Chapter 46 Vaylen
Vaylen
Rhealyn follows after the others as they file out of the armory one by one. I exit last. Cliffbecker gives me one last measured look—part warning, part respect—before disappearing through the doorway. Relief washes through me like a gulp of water after a long battle. They’re with us. All of them.
I knew Cliffbecker would be the toughest to convince.
The man has survived three decades as a Skydune by questioning every order, challenging every assumption.
It’s exactly why we need him. His caution will balance our zeal.
A man who’s lived through countless Screechclaw campaigns doesn’t survive by taking unnecessary risks.
Rhealyn stands beside me, practically vibrating with pent-up energy. Her hazel eyes gleam in the dim light, her fingers twitching at her sides. She wants to move, to act, to fly to Hearthdale right now. It’s written in every line of her body.
It’s always like that with her—this readiness to jump without looking, to charge headlong into danger. The very quality that sometimes drives me crazy is also what pulls me to her like a magnet. Her passion burns as bright as dragon fire, wild and glorious.
But passion and war make for a dangerous combination. Too many times, I’ve seen eager young riders fall because they followed their hearts instead of their heads. The Screechclaws don’t care about bravery or righteousness. They kill indiscriminately.
I glance at Rhealyn, memorizing her shape as I have a hundred times before.
The firm curve of her shoulders, the slender column of her neck, the proud way she holds her head, the cascade of onyx hair down her back.
I wouldn’t change her impulsive nature even if I could, but wyrm’s rot, I’ll do everything I can to make sure it doesn’t lead her to ruin.
The burden of leadership has never felt heavier.
I follow a few paces behind her as we walk through the corridor. The sway of her hips mesmerizes me, her hair swinging with each step, catching the amber torchlight. My gaze drifts lower to the curve of her backside beneath her leathers, and heat rises in my blood.
Goddess help me! Even with the possibility of ancient powers stirring and treason hanging over our heads, I can’t control this hunger for her. Every stolen touch, every forbidden kiss only stokes the flames higher.
The others pull ahead, leaving us in the dimly lit corridor. Before Rhealyn turns the corner, I grab her hand, pulling her back toward me. She spins with graceful surprise, and I press her against the cool stone wall, capturing her mouth with mine.
She responds instantly, lips parting with a gasp that sends fire racing through my veins. Her hands slide up my chest, fingers curling around the back of my neck. The taste of her—sweet and fierce—is more intoxicating than wine.
“Vaylen,” she breathes against my mouth, the sound of my name on her lips making me reckless.
I need to make her mine tonight.
“You didn’t tell them,” she whispers.
I know right away what she’s talking about.
Cupping her face, I let my thumb trace the curve of her cheekbone.
“I decided it was too much for them to assimilate. Telling them you’re a Weaver might push them over the edge.
After all, we’ve been thought to be afraid of your kind, justly or not.
“I want them to see more first. Experience things that can’t be explained.
Then, when they learn what you are...” I trail off, suddenly uncertain. “I’m sorry. I should have—“
“No.” She presses her fingers to my lips. “I’m actually relieved.” A rare vulnerability flashes across her face before she masks it with a smirk. “Let’s save that revelation for when they’re too committed to run screaming.”
The tension dissolves from her shoulders, and I realize how deeply she feared their rejection. My fierce, brave Rhealyn—afraid of being truly seen.
I kiss her again, my passion flaring brighter. “I shouldn’t want you this much,” I growl, my hands grasping her waist, pressing her harder against the wall. “Not with everything at stake.”
“Then stop,” she challenges, her gaze flashing with defiance even as her body arches against mine.
I answer by claiming her mouth again, more urgently this time. My hands slide lower, gripping the firm curve of her backside, lifting her slightly. She responds by wrapping one leg around my hip, pulling me closer until there’s not a whisper of space between us.
Her fingers tangle in my hair, pulling it possessively, sending waves of pleasure down my spine. I trail hungry kisses along her jaw, down her throat, feeling her pulse quicken beneath my lips.
“The others could see,” she whispers, though she makes no move to push me away. Instead, her hands fumble with my jacket’s straps.
