CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO #3
“She sounds like a great mom,” I said, thinking of my mother, also telling me fairy tales and stories of Orsete in the old world, stories from before the Doom.
His eyes reddened. “She was. Losing her was—is the hardest thing I ever went through,” he said. The muscles in his jaw flexed. “But I’ve never carried on like Jaron, not once.”
“I wouldn’t think you would. You’re not like him, nor most men. You’re different,” I said. “You’re a good person. Perceptive, kind, and noble. And you’re strong. Physically, and … in here.” I placed a hand on his heart. Grateful that the steel of his armor was between us.
He smiled grimly, like he didn’t fully believe it. “I don’t know. I always felt different from everyone, felt like I wasn’t the same person after she died. Sometimes I wonder who I might have been—could have been.”
“You don’t have to do that.” I met his eyes.
“You would have been you,” I said, and I knew I spoke the truth.
Because I remembered him as a boy—remembered the brief moment I saw him.
It would have been before his mother passed.
And there was a kindness in his eyes that I saw and felt even then.
A kindness I’d remembered when Jaron appeared.
“Maybe,” he said.
“I don’t know him well at all,” I lied, “and forgive me for saying so about a member of your family, but I think even if Jaron hadn’t had that loss—he’d be exactly who he is.”
Brennan sighed, his expression resigned. “I think you’re right.”
“My mother used to say—” I froze. “I mean, when I was younger—that really big events, the kind that change everything about your life, don’t actually change who you are.
Not at your core, not in your soul. They just,” my throat tightened, “reveal who you truly are within. She used to say that they just made you more you. Brought your real self to the surface.”
The backs of my eyes burned. I’d forgotten she told me that.
Brennan smiled at her words, and my heart raced, both from the memories, and because he was beautiful, so fucking beautiful. “And you think my real self is good? You think that highly of me?” he asked. His eyes crinkled. “You still barely know me.”
“Don’t I, though? I know it’s been a short while, but I know you better every day. I see you. And I like what I see.”
“And I you,” he said. He meant it. I could feel it.
Not as an Azete. As a woman. Yet, there was some doubt in his eyes.
For himself, for what I’d told him. “It took me too long to see it, to see that despite how we were raised, Jaron’s no brother to me,” he said quietly.
“Nor friend. Rowan is more like a blood relative to me than he ever was. And so is your cousin.”
I blinked, confused.
“Kienan,” he said. “He’s one of the best men I know.”
Olivay’s cousin.
I smiled. “He is. I’m glad you see that. And I’m glad you grew up with them by your side. You’re fortunate to have had them as friends, and to have them still.”
“You must miss your friends,” he said. “The ones staying back home.”
I did. I wondered if they missed me, too. But most likely, they knew what I was now. Between Brennan seeing the truth that night and Cecelia—there was no way they didn’t. And they were helping in the search to find me. Offering details, asking questions. Helping to box me.
I squeezed my eyes shut. It was just as well. My friendships could never last anyway, not without me hurting them in the end. And that was true of every relationship I’d ever had or ever would.
“I am sorry you must be here without them.” Brennan reached forward to catch a single tear that fell from the corner of my eye.
I hadn’t even known it was there.
My heart thundered. “I know my duty.”
“We both know that just because it’s our duty, and we’re willing to fulfill it, that doesn’t make it easy.”
“No.”
“Well, Kienan is your friend, of course,” he said, “and you can count on Rowan to be yours, too.”
I was touched, even though I knew it would never happen. Still I said, “That is good to hear, and far more than I was expecting.”
“You can have more if you wish. You can have me …” Carefully, gently, he took my hand in his. “I’d like to be your friend, too.”
I blinked. “You want to be my friend?”
“More than anything,” he said, his voice low and full of unspoken things between us.
We were barely touching, only holding hands.
And somehow, the way he was holding mine, the way his thumb was rubbing against my skin, was the least friendly handhold I could have ever imagined.
Like he was rubbing something else, much lower.
Warmth was pooling beneath my belly. His eyes were hooded.
I could feel a stream starting. A powerful one. I had to do something. Had to break it.
“You want to be my friend?” I asked again, my voice incredulous and exaggerated. I pulled my hand from his, feigning distress, and pretended to escape back beneath the branches enclosing us. “I’m sorry, but I have to go. I must inform the King and Queen of Spartva that we were fooled.”
