Chapter 48 #2
It was suddenly so sensual, so erotic—the rhythmic chanting and the heat in his look joining together and pooling within her. Unbidden, her breaths began to match his, her skin buzzing as every nerve ending responded to it. To him.
Only once did his eyes stray from hers—a brief glance down to her lips that made his nostrils flare—before they burned into her once more.
His arms tightened across her back and thighs, his fingers sinking into her, every illicit thought racing across the bond between them to plant itself in the other’s mind. Sweet sisters, how she wanted to kiss him, wanted to—
Silence.
Immense, profound silence. So sudden that her ears rang with the eery absence of all those voices, the thundering power of Solyrian meeting the Solyr Stone at its zenith.
For the space of a single breath, it hung over the realm in its own sort of backwards cacophony.
The release of that pressure was a mute explosion of blinding light, and then all of the Horned City erupted.
Shouts and cheers took up the emptiness as they rejoiced, their jubilation so thick that Lunara was sure she could reach out and touch it.
A victorious grin spread across Brand’s face and he joined the celebration of his people, laughing as he spun her around. “Irrevocably?” he breathed.
“Irrevocably,” she answered.
He stepped right up to the edge of the platform. “Demons of the Montrealm, my brethren!” he shouted, his voice booming over the crowd. “The Sisters have blessed me, your Son! Behold, Lunara the Moonweaver—now marked by Solyrian. Behold, my true mate!”
She hadn’t known it was possible to be this happy.
She was here, and she was devastating.
Brand couldn’t stop staring at Luna, his heart overflowing.
Clenching Hedda’s arm in a death grip, her teeth were sunk into her lip while she listened to Magnus being ridiculous, amused horror twisting her face and emphasizing a mark she didn’t even realize was there—a true blessing he never once thought he’d actually see, though he’d whispered the words that begged for it.
Along with a personal boon, nearly every Demon prayed for their mate as the Occurrence happened, whether they had one or not.
There were rumors and legends that the sunstar could mark the both of you—could help you find your mate if you hadn’t yet or give you one more thing to be bonded by if you had—but most believed it to be symbolic.
He certainly hadn’t believed it to be a real possibility, and he’d never known anyone that had actually witnessed it happen.
Until today.
Brand hadn’t seen his own yet, but Lyriat’s look of abject shock had confirmed its presence.
They’d all long-since reverted back to their lesser selves and donned festive clothing, but their markings remained—this day and night the only time it happened—and so he knew, with absolute certainty, that there was a sienna sunbeam running in a pointed line down the center of his bottom lip and chin that hadn’t been there before.
A perfect, mirrored match to hers.
It wouldn’t always be visible, but that didn’t matter. All of the Horned City had fixed their eyes on Luna and seen it for what it was. And Sisters, how they looked at her now—with all of the awe and reverence she deserved.
She’d healed them. Cared for them. Sparred with them. Now, she would be eternal among them, written in their histories forever. The Nachthellian Sorcerit blessed by the sunstar at their Occurrence.
He couldn’t wait to see the look on her face when she beheld it.
Every thrumming inch of his body was intent on reminding him that he hadn’t been wrapped in her for a week. That he hadn’t tasted her, touched her, adored her. Only made worse by his gift.
Sweet, fucking Solyrian. That dress.
After the sunset on the mountain, he’d known she would be with him today. Instead of finding his bed that night, he’d scribbled a note and shaken a poor messenger awake, urging him to leave for Kohamaia immediately.
Vann’s response to the feverish letter had not disappointed.
Brand only asked him for fabric and, in a fit of madness, had waxed poetic about the Sorcerit he’d just met. About her manner and beauty, the way she’d made him feel. About everything—including her normal garb, apparently.
Vann had drawn his own lines and conclusions, taking it a step further by bringing him a finished gown. It was more than excellent tailoring holding the garment to the perfection of her body, framing her mating marks exactly and fitting her like a second skin—it was magic.
She was temptation incarnate, and he was hanging on by a thread.
Brand didn’t care that she’d run because he understood it all too well. He’d do anything for her. That she would return the sentiment, even in her backwards way, meant something to him.
Fuck, it was all he could do not to drag her to some shadowy corner and make love to her right there.
