Chapter 6
Six
Lory
Rolling Lenya’s words over in her mind, Lory barely noticed as darkness began to pull on her vision and the room morphed into something different, the simple wood of the walls transforming into cream-colored marble and the window stretching in length and width until it became a panel large enough to watch the width and height of the room.
Lory rolled to the side in her bed, recognizing the lush greenery spanning the mountainside.
She’d been here before, in the same wide bed under the same cream and gold covers, wearing the same comfortable clothes—cotton embroidered with golden thread.
The air smelled of flowers and wood and a hint of sage, and somewhere nearby, running water drew Lory’s attention.
When she turned in the direction of the sound, her heart stuttered at the sight of the pool-sized bathtub set into the marble floor of an adjacent room she hadn’t noticed the last time Khayrivven had brought her here in a dream.
Water. So much water. The steam rising from it coiled in whorls, forming patterns that appeared nearly intentional.
Like in a daze, Lory slid her bare feet out of bed, the hem of her long, loose pants falling to her ankles and her shirt swaying around her form as she took a tentative step toward the room.
Something splashed, the steam rippling and thickening, and Lory shrank back on instinct, reaching for her dagger.
Her heart did a small leap when her fingers closed around the cool metal of the simple hilt.
Without making a sound, the dagger slid free of the scabbard tied to the thin belt around her waist, and for the first time since she’d gone up in flames in the mountains, Lory didn’t feel … helpless.
“Who’s there?” If this was Khayrivven’s dream, nothing bad would be waiting for her in that water, but if this was only her dream, who knew what horrors her subconscious had conjured for her to battle. Wouldn’t have been the first time. “I’m armed.”
“Of course you are.” His rich, velvet baritone was everything she remembered and more.
In the weeks since she’d first heard him speak, the honed danger in his tone had turned into a sound she craved.
She could go to sleep to the rumble of his voice when he spoke only to her and wake up to the sound of his wicked chuckle every day and not tire of it. “I put the dagger there myself.”
A smile tugged on Lory’s mouth for the first time in days. Of course he had. Even when there was no danger to be found in his dream, he wouldn’t leave her defenseless—especially after what had transpired in the cave.
Another splashing sound followed by the gushing of a waterfall.
A moment later, Khayrivven Falcrest stepped out of the haze, a pair of soft, black pants slung low on his waist and a cream and gold shirt similar to the one Lory was wearing cleaving open along his torso.
His black waves were dripping onto the fabric, soaking the collar until droplets slid down the sliver of skin visible at his front.
A part of Lory marked the water and the defined abs it crossed before seeping into the waistband of his pants, marked his tall frame, his bare feet, the tense set of his shoulders, the stubble on his face—but those things weren’t what held her attention.
For now, it was his eyes. Thunderclouds before a storm broke loose, enigmatic, intense, boring into hers with myriads of unspoken questions.
“Hello, Gutter Gem.” The corner of his mouth tipped up in a familiar smirk.
Tears pricked in Lory’s eyes as she closed the distance between them—she couldn’t help it.
Khayrivven caught her with open arms, folding her into his chest, and the scent of sage intensified as she buried her face into his shoulder, inhaling like she hadn’t been able to breathe since the moment he’d left her at the foot of the Amrin Mountains.
“You’re alive,” she muttered, fighting the tears threatening to break free. Her fingers dug into his shoulders, running down his corded back until she wrapped her arms around his waist, holding on to him as if he could turn into smoke and mist if she let go. “You’re alive.”
For a long while, Khayrivven didn’t say a word, rubbing soothing circles between her shoulder blades with one hand while the other secured her head.
“We are both alive,” he eventually corrected, and as his breath ruffled her hair, Lory could have sworn she wasn’t the only one whose emotions threatened to compress into liquid crystals.
She couldn’t tell how long they stood there, just breathing each other in.
Outside, the sky turned orange, then purple, then the color of midnight, and Khayrivven still held her.
Only when exhaustion threatened to drag her into sleep within her dream did Lory loose her hold on the Flame-born who’d risk his life so the Triad would let her live.
