20
Aspen
Nightfall slipped through an overhead crevice. A beam of moonlight and the faint glow of bioluminescent leaves draped over our features, enabling us to see one another in the murk.
An inconvenienced scowl pulled across Aire’s face. Not at me for once, but at the situation.
Nonetheless, trained soldiers dealt with assassins, carnage, warfare, natural disasters, climate shifts, rugged terrain, roadblocks, and the occasional force of dark Seasonal magic, including but not limited to murderous fauna and leaf storms that shifted into wraiths.
Whereas I had managed to endure seven years of Rhys. Enough said.
So if we could handle those obstacles, this draconian knight and I would last eight hours cramped inside a bloody tree.
Nicu was secure. Us too. Moreover, the leaf wraiths had dissipated, and the roots would protect everyone from nocturnal carnivores.
Until the sun rose, nothing else mattered.
By then, either the tree would free us or I’d be forced to chop our way out, assuming the barricade wasn’t impenetrable.
Coming to this silent agreement, we pivoted from each other. The knight removed his broadswords and laid them on the ground. Then he scooted farther back, wedging his massive back harder into the trunk.
I braced my palm against the bark. From the glimpse I received before diving inside, the tawny yellow broadleaves had been leathery, and batches of prickly nut husks clustered the base.
A chestnut tree. A wood that aged gracefully, ideal for making cabinets, paneling, and framing. An option with shock-absorption, less brittle than other hardwoods, not great for blades or armor but doable for spears and maces.
Also, the tannins would resist rot and insects. And—
“Does it help?” a mellow voice asked.
I swerved toward Aire. “Does what help?”
“Assessing the tree. Distracting yourself.”
“In a word. It’s better than being trapped in a cave, easier if you know something about your surroundings. But then, caves don’t scare me either.”
“What does?” He propped his scalp against the facade, both wrists resting on his upturned knees. “You behave as if nothing frightens you.”
Instead of sounding rhetorical, the observation smacked of curiosity. I matched his pose, steepling my legs and wrapping my arms around them. Having no phobia of isolation was one thing. But loneliness was another matter.
“I don’t fear captivity. I don’t even fear death.” My words thinned, echoing up the trunk. “But I do fear loss.”
Empathy swept across his features. “You are not alone there.”
A balmy draft passed through the space. The scent of old wood filled the hollow.
His gruff timbre pinched my chest. I thought of Aire’s brother and the knights who died under his leadership. He never talked about them, the same way I never talked about Mama because it hurt too much.
The chestnut’s rough bark scraped my joints. My tall limbs had no place to stretch from this corner, which aggravated the foliage markings.
Aire straightened and widened his legs. “Come here.”
Under normal circumstances, with a handsome member of the opposite sex, the request would have me pouncing. Yet as inviting as that hulking body looked, I waved him off. “I’m okay.”
“Aspen,” he reproached. “Come. Here. Dammit.”
I grunted. He was right. Pride was a good thing until hunger and pain got in the way. Then it just made people stupid.
The next few seconds should have been awkward.
Instead, we moved with ease, me crawling between his thighs, and him supporting my spine against his torso.
Despite the ridges of muscle, Aire’s wardrobe cushioned my weight, and those powerful limbs anchored me on either side.
We fit to each other as if we’d been welded that way.
“Better?” he inquired.
An involuntary sigh filtered from my lungs. I nodded, my head lolling atop his steady heartbeat and my treacherous stomach flipping. So this was how it felt to be held by Aire of Autumn.
Soothing. Comforting.
Practical. Yes, practical.
In that vein, I’d forgive myself for the slip. And I might have treated myself to this moment, but that earlier statement about loss came rushing back. So did the memory of the last tree I interacted with, my axe hacking into its secret front door while Aire watched.
The Forbidden Burrow. The confidential seat of the Masters.
At the time, I hadn’t been able to talk about that place. Or ever, really.
“They made me kill a man.” Aire went still, listening as I spoke.
“It’s ironic. The year before, a black widow got into our cottage, and I made a fuss to save the thing because I couldn’t bear to hurt it.
The next year, my axe was cleaving off someone’s head.
” An ache swelled in my throat. “I’m sorry about Merit. ”
To my shame, I had never apologized about this. Although Merit had been Aire’s comrade, I hadn’t been capable of facing what I did. How I took a friend from him and robbed someone else of their spouse.
Aire’s breath stroked the ledge of my ear. “You were a child under duress. It was not your fault.”
Maybe not. My throat stung anyway.
“I didn’t want to know anything about him before it happened,” I confessed.
“For some desperate reason, I thought it would make the task easier. But years afterward, I couldn’t help myself and researched as much as I could, asked Briar and Avalea about his life, talked to some of the troops. ” Then I whispered, “He had a husband.”