Brennan pulled me back at once, his arms around my waist as he laughed. “Don’t you dare! There’ll be war between our kingdoms if we break our contract,” he laughed even harder. “You must stay!”
My eyes widened to an absurd degree as I pretended again to try to escape. “This is a travesty of political negotiations. I must go,” I said, trying without effort to push past him. “Even if it means war. I mean, here I thought I was getting married—but now you confess to me that it is friendship—”
“You are getting married,” he said, his voice darkening as he stepped into my space.
I leaned back, flush against the tree as my stomach tightened.
“Olivay, I do want to marry you. Very much.” His jaw tensed, his face only inches from mine.
“You do?” I rasped.
“I do. I want you. I want you as both,” he said heatedly, one hand braced against the tree, trapping me against him.
Though one arm remained at his side, his fingers flexing, like he wanted me to know I could leave, that I was free.
But it was taking everything inside of him to not fully block my way. To not push himself against me.
My heart began to flutter, my skin warming. He was already so close. So, so close, I could smell the mint on his breath, the sweet hint of spices from our meal. And more than that … I could taste his desire for me growing, his want and need. The Azete stirred again, uncoiling, rising, wanting.
“Both?” I asked, my voice shaking.
“Both.” His eyes blazed, gazing into mine, before dropping to my lips, then rising back up. “I want you as my friend. And I want you as my lover.”
“Don’t you mean your wife?”
“My wife. My princess. My queen, whatever you’ll give me,” he said, breathless. “Olivay, can I—” his chest heaved, “can I kiss you again?”
I stared into his eyes, memorizing the different shades of green, feeling that sense of familiarity, compounded by the want rushing through my veins. “You knew the answer before you asked,” I whispered.
And then his lips were on mine, his hands cupping my cheek, his body pressing me back against the golden-leafed tree, exactly as he’d been wanting to do.
I swept my hands up his arms and shoulders, seeking out the skin at the nape of his neck, my fingers tangling in his hair, desperate to touch him, to get closer than the steel plates of his formal armor would allow.
I licked the seam of his lips, his mouth opening to mine, our tongues tangling as his hands slid down my face, to my neck, and then lower, caressing my exposed collarbone, before I felt his fingers slip down my breasts, pushing against the corset between us.
One hand remained, cupping me through the boning and fabric, while the other sought out my waist.
I arched my back, trying to feel more of his hands on my curves, to take in more of his touch.
I wanted it, I needed it, and I was seconds away from using my magic to make the damned thing vanish.
To take all of my clothes away so it could just be him and me.
My chest heaved, and Brennan squeezed my breast. I tilted my head back, exposing my neck.
With a gasp, I felt Brennan’s lips slide down my jaw, down to the crook of my neck.
He latched on, sucking and licking until my hips bucked.
I reached for his hips, pulling them in toward mine.
Brennan’s hips lifted at once, his knee wedged between my legs as he tilted my head up, kissing his way across my collarbone, pressing a kiss between the tops of my breasts.
I bucked against him, my chest heaving as he sought out my mouth again, groaning as our lips crashed.
“Gods, I want you,” he murmured, kissing me harder, deeper. I started to rock against him, my cunt sliding against his knee, my hands reaching for his belt buckle, my knuckles brushing against the erection straining to break free behind it. “Fuck,” he gasped, his body jerking.
“I know,” I heaved.
“We shouldn’t,” he said desperately, even as he began to thrust in response to the undulations of my hips. “Not yet.”
But then the connection formed between us, and his energy poured into me. His lifeforce flooded my senses, like a dam had burst.
I sucked on his tongue, moving against him more deeply, teasing the edge of his belt back.
Kiss him, take him, have him. Devour him. The Azete was screaming inside of me, overwhelmed and overjoyed with the kind of meal and freedom I’d denied it for years.
Brennan was all in, wanting me, needing me.
And yet, in the back of his mind—he wavered. He meant what he said about wanting me as his lover, his friend, his wife, his queen, but then the girl against the tree, the one kissing him, the one he was desperate to undress and take on the spot—his guards be damned—was no longer Olivay.
She was the girl with brown hair, the dancer with the seductive smile, the hazel eyes.
Samara.
He thought the word so clearly, I thought he’d said it aloud.