Vann rose and chucked his leftover stump of rolled herbs to the ground, offering Nyri a hand.
The girl turned a stunning shade of pink, rebellion sharp in her eyes, but she took it—declaring she would definitely be stepping on his toes on purpose, just to teach him a lesson.
The table roared their laughter in response.
This was the time of the feasts and festivals Brand dreaded most. When the meal was winding down, but there were hours yet of celebrations he was required to attend.
He’d gotten away with it this year, bound to more serious duties because of all the shite, but he would have no such reprieve tonight.
Children were being gently laid to sleep beside one another in makeshift beds near the bonfires around the perimeter. Musicians were chatting as they took up their instruments, readying to lure the adult revelers with their own kind of magic.
Hedda gripped Faldir’s arm and pointed across the way. Brand followed the gesture and found another set of twins on the other side of it—Fae visitors, by the look of them—and his commanders were scrambling up before he could blink.
Thad’s head snapped up to track a Demon strutting by, the warrior’s eyes trailing behind him and giving his cousin the look.
He already had his legs over the bench, chasing after the male, when Mag called after him, teasing. “A strapping lad tonight, is it?”
Thad turned, walking backwards and grinning. “The night is young, cousin. Who’s to say?” he hollered, arms wide as he disappeared into the crowd.
Brand swallowed, trying to accept that this was the start of it. When the night devolved into something more raw. More basic. Something that had ever eluded him.
Because every celebration always ended the same—with music and dancing.
It was the embarrassment for him. A sense of feeling slightly off kilter, too stiff to pull it off. He had an image to uphold as their Imperial Son, and sullying it with his inability to make his limbs work in that way was something he absolutely tried to avoid.
Knowing Luna, how well her body moved… He’d be watching his mate with pleasure, letting temptation sink deeper and deeper, fueling him until he snapped and claimed the rest of her evening for himself.
Magnus chuckled and pushed himself up from the table.
“I think I saw Amun and Lyriat escaping up the high road a while ago. I might go and see what shite they’re getting up to, maybe have a chat with Caius, before I find my own strapping mischief this evening.
” He lifted his tankard and downed the rest of his ale before slamming it back to the table.
Luna sat forward. “If you’re going up to the castle, would you mind checking on Fern?”
“Of course,” he answered. “Anything in particular I should look for?”
She shook her head. “I would just feel better knowing someone laid eyes on her again today.”
“Your wish is my command, witchling,” He sketched an exaggerated bow, flourishing his arms. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do, aye?”
With that and a wink, he left, Luna’s shouted thanks following after him.
“Why do I have a feeling there’s almost nothing Magnus wouldn’t do?”
“Because there isn’t,” Brand said, laughing.
Luna giggled as she stood and rounded the end of their table, facing out towards the dance floor when she settled in beside him.
His hand was instantly drawn to her chin, his thumb brushing the new mark on her lip.
Fuck Occurrences and parties. He wanted to get her in front of a mirror, show her before Solyrian rose again tomorrow and erased them for another fifty years.
“Luna—”
“Would you like to dance, Brand?” she breathed at the same time.
The bond pulled tight, wanting and needy.
Brand swallowed. “No,” he answered, almost immediately regretting it. “I would bloody fucking love to watch you do it, though.”
Luna searched his face for a moment and seemed to come to a decision. “I have a secret,” she said softly, “but it may be a solution, too.”
He studied her profile as she watched the writhing crowd. “Go on.”
“Would you dance if no one could see you? If you could look to all the world like you were sitting right here?”
Any other time, any other day, he might have jumped at the chance to move so freely without another thought. But she was stunning and he was hard as a fucking rock. Dizzy with wanting her.
“Explain.”
“Do you remember the first supper we took together, after I healed Baldrir?” She was nervous, spinning a curl in her fingers, and his breaths shallowed to match hers. “Well…”
She went on to describe her mastery over a power that would’ve turned his entire childhood into a fantasy playground. That she could leave an impression of herself and move around freely, unseen.
Burning Solyrian. She was utterly endearing the way she chewed her lip, not quite able to look at him when she was done.
His hand trailed up her bare leg, teasing the inside of her thigh. “You could really leave our images doing anything?”
A shuddering breath left her. “Anything.”