Chapter Ten
Jarok
The first three days of their journey on foot was uneventful, much to Jarok’s relief. He remained tense, as did everyone else after the attack at the inn. For Gem, it meant more ribbing on him, which was a way she let off steam when she couldn’t spar or do any training because of her shoulder wound. It continued to heal cleanly, but Jarok had to keep on her to rest her shoulder and not take off the sling or do any number of things, which made him the perfect target for her barbs. He didn’t mind if it meant she kept herself well and not sniping at others in their party.
Cylian was quiet, intense in the way he had when totally focused on what was around him. Often the Fae diplomat could at least pretend to not be so intense, to joke and tease and cajole. Like Jarok, he was able to slip on the mask of lordly diplomacy as needed, had a particular method of putting others at ease one might call magical if they didn’t know fire and heat were his to call. Here, intent on their surroundings, his courtly demeanor slipped and showed the Fae man underneath: a man with a singular focus when those he cared for might be in danger. The care part was crucial. Jarok didn’t doubt his defensive calm would be in place if there were Fae present Cylian did not trust. In their small group, he knew everyone well, and everyone knew him as best they could, so he let his mask ease in favor of helping keep all safe.
Darin interacted little with them, going off on his own during the day. Jarok assumed he was scouting ahead and left him to it, hearing faint traces of him every so often. Maybe he was scouting or maybe he didn’t want the company. Either way, Jarok didn’t ask because it mattered little to him. He’d proven himself to be an actual ally, shoving his reservations about the Fae down because of his trust in Cylian and what he’d seen of Darin himself in the last few days.
Piris oscillated between biting comments toward him or completely ignoring his existence, enough it caused his blood to boil with anger and lust. The first day, he’d pressed her to talk more. She’d experienced a great deal the night of the attack at the inn and he wanted to offer her space to work through her feelings. He’d be lying if he didn’t also admit to himself he wanted to remain close to her, her body, and the heat that he still felt like phantom pains against his body. Gods, the few moments at the inn and the night she slept on top of him seeped deep into his mind and body, so much he was dreaming of her every night. He would be embarrassed if he hadn’t heard a gentle moan slip from Piris one night as she’d slept. He suspected she suffered from the same issues.
It was maddening because he disliked her. Had disliked or did still, he couldn’t quite tell any longer. She’d been his opponent for long months, someone he couldn’t trust even after the secret she kept was revealed and he begrudgingly admitted it was worth her keeping for so long. He’d been attracted to her even before. Jarok couldn’t imagine a Fae male who favored women not being attracted to her tall, strong frame, her fighter’s grace, her wide mouth with strong lips, the sheen of her dark-auburn hair, and the spark of intelligence and fight in her bright-bronze eyes. He’d not acted until after a sort of truce had been called between them and, admittedly, he’d seen another man touch her. He’d raged at the idea of her being with another, and it had driven his actions at the inn. Now, when he should be cool and rational, he yearned to touch her again, feel her fire against him and taste her flesh.
He told himself it was simple attraction. One Fae desiring another. In his mind, if he tasted her, his lust would wane and they could continue. Maybe not as friends, ever, but something better than opponents constantly at each other. As they stood, her sniping mixed with the sneers and eye rolls and attitude she threw his way, he ached to tie her down and tease her until she expressed something other than annoyance and attitude. But, alas, she seemed over whatever lust had driven her to let him taste her nights before, determined to stay as far away from him as she could both night and day.
A sharp snort came his way. “What is it you need, Prince?” Apparently he’d been staring at her as he mused about what he’d like to do to her.
He wasn’t too quick to shift his thoughts from the fantasies running through his head, so what came out first was “huh?” as he shook his head clear. Piris gave him a hard, derisive laugh.
“Maybe keep your mind on the wood, cousin,” Gem said from behind, her snicker at her own joke grating over his strained nerves. He gritted his teeth but let her have the dig because he’d noticed her wincing in pain earlier.
When he focused on Piris again, she had stopped, arms crossed on her chest and a hip kicked out to the side, her ice and steel smell hovering even in the evergreen-drenched air. She nodded, but not at him, more like at something she’d thought herself before she spun on silent feet and started walking again.
“We’re getting nearer to Volesion Peak.”
“How can you tell?” Cylian asked. It wasn’t dismissive but curious. Jarok also wondered. The area looked the same as what they traveled the last few days.