“They’re gone,” I rasp, surprising myself with the recklessness of it. But I live for these stolen moments with her.
Wind stirs around us, responding to our heightened emotions, lifting strands of her dark hair, caressing our heated skin like invisible fingers. The power of it—her power, mine, ours together—it’s intoxicating.
I pull back just enough to stare into her eyes. The hallway suddenly feels too exposed, the distant sounds of the fort too close. “Come,” I command, taking her hand and pulling her back toward the armory we just left.
“Vaylen, we shouldn’t—“ she protests, but her feet follow mine willingly, her fingers laced tightly with my own.
The heavy door closes behind us with a solid thud. I throw the bolt, sealing us inside the forgotten storage room with its dusty weapons and faded battle maps. Moonlight streams through the narrow high window, painting stripes of light across her face.
“Every moment could be our last, Rhealyn,” I say, my voice low and rough with need.
Her eyes darken as she steps toward me. “Then don’t waste it with words.”
Her challenge undoes me. I cross the space between us in two strides, lifting her against me. Her legs wrap around my waist as my mouth finds hers again, hungrier now, more demanding. I carry her to the worn oak table against the wall, sweeping aside rolled parchments with one arm.
When she finishes with the buckles of my jacket, she reaches for the chain with the onyx ring dangling from my neck, takes it in her palm, and studies it for a moment. A smile curves her lips before she gently sets it back against my heart.
“I’m glad you wear it,” she says, her touch lingering on the metal.
“Don’t you want it back?” I ask.
Her gaze flickers with something unreadable. “No.”
“One day?”
“Maybe.”
With an impish smile, she proceeds to undo my trousers, and everything fades to whispers compared to the thunder of desire in my blood.
Her leather jacket falls open beneath my practiced fingers.
I trace the curve of her collarbone, feeling her shiver under my touch.
She’s beautiful in the moonlight, all graceful lines and soft shadows.
“I dream of fucking you every night you’re not with me,” I confess, my hands sliding down to her hips, pulling her closer to the edge of the table.
She arches against me, her fingers threading through my hair, tugging me down for another kiss. “Show me,” she demands.
Her trousers come away easily, and mine follow.
When she guides my cock, and I enter her, we both gasp—her eyes locked with mine, her legs tightening around me.
The table creaks beneath us as we move together, finding our rhythm like we’ve done this a hundred times before.
But it’s only the third time. I’m keeping count.
“Oh, Vaylen,” she moans, her head falling back, exposing the tempting line of her neck. I claim it with my mouth, tasting the salt of her skin.
We move faster, urgent and demanding. The way her body responds to mine—it’s my undoing. Every gasp, every arch of her back, every time her nails dig into my shoulders, it’s all I can do not to lose myself completely.
“You feel like heaven,” I growl against her ear, my voice rough with need. My thumb finds that sensitive peak between her legs, circling slowly at first, then faster as her breath hitches. “So wet for me, Rhealyn. Always so ready.”
Her hips lift to meet my touch. “Vaylen—” My name is a plea on her lips, and it sends a surge of possessive satisfaction through me.
I drop to my knees before her, my hands gripping her thighs, spreading them wider. The scent of her arousal fills my senses, intoxicating as any battle lust. “I need to taste you,” I murmur, my breath hot against her inner thigh.
Her answer is a broken moan as my tongue replaces my thumb, tracing slow, deliberate circles.
She tastes like sweet ambrosia. Her fingers tangle in my hair again, holding me to her as I work her with my tongue, my lips.
The sounds she makes—soft whimpers, sharp gasps—they’re the most beautiful music I’ve ever heard.
When her thighs begin to tremble, I pull back just enough to murmur, “Come for me, love. Let me hear you.” Then I lap again.
She does, her body shuddering as she cries out my name. I don’t give her time to recover before I’m standing again, lifting her hips to meet mine as I enter her in one smooth thrust.
Her legs lift, driving me deeper. I capture her mouth with mine, swallowing her moans as we move together. The table groans beneath us, but I don’t care. Let it break. Let the whole fortress hear.
“You’re mine,” I growl between kisses