, ripping it over his head. Clothes were cast aside until our bare skin collided, heated, damp, and flushed.
Roark took his kiss to the lobe of my ear, tugging the skin between his teeth. Next, at my jaw, the tip of his tongue ran across my pulse point.
He dragged the knuckles of one hand down the cleft of my breasts until he covered my heart, and the gentle whirls of his fingers whispered his words. To see you in pain destroys every piece of me. Let me take it away, even for a moment.
I stroked the side of his face. “Then brighten the night, husband.”
Roark let out a rough breath. Again. Say it again.
“You brighten—”
Roark shook his head, his lips, his tongue traveling down my neck.
“Husband.”
His gasp skated over the skin near my shoulder until he lifted his head just enough for me to see the sly, vicious grin I loved so much overtake his face.
A deep sort of growl broke from his chest when he joined his mouth back to mine. I cried out his name when two of his fingers brushed over my wet core, teasing me.
He bit down on my neck.
My breaths grew rougher, jagged, when Roark slipped the first finger inside me, then another. He curled the tips, stretching me. His thumb rolled in gentle circles over the sensitive apex of my core.
I was delirious. It was too much. And yet I needed more.
Slowly, I drifted one palm down his stomach. Roark let out a hiss the moment my fingertips curled around his swollen cock, teasing the tip, stroking the pulsing veins.
Already beads of arousal were at the top. I used them to slicken my palm.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
The short reminders that I belonged to him grew frantic over my heart the longer I stroked him. Roark worked his fingers faster, curling and pinching my core until my body writhed beneath his.
Pleasure drew a fog to my thoughts, stilling my hand on his length. Roark dipped his chin and watched my frozen hand holding him tightly but not moving. A furious, beautiful darkness smoldered in his eyes.
Roark thrust his fingers in deeper. I bucked my hips in the same moment he wrapped his hand over mine around his cock and forced me to move faster. Those eyes held me steady, and those hands robbed me of air in my lungs.
This man owned me, body and soul, and I could hardly form a thought or the desire to take back a sliver of control.
A choked sob rolled from my chest when the burn of release surged through my blood.
My body went limp, but I fought to keep my hand working him. Roark kept his fingers deep inside me, caressing me through the waves of release until I thought the scorch of pleasure would break through my skin.
Our joined grip tightened on his length, and our strokes quickened.
“Roark, come,” I said, breathless, desperate to see him lose control much the same. “For me, please.”
All at once he stopped and ripped my hand away.
“What are you—”
I swallowed my words when Roark shifted my hips, angling my body up. In one fluid motion, he shoved our pillows beneath me while lifting me higher. I didn’t understand what he had planned until he slung both of my legs over his shoulders and dragged his tongue over me.
My jaw tensed and my back arched, pressing my nipples into the chilled air. My hand went to his hair and, unbidden, my thighs clenched around his head.
Gods. All gods. It was too much. I couldn’t breathe.
I rocked harder against his face, unable to stop.
More? Through the gaps in his messy hair, his eyes sparked with mischief, one brow arched in his question.
All I could do was nod and fumble through a gasp, “More, Roark. Gods, please.”
Our chamber darkened. Wisps of shadows spilled off his shoulders, and I wasn’t certain he even noticed. As though my pleas, my cries, drew out all of him.
I moaned against the cool shadows on my skin, touching me everywhere. My breasts, my throat, my lips. I felt pressure around my neck, not enough to choke off my air, but enough to feel the possession, the claim of his darkest desires.
The way every piece of Roark touched me was a paradox, giving me both the warmest safety and the fear of drawing too near a ledge. Tender and sweet, demanding and dangerous.
Beneath his hands and shadows, his wicked tongue, and his greedy lips, I would tumble over any ledge as long as more of him awaited me at the bottom.
Roark knew how to keep me balanced on the precipice. With his groans and sighs, the tension in his muscles, and his attention to every movement, my husband took a bit of wretched pleasure watching my body twist in the throes of his beautiful torture.
Once more, heat slid down from my skull, landing white-hot in my belly. Far from my control, my hips bucked and thrashed against his mouth. I yanked on his hair, grounding myself to the moment, to the lashes of his tongue on my core.
The sharp edge of his teeth against my soaked entrance pulled a scream of his name. Roark’s shoulders moved like he might be laughing when he pulled back moments before I could ride through a second release.
“You bastard,” I gritted out and locked my ankles behind his shoulders, desperate for him to begin again.
Roark gripped my legs and yanked them off his body, a new sort of fire in his eyes. Each of his palms pressed against my inner thighs, forcing my legs wide open. Frigid shadows slid along my slit, curling inside and out.
“Gods, Roark…” What was I even trying to say?
He grinned with heady viciousness, a true villain, then settled his hips between my thighs. The crown of his length nudged against my entrance, but he held back.
I wanted to scream.
Roark reared over me and covered one nipple with his lips, sucking and licking. One hand covered my other breast, and the second slid around my waist, kneading the globe of my ass, rocking my hips against the tip of his cock.
He was everywhere, and he damn well knew what he was doing. The torment was too fierce. I never wanted it to stop.
The palm on my breast moved over my heart. You are perfect, wife.
By the gods, I understood why he wanted to hear the same from me. How strange it was that not so long ago I was convinced I’d never trust the man again and now I was his wife.
Before we had sealed the bond, part of me wondered if I desired it for strategy. No mistake, I craved Roark, loved him, but a husband had not been in my plans. In this moment, I could say without hesitation I would never regret sealing our bond.
Fate be damned, Roark Ashwood was the choice of my heart.
My soul.
Without warning, Roark popped his mouth off my nipple and pressed his hips against my center.
My fingernails clawed at his shoulders. “Please. I need you. All of you.”
I wanted him to fill me up.
He took my palm and guided it down my stomach, then urged my grasp around his cock. Warm, hard, and thick; a stream of arousal slid out the top. I ran my thumb through it until a small cough spilled from his throat.
Roark shook his head. Don’t make me come. I’ll come here. He cupped my core. Or here. Roark kissed me, his tongue deep in my throat. Choose.
My brow furrowed, desperate for him. I aligned his cock with my center, and in one swift thrust, he slid inside.
We moaned in unison, both in pleasure and relief, ready to chase our release.
The first thrust was hard and deep. My spine bowed off the bed, my lashes fluttering.
The next came slower, pushed deeper, like he planned to split me in two.
Delirious and muddled with the sensation of his body and the oaky scent of his skin, I did not notice his command against my cheek for a few breaths.
Scream.
His movements grew rougher, desperate; I could not keep silent even if I desired.
I cried out his name, unbothered if anyone heard, and my body pulsed as I fell apart.
Roark hooked one of my legs around his hip and quickened his pace.
His breath was hot on my neck. He rocked with enough force that the wood of our bed rapped against the wall, and the ropes holding the mattress groaned.
Roark kissed my pulse point, holding his lips there until his body went still. Warm pulses of his release filled me, over and over. I burrowed my face against him, kissing his head, his cheek, holding him against me.
Roark didn’t lift his head but held a palm to my face. I love you. You are the brightest piece of my soul.
Tears blurred my vision. I eased his head to my heart, holding his stubbled cheek to my skin. Claimed. Safe. Whole.