Piris waved toward a small spot several yards away on their left, where a cluster of fir samplings grew. “Those are great silver firs. They only grow closer to the Great River. The deeper in the forest you get, the less chance there is you encounter them. So, we have to be close to the river, and therefore close to Volesion Peak.”
Jarok moved over to the small, barely growing trees. Determined little things, they reached up toward what little sunshine they could find in the gray Winterlands sky. A sky also covered and crowded by the massive firs around them. They tried, and he respected them for it. He reached out to stroke a tiny branch and breathe in the sweet pine of their scent, then stood from his crouch and found Piris staring at him once again. “What is it you need, lady?” he asked with a smirk as he pushed past her and continued.
Cylian, Darin, and Jarok discussed how much longer it might be before they hit Volesion Peak. The small fire they had allowed themselves burned down to tiny embers as they talked.
“We estimated five to six days of travel on foot, but we might be closer if Piris is correct,” Cylian said.
Jarok thought about it, running over the Winterlands map locked in his head. He knew the land better than Cylian and Darin, that was certain, but he was no expert on the eastern edges of his homeland. He could kick himself for not knowing more, but there was nothing to do about it now. Each day he learned something new, tucking it away for future use for his family, as he did with most information.
“We have no reason to doubt her,” he said aloud, looking up from their small clutch to find the woman they spoke about, the one who should herself be party to the conversation.
“She went into the woods,” Darin said, not looking up as he studied some lines he’d traced in the snow at their feet to demonstrate how far they’d likely come from the inn.
Jarok froze at the news. He should have noticed, but he’d been deep in conversation with Cylian and Darin for several minutes by then. “When?”
Darin looked up to give his cold, jade stare to Jarok. “Five minutes ago.”
“What?” Jarok jumped up. “Why didn’t you say something? Or ask her where she went?”
The assassin shrugged. “I’m not used to questioning the actions of a lady, Prince.”
Jarok bit back his curse. It wasn’t on Darin, as he’d implied with his matter-of-fact answer. Jarok should’ve been paying attention.
“We go after her?” Cylian asked, rising.
“No. She hasn’t been gone too long and may just need time alone to relieve herself. I’ll go alone. You two stay here in case she returns. Point me in the direction she went, and I’ll search for her. If I’m not back in thirty minutes, come looking for us.”
Cylian nodded but didn’t sit again, choosing instead to remain at the ready. Jarok grabbed his falchion belt from atop his pack and lashed it around his waist as he stalked off in the direction Darin pointed. He moved into the dark, deep woods in search of the infuriating woman who caused him so much frustration.
“About time,” he heard Piris say from his right. She was seated in the deep V of a large branch and had to jump down two feet to reach the ground, landing with a soft thud when she did.
“Come on. It’s not safe for you to be out here alone.”
“Only me?”
Jarok sighed. “Of course not only you. Everyone needs to stay with the group to be safe.”
“Oh, well then,” she said, moving up close to him. So close. Closer than she had been to him in a few days. Close enough his breath hitched at the warmth of her and the lungful of ice and steel he got whenever she was near. “But we’re not alone now.”
“No…” he drawled out, hesitating, trying to understand what he thought might be going on here. “Why exactly did you come out here, Piris?”
“So you’d follow me,” she said without a hint of concern, as if the words didn’t land a blow right to Jarok’s gut.
His hands flew out on their own, without thought, clasping down on her waist and dragging her even closer to him, until the tips of her leather-clad breasts brushed up against his chest and he heard her suck in a shaking breath.
Implications, ideas, needs, and wants whirled in his mind in a mess he couldn’t disentangle for several seconds. Eventually he narrowed his eyes at her, studying her face, which was almost level with his, her eyes shining like molten metal even in the dark of the forest. “Are you certain you want this?”
“If by this you mean a quick release of the tension between us and nothing more, then yes.”
“Nothing more?” He pressed her to be certain, not because it had twisted something in his gut when she’d said the words.
“Nothing more,” she asserted, her voice husky but firm. Sure.
Nodding, he said, “Very well,” before stepping her backward. “We have maybe ten minutes before the rest of the group comes looking for us. Not nearly enough time for what I’d like to do to you, but enough to do something fun.”
