Chapter 41
A brisk wind slaps my cheek, pulling me from a gluey sleep.
I open my eyes and see dark clouds threatening to bear down, trying to remember where I am. How I got here.
The satiated ache between my legs brings everything smashing back.
The bond. The smear of time I gave myself to the savage pull of letting go. Kaan in the spring.
In me.
Both of us on the edge of the spring … up against the cliff … on the furs in his makeshift camp. Again.
Again.
Back in the spring to rinse off, only to end up with my legs splayed and tangled with his arms, draped backward over a rock while he ravaged me restless—screaming for him to fuck me until the world breaks around us.
A rush of heat throbs through my veins as I fill my lungs with his heady musk, like dollops of cream served on a sizzling stone.
My cheeks scald.
I shove at the heavy furs piled on my naked body when a whip of wind brings me the smell of smoke and roasting meat.
Twisting, I look back over my shoulder. Smile at the sight of Kaan sitting on a boulder beside the campfire, the burbling spring a backdrop that smudges everything but him; his chest and arms bare, all that rich skin on bold display, his hair pulled back in a loose bun my fingers ache to tangle in.
My strip of meat is poked through with a stick, suspended over a writhing flame, dripping pink juices onto the sizzling coals.
“I’m surprised she let you take that while I was sleeping.”
He turns the stick, glancing at Líri coiled in a luminous knot beneath a nearby tree, rumbling through her slumber. The same spot she’s been since returning from her scouting jaunt just before we fell asleep. “Didn’t even flick a tail.” He turns that gaze on me—warm.
Breathtaking.
A smile breaks across my face.
He watches me for a long beat before he lifts a hand, pointing. “Your clothes are behind you. Rinsed and dried.”
I sit up to see them stacked and folded with precision, my delicates sitting on top—also folded.
I arch a brow. “You folded my undergarments?”
“With honor.”
My hand comes up to cover the fresh smile that takes over my face, fingers dragging down my lips. I push the bottom one between my teeth, shaking my head as I look at him.
Marvel at him.
All those rounded muscles, pumped even when he’s relaxed. His hands … calloused and capable. And that smattering of hair that smears from his navel, down beneath the waistband of loose twill pants that hint at the mighty heft of him hanging between his spread legs—
My heart hitches.
A hungry tingle moves through me as I snap my gaze back to his lush mouth, now flicked up at the corner. “Something on your mind, Moonbeam?”
Deplorable things. Truly.
“Just wondering how, after all these phases, someone else didn’t fall on your pallet and stay there.”
Some of that smile disappears.
A beat of silence, then, “The door chains are a bit off-putting.”
Maybe for some.
“You know what I mean. You’re a good male, a good king. And I can tell you now; with these skills”—I lift up my folded delicates and wave them in his direction—“coupled with all that, I’m certain you could’ve had anyone you desired.”
His eyes darken. “The thought didn’t even cross my mind.”
I frown. “You … haven’t taken another this entire time?”
He shrugs. “True love doesn’t expire, Raeve. It clings to you like a weight, even when you’re drowning.”
The words jolt something. Like plucking a string in my chest that makes such an awful sound every part of me recoils.
I look away, not wanting to imagine existing in a world where he no longer does, though I do know how it feels to lose someone you love …
That sense of unspooling, bits coming away in bloody tendrils, tethered to that loss. Then there’s the hard scabs that form in the wake of everything that came loose. Though they feel too much like forgetting, it’s better than the raw ache of a fresh wound.
But Kaan’s talking like he never calloused. Like he’s been tending a weeping wound since Elluin died. And that—
I can’t think about that.
“Truth is,” he murmurs, “my pallet would’ve felt more empty had I shared it with another who was not you.”
Creators …
“Okay, well.” I clear my throat and thread my undergarments on. “I fear all this has really achieved is to further prove my point.”
It’s a pathetic attempt to veer the conversation toward something that doesn’t hurt so much, but he takes the bait like a famished beast, some of the warmth returning to his eyes.
Smiling, he reaches forward and turns the meat.
I unfold my tunic, slip it on, then dash my loose hair to the side. Pulling Kaan’s málmr free from beneath the fabric, I let it hang between my breasts as I move toward the fire and sit on a boulder opposite him.
Averting my gaze from the flames, I set my chin in my palm and look out through the trees at my slumbering dragon. “You know,” I start, and Kaan’s ardent gaze lifts from his málmr to my eyes, “I do recall a certain promise that you wouldn’t get involved.”
He arches a brow. “You came to me, Moonbeam.”
The smooth confidence in his voice does something to me. Makes me feel hot inside.
I huff a low laugh as he reaches down, picks up a skein, and tosses it over the fire. I snatch it from the air.
“So … what’s this uhloo you spoke of before I left?”
His cheeks swell with a lopsided smile that melts me. “A thin braid. Freely offered.”
I give him a questioning look.
“You honor me by wearing my málmr,” he clarifies, gesturing to it. “Embellishing my hair with a braid of your own is the Johkull way of returning that honor. The tightness of the braid declares much about your intentions.”
“You want to wear my hair?”
His smile grows. “I’d rather wear you every dae for the rest of my existence, but your uhloo will suffice.”
It takes me a moment to register his meaning, but when I do, my cheeks blaze. That same heat spreads through my breasts, making my nipples pinch into painful peaks.
His gaze drops to my bottom lip as I pull it between my teeth and gently bite down, considering a slow stand before striding around the campfire to straddle him.