“He did,” the knight murmured. “I visit the man often.”
“Is he okay?”
Aire went quiet for a moment. “He will never be okay. Yet he endures and has regained his happiness by marrying again.”
Self-loathing over that night was nothing new. But my feelings didn’t matter as much as Merit’s kin. If the soldier’s husband lived on, I had no right to coddle myself.
Despite his doting instincts, Aire knew better than to put a hand on me. Neither out of comfort, nor reassurance. Unless I consented, he’d keep his fingers to himself.
“Mama was the Master Carpenter until I was born,” I recalled.
“After that, she wouldn’t pick up a tool, so the guild replaced her.
She doesn’t know what they did to me, but she always suspected something was wrong and assumed I was spooked by the vengeful trees.
Whenever I secretly fretted about the Masters summoning me, Mama sensed the agitation and brewed me a cup of hot chocolate.
” My mouth lifted into a sad grin. “I could have cried at the gesture.”
“But you did not,” Aire predicted.
I shook my head. “I wouldn’t let those extremists get to me that way. They didn’t deserve my tears. Though, it wasn’t about them.”
“It was because she took care of you.”
Yes. Mama’s caring and nurturing actions. Those were the reasons I could have wept.
“You wear the hood for her,” Aire surmised. But when I made no response, his tone grew emphatic. “To deprive the world of something beautiful is a tragedy. You deserve to be admired. To be seen for who you are.”
“What if I don’t know who I am?”
“Brave. Sacrificial. Compassionate,” he listed. “Your favorite color is silver, you prefer cranberries to apples, maintain a bond with your axe, possess the soul of a fighter, and have a soft spot for arachnids and woodpeckers—”
“You know about the woodpecker?”
“You’ve mentioned that avian a few times. Also, Nicu is like a brother to you, and you would slay a leviathan bare-handed for your mother, as well as for the clan. That is who you are.”
My breath hitched. Aire was right. He couldn’t read me, but this man did see me, and he understood me.
I thought of the whetstone, every time he said my worth didn’t need justification, and that moment when I pulled the hood from my face. That terrifying second before his kiss tore me to shreds.
On either side of my waist, Aire’s fingers curled into fists. “Had I known the abuse you suffered, I would have gutted the Masters in the courtyard battle.” His baritone intensified. “You shouldn’t be handled in any way but devotional. That is how you should be touched.”
Heat swam in my veins. Suddenly, every stitch of clothing grated my flesh, from my inner thighs to my breasts.
“How else?” I breathed. “How would you touch me?”
The knight paused. Hearing the invitation, an internal struggle ensued, his muscles taut like ropes.
At some point, the hood had slumped to expose my profile, drawing his head nearer, the edge of his mouth rustling my cheek.
Then resistance gave way to resignation, the words dropping from him as though they’d been ripped out.
“I would kiss you again,” he husked.
Liquid warmth clotted the slit between my legs, arousal wetting the line of my pussy. “The same way?”
“No. I would kiss you deeper and longer.”
“Sounds like you’ve given this some thought.”
“Given it thought,” he muttered with a humorless laugh, as if the phrase was insufficient.
“Since it happened, I can think of nothing else. The taste of your mouth, the sound of your moan, and the weight of your body shaking in my embrace have imbued itself into my memory. No, Aspen. I have not given it thought,” he rasped, the confession splintering from his chest. “With every waking moment, I have obsessed over it. So much that I would make it a reality once more. You favor lies over truth, yet I would take care of you the way no one has seen fit to do. I would give you something authentic. An honest pleasure.”
Each surreal word sent my body reeling. I never fucked anybody who showed signs of taking advantage or failing to reciprocate. Even so, those had been flings. Transactional exchanges.
Visions of what Aire offered filled my head, wiping my sexual past clean like a blank slate. Unconditional touches. Sensory stimulation. Genuine intentions.
His frame heaved against my own. The tips of my nipples perked, and my clit throbbed.
I turned my head, colliding with a pair of searing blue irises. “I’d like that.”
Permission granted. Desire acknowledged.
Turmoil strung across Aire’s face. His eyelids clamped shut. “Aspen. I’m begging you…”
“Do you want me?”
“For pity’s sake.”
“Do you?”
Aire drew in my scent. His gaze flipped open, the pupils black and glittering, and a pleading hiss sliced across his tongue. “Yes.”
My body ignited like timber. Fluid coated the rift in my cunt, and my pulse accelerated in tempo with his own.
Holding his tormented expression, I fanned my thighs apart.
Only a scant few inches, but it was enough to set those irises on fire, banishing every couldn’t , shouldn’t , wouldn’t from his conscience.
“Then take care of me,” I commanded. “Touch me, Noble Knight.”