18
Aire
Curse me to an early grave. I stumbled backward, the earth unsteady beneath my boots, my outtakes thick and labored.
Atop the stump, Aspen careened away from me, lips swollen and eyes half-mast. Her flushed bodice inflated with every gusting breath, and curtains of hair tumbled down her ample curves, the locks ruined by my hedonistic fingers.
Perdition, the rosy spread across her cheeks and the yearning on that beguiling face threatened to dismantle my reserves.
Despite a lifetime of training, I was not prepared for this type of battle.
The gasping heat of her mouth, the tremble of her tongue, the fit of those audacious lips to my own.
The sultry pitch of her breasts, the points of her nipples.
The bone-deep ache of her moan. And devil take me, the bewitching shape of her womanhood, the glide of her private flesh against my cock, the intimate skin warm and supple.
Fuck. Aspen had been aroused. She’d been drenched.
Then came the excruciating temptation to make Aspen wetter, louder. Followed by the fanatical need to pleasure her.
The disorderly thrill of that kiss.
The travesty of pulling away. The sharp pain of it.
Finally, the aftermath, which sent these feelings into disarray. Already, my hands itched to snatch this woman once more. I longed to brand that snarky mouth again and again and again, the hunger as elemental as a tempest.
She had removed the hood. She’d revealed herself. She granted me an unmeasurable privilege.
Selfish desires churned through my blood, yet this female belonged to no one and never should. Beset, I struggled to get my head on straight, my greedy hands to behave, and my randy cock to calm the fuck down.
Meanwhile, Aspen fared better. Scooting off the tree stump, she smoothed out the cloak, her movements practiced, if a bit unsteady.
Those industrious fingers quavered like leaves.
And how I wanted to make her tremble more, shake this woman off her foundation, test the limits of her endurance, see how much she could truly take before shattering in my arms.
Seasons almighty. I would roast in effigy for this.
It pained me to reflect on the heartache I had caused over our history. All the same, Aspen had more experience subduing this attraction than I did. Enduring years of my ignorance, the female had steeled herself and moved on.
In her preoccupation with the vestment, she glanced toward a dense area of the woods where distant brambles knit together and tapered into the darkness.
Whatever she beheld, it leached the ardor suffusing her countenance.
Shadows crept over Aspen’s profile, that same flash from our arrival haunting across her pupils.
Something about that territory plagued her.
Instinct propelled me forward, venturing only near enough to cover her shadow with my own. “What is it?”
“Nothing,” she lied, then changed her mind. “That path leads to The Forbidden Burrow.”
The Forbidden Burrow. The hidden outpost where the Masters had convened in secret, conspiring with Rhys to usurp Avalea, Briar, and Poet’s power.
Shit. I had known of the cult’s hideout and felt an ominous presence earlier.
The Royal Retreat’s proximity to that place was the reason Poet and Briar cloistered themselves here, while on a mission to crack down on the elite guild’s alliance with the Summer King.
I knew what the Masters did to Aspen, grooming and forcing her to commit heinous acts as a child.
What I hadn’t fucking fathomed was that the guild had coerced her to join their roundtables.
Poet and Briar never revealed that part, likely because they hadn’t wanted to resurrect Aspen’s trauma. Also, it would have been inconsequential after the courtyard bloodshed in which my troops eviscerated the guild.
Idiocy pulled a hiss from my tongue. “Aspen, I’m sorry. I should have picked a different—”
“It’s fine,” she said to the view. “You didn’t know. And you needed to bring Nicu someplace warm.”
That did not mean I shouldn’t have made the ghastly connection. Although I witnessed her expression when we got here, I’d been too furious to think straight, too determined to shelter her and Nicu.
With Aspen’s head turned away, my hand stole out, extending to close the void. To cup her jaw. To sweep back a tendril of hair. To comfort her.
Nonetheless, Aspen recuperated fast. The resilient woman snuffed out her reaction, ferocity replacing delicacy. Then she swiped her axe from the grass, broke from her stance, and marched toward the thorny hedges.
Resolute, I surged after her. I knew what she meant to do. And I would follow.
The Royal Retreat’s location had been chosen with care. With Nicu sleeping and the cottage safely ensconced, no one would apprehend him. He would be safe until our return.