Her back hit the tree she’d been in moments before, which stopped his progress. He moved one hand down to his sword belt and the bit of thin rope he kept there. “Hands,” he demanded.
Piris looked taken aback by the statement. “Why?”
“No questions. You want this, yes? If so, we do it my way.”
A shudder moved over Piris’s face, a beautiful thing for Jarok to see. She closed her eyes a beat then opened them, her mind as set as her jaw. She lifted her hands up between them, offering them to him palms up.
He took them, rubbing a thumb over the inside of one wrist softly, reverently, before he wove the rope around her, tight but not tight enough to hurt. He then threw the excess up, over the branch he’d spied above them, caught the falling end, and pulled it, hard. Her breath pushed out in a gasp as her arms shot up over her head and the sound went right to his cock. Jarok quickly tied off the end to a root on the ground, trailing kisses along her fighting leathers as he came back to standing.
“I do wish I could take my time, Piris. Maybe another day.”
“I said nothing about another day.”
Jarok shrugged. “We’ll see,” he said, distracted as a finger traced lazy circles around the sliver of pale skin now exposed between her leather shirt and her pants from the stretch of her body upward. “Beautiful.” He breathed before he went right to the button of her pants and snapped it open, wasting no time getting the leathers down past her hips, exposing her to him and the night air.
Gods, he could smell her, sweet and metallic and mesmerizing, and he dropped again to his knees to breathe her in deep and watch closely as he ran a finger over the damp, dark red curls at the apex of her thighs. She mewled above him, squirming at his touch, and started to shout his name before he popped up and covered her mouth with a hand.
“Oh, no. No words. Definitely no shouting. Don’t want the others interrupting what little time we have, right?”
She shook her head, desperation and need warring in her eyes. Jarok felt the same pull, so he didn’t make her, or himself, wait. He kept her mouth covered with one hand as he snaked the other down to her dripping pussy, flicking a finger over her clit in a flurry as she squirmed against him. He paused only to dip down, test her opening with one finger. He slipped in with ease, so he added another and pumped in and out in hard, quick thrusts that made a moan leak from around his hand at her mouth.
The angle was not the best, and her hips still being encased in leather meant it’d be a tight fit, but his fingers worked well enough, so he decided to go for it. He eased his hand from her mouth as he continued to play with her, eyes locked on hers, and said, “Be quiet, or we’ll have to end this.”
She said nothing as he unbuttoned his leathers and pulled his cock out. It was already weeping, begging to be deep inside her.
He licked his lips, looking down as he rubbed himself against her exposed mound. She whimpered, pushing her hips forward, silently demanding more contact. He smiled and angled her hips to pull her away from the tree trunk, steadying her with firm pressure as he adjusted his angle and height to ease himself inside of her. “Gods damn.” He breathed out as he watched himself disappear inside her slick, tight heat.
She moaned, thrashing her head, turning the noise into soft, nearly silent pants as he went in inch by delicious inch. When he bottomed out, he moved his hand from her mouth to her other hip, hitching her higher, going in a fraction more. His head fell forward and he stayed frozen for several seconds, savoring the feel of her all around him.
Her hips flexed, causing her inner muscles to grip him even tighter, making his mind blank before it roared back to life, driving him to pull back and thrust deep in a flash. He was lost, the sensation too delicious, too deep, too much for him to process as his body drove him on and on and on. Piris thrashed beneath him, as much as she could while still confined by her leathers and his grip on her hips, but she moved along with him, meeting him thrust for thrust, driving them both higher and higher.
He felt himself barreling toward release at an embarrassing speed, so Jarok left one hip to dip back down where they joined and rub tight, hard circles on her clit. She bit her mouth hard as a cry almost escaped her lips. Without thinking, he bent deep so he could clamp down on her mouth with his, thrusting his tongue into her in time with his cock, both of them clashing together in a melee of teeth and lips and slick flesh. He felt her walls flutter around him, and she stiffened like the trunk behind her before splintering, a scream echoing from her mouth into his. He sucked it down like the best ale. Seconds later, his hips stuttered as he found his own release deep inside her.
Jarok kept his mouth on her, easing them both down with a softer, more languid kiss before he released her hip and pulled himself free of her. He thought about loss, about want, about a myriad of things he couldn’t name when the warmth of her fell away, but he stuffed it inside, like he stuffed himself back into his leathers. Because that was what she’d asked him to give her.