Khayrivven let his hands glide down her arms, taking her hands in his as if not yet ready to let go, but his features were no longer defined by relief and emotions; they were hard and schooled into the face of the captain who’d learned that emotions made him vulnerable.
“Listen to me, Lory.” His urgent tone made her swallow the questions of why he hadn’t contacted her in a dream before, why he’d shown up with Ycken in that cave, what he’d told the Master of Whispers about what happened.
If he knew what happened to Enya, Olive, and Hadrick, and most of all: Had he heard the leonthor speak?
Had Ycken? And what did it fucking mean?
“You can rest a little longer, but I don’t have much time before I need to wake up.
” His gaze roamed her form, head to toe, as if expecting to find injuries, even here in his dreamscape.
“Lenya has dispatched Ycken and me to deliver the three Flame-born to Ashthorn. I’ll be on my way with them by the time you wake up.
The next time I’ll see you, we’ll be back at the academy, and I will be your dedicated instructor. No one can know about us.”
Us. The way he said it made Lory wish she’d found her voice to object, but even if she had, Khayrivven Falcrest would have taken her breath away the next moment when his mouth crashed down on hers with a desperation that made her forget her own name.
“Lory,” he reminded her between kisses, and she let her lips fall open, tasting his breath on her tongue, savoring the heat of his body as he pulled her back against him, fingers slipping from her hands and cradling her face instead, and tipping back her head for better access.
“I forgot you can read my mind in your dreams,” she thought at him, not bothering to break the kiss, her hands knotting in his damp hair, fastening his mouth to hers.
Warmth pooled in her belly, a nest of embers coming to life in his proximity as if all it had waited for was one kiss, one touch.
“I can do so much more than that.” His voice was a growl in her head, driving shivers of anticipation down her spine.
He hadn’t finished the sentence when the room rippled into a blur of cream and green and midnight blue, the colors melting into gray, then slate, then near-black.
Behind her, the space shrank, solidifying into a wall of solid stone, and Khayrivven pressed her up against it, his hands sliding down her body, skating the sides of her breasts, until they lingered on her hips, grip loose enough for her to twist out of it if she didn’t approve.
But, oh, did she approve. Beneath her shirt, her nipples peaked, her breast turning heavy and aching for more of his attention, while her mouth craved his like the flowers craved the rain.
A moan built in her throat as he nipped on her lower lip, sucking it into his mouth and tugging at it with his teeth before letting go.
“I’ve missed this,” he murmured as he studied her from a few inches above, brows knitting together.
Lory didn’t need to speak the words for him to know; so had she.
She’d missed him: his voice, his touch, his Guardians-damned-fucking-awesome physique.
But more than that, she’d missed the way he looked at her, the way his universe seemed to narrow to her existence when he trained those intense eyes on her—the way he did now.
Like nothing else mattered and he’d go to the ends of all realms to make sure she was safe.
“I would.” Lory wasn’t sure she’d imagined him speaking as he brushed his mouth over the corner of hers, but on her hips, his fingers dug harder into her flesh in a desperate, almost possessive way that made her squirm in the best possible way, and as she did, his arousal made itself known with a twitch.
Lory didn’t wait for him to lift her, slinging her legs around his waist and rolling her hips over his hard length, watching him tip back his head with a groan deep in his throat.
His eyelashes fluttered like butterfly wings made of midnight silk, hiding the storm-like depths of his eyes as he hoisted her up, hands on her thighs as she leveraged her weight against the cold, rough wall.
“I want you, Lory.” This time, she’d heard him, and when his eyes opened, a hunger as ancient as this world engulfed her, originating in the world living behind Khayrivven’s irises.
“I couldn’t fucking sleep, not knowing where you were and if you were alive.” His voice drifted into her mind like the kiss of a dark wind, and she wasn’t entirely certain whether he’d meant to speak them.
If that was the reason he hadn’t found her in her dreams, she could live with it. She could live with anything as long as this didn’t stop.
Khayrivven’s lips were a touch of silk along her jaw, her throat as she tipped back her head, resting it against the wall, a sliver of bliss, and when he let go of one thigh to massage her breast, pinching her nipple through the fabric of her shirt, then lowering his head to kiss the momentary pain until it turned into sweet, sweet pleasure.