Aspen stormed through the narrow trench of brambles, the tangled route winding until we exited the channel and stood before a looming tree. Its trunk spanned to the width of a turret, with a partition chiseled into the facade, a striated door that had once been camouflaged.
Close inspection would validate the craftsmanship of this guild. Rather than a true part of the tree, the door was a fabrication constructed to resemble bark, produced by an expert hand.
The tree itself, Aspen would never harm. The counterfeit door was another matter.
The woman did not wait. Flipping her axe, she charged at the tree and rammed the blade into the door, a violent thwack striking the air. Splinters of artificial wood flew from the trunk. Debris launched into the air as Aspen slammed the hatchet into the door.
Over and over and over.
With each impact, a livid cry grated from her mouth. I strode forward to see if she’d harmed herself, then halted at the lack of blood. She was unscathed, at least on the outside.
Rage fueled her movements. Wheezing, she threw herself into the attack. Dents and grooves burrowed into the partition. The axe’s curved edge hacked into the fixture until it fell lopsided, then toppled from the threshold.
Winded, Aspen staggered backward, oxygen sawing from her lungs. Her grip on the hatchet shook, and a dry sob snuck from her mouth. The instant she swayed, I was on her. My arms captured her weight as she slumped against my chest, her chest siphoning air.
I held the woman fast, bolstered her waist, and remained that way for as long as she needed. “It’s over,” I soothed, brushing her hair. “It’s over now.”
For once, she did not retreat. For once, this indomitable female let go. And for once, I felt worthy enough to embrace her.
Realization cinched my ribs. “Wielding the axe causes you pain.”
Aspen went still. “I thought you couldn’t read me.”
“I cannot,” I murmured. “But I see you.”
She nodded, too exhausted to distort the truth, and my ribs clenched. This resilient fighter had spent years concealing her ailment, with no one other than her mother to console her.
“It’s the markings,” she confided, a tremor in her voice. “They hurt when I fight.”
Anger curled my fingers into fists. For the first time, I loathed nature and its magic.
Just as quickly, admiration cooled my temper. Despite this grave impediment, Aspen displayed more determination than my highest ranking officers. She fought with heart and soul.
I would ask her more. But this was not my story to tell.
Ravens nested on the branches. Moonlight stenciled us in harsh white light.
“All better,” Aspen said. “Thank you.”
A grunt of displeasure squatted in my throat as she detached herself from my arms. Yet I swallowed the unwarranted noise. It wasn’t my place or my fate to keep touching her.
Aspen’s countenance turned to flint. “I know how to find the Autumn traitors.”
I reeled back. “You what?”
“That’s where I’m going. And please don’t start with your lectures about me having no backup or stringing Nicu into this.
He makes his own decisions, and he would have followed me anyway.
” The spitfire harnessed her axe. “You said it right. The traitors are mobile, but that doesn’t mean they don’t have a base of operations like the Masters.
We shouldn’t be hunting for their temporary camps.
We should be hunting for their central post. I didn’t realize the truth until Briar told her story at the revels, but it’s located in the one place no one ever goes. ”
This was not the time to throw a conniption. Otherwise, my bellow would tear a gash into the wilderness.
So this relentless female had taken it upon herself to overthrow the clan’s plot.
She’d flung herself into a deadly operation without informing our fellowship.
The fewer participants to keep track of, the less vulnerable the clan would be to internal sleuths, including our nameless spy.
But while the logic made sense, try rationalizing with my current inflammatory mood.
Where she was concerned, I had bypassed reason, sound judgement, and composure days ago.
As usual with her, I endeavored to keep my blood from simmering. Only this time, it had nothing to do with that unholy, ruinous kiss.
An ancient harness from the relic vault. An archaic place where the accessory would be useful.
Briar’s banishment. The tale she shared with our clan.
An epiphany strayed across my tongue. “The Lost Treehouses.”
Aspen bobbed her head. “The mythical oak tree from Briar’s memory.
That’s where they’re stationed. It’s close enough to a legendary place where nobody dares to tread, but not too close to trespass beyond its border.
It’s the perfect spot to remain undiscovered.
” Yet she wavered. “Well, almost perfect. One glaring hole in this premise is why the oak would let those knights camp in its vicinity. They’re traitors to Briar, who received the oak’s blessing.
Even if they asked permission, why would that tree allow them to settle nearby? ”