After easing my undergarment to the side, I’d rip those twill pants, grip his heavy length, and work it in slow strokes until he’s ready to push up into my wet, aching core—
“Only when you feel comfortable offering it,” he rumbles past a knowing grin before he leans forward to poke the roasting meat, releasing more fragrant juices. “Though it’s important for you to know that until I wear it, I’m considered unclaimed.”
“Really?” I arch a brow, pop the cork on his skein, and take a deep sip. “Well,” I say, re-stoppering it, “anyone who wants to test that theory will find themselves at the point of my blade, probably bleeding to death.”
His laughter rolls through the small camp, like he thinks I’m joking.
I’m not.
We fall into a comfortable silence as he turns the meat, tucking another dry branch on the fire that Ignos immediately swallows.
I look away, watching Líri slumber. Lift a hand to brush across my chest, as though to push past my ribs and physically nurture her presence within me.
“You’re certain the bond has settled? It should feel—”
“It’s even harder than it was before we slumbered.” I drop my hand and tip the skein from side to side, listening to the liquid slosh around. “Like a solid moon in my chest. There’s no recasting it now.”
I hear the faintest breath of relief.
“I’m glad you came.” I look down at the skein. “The pull to fall away with Líri was strong.”
Much as I hate to admit it, if this were some sort of character test, I failed. Took a step forward, then ten leaps back.
Had Kaan not come, I’d be more dragon than fae right now.
As wonderful as that sounds, Kaan was right to point out that it would’ve been too much like submitting in a fight or refusing to even enter the ring.
A small, knowing part of me would’ve hated myself, and that hate would’ve festered. Become venomous.
“I remember the feeling vividly,” Kaan murmurs.
I glance up. “What kept you tethered?”
A line forms between his brows as he looks at the sizzling meat, turning it. “The thought of never hearing Mah sing again. Or seeing her smile.”
He says the words so gently, yet it feels like a stoning.
He meets my gaze through twirls of smoke. “Why are you afraid of fire, Raeve?”
The question strikes me so unawares it’s like catching a blade between the ribs, rendering me breathless.
Guess he’s learned to swing while my fucking guard’s down.
I look away. Lean back. Straighten my posture. “Afraid.” I laugh, popping the cork. I lift the skein to my lips and draw a sip of water. Swallow.
Wish it was something stronger.
“Makes me sound so weak,” I mutter, using the heel of my palm to stamp the cork back into place.
If that’s how he sees me, that’s how others see me. And that’s a problem.
Weaknesses get exploited.
“I’d love for you to contradict the statement. Hold my gaze and tell me otherwise.”
Though the words are sturdy, composed, there’s violence brewing beneath them. Just like those fucking coals roasting the meat, making it sizzle and spit.
I click my tongue and get to work stuffing my fear away, voiding every emotion other than the savageness that’s always skulking beneath my skin, waiting for release. A process I’ve moved through more times than I have the numbers to count.
I look up. Watch a frown shadow Kaan’s face as he no doubt sees the hardness on my own.
“I could step through those flames right now. Let them feast on me,” I say, monotone.
A blade forged beneath a mountain that’s buried so much of me it’s a surprise I’m still breathing.
“They’d melt me into a puddle, and I wouldn’t so much as flinch. Does that make you feel better?”
His eyes blacken. “No.”
Damn.
I pop the cork and take another sip, holding the mouthful behind my lips before I swallow. “Fire forged me into a monster, Kaan. I look at those flames and see all the worst parts of myself. And a shitload of unnecessary pain.”
“Who?”
The word is a dragon’s growl, like it ripped straight from Rygun’s maw. When I look at Kaan, he’s all stoic composure and quiet promise of violence.
“A name, Raeve. That’s all I need.”
A name …
If there’s anything I’m taking from the past number of daes, it’s that some things deserve to be dredged up, even if I have no intent to actually do it. They deserve it.
Others don’t even deserve a fucking tombstone.
I let my emotions seep back into place and push up, move around the campfire, then drop onto his lap, absorbing the shock in his widening eyes as he opens his body to accept my presence.
I take his face in my hands, running my fingers through his beard, marveling at the shape of his lips … nose … thick lashes. The scars that nip at him, cutting his beauty into something fiercely superior to anyone I’ve ever laid eyes on.
He makes it all worth it. Every bit. I’d go through it all again just to be here right now, on his lap, breathing the same air as him.
“The past twenty-three phases … it’s all just one big graveyard, Kaan.
Dig it up and we’re left with nothing but holes to trip on and an armful of bones,” I whisper, lowering my head to plant the softest kiss against his lips.
I pull back enough to catch his eye contact.
“Leave it be. Please. For both our sakes.”
His mouth opens—
The sound of fluttering wings has us looking skyward at the parchment lark zipping in our direction. It nose-dives straight into Kaan’s open palm.
Frowning, he tucks me closer to his chest so he can reach around and get to work unfolding the pleats.
I rest my head into the crook of his neck, watching Líri slumber. Wondering how I got so lucky when I certainly don’t deserve this.
Any of it.
The very reason I’m so certain it’s going to crumble in my grip the moment I drop my guard.
Kaan stiffens beneath me.
I look up, frowning at the concern hardening his features. “What’s wrong?”
“Siharna’s gone into labor.” He clears his throat and refolds the lark. “We need to go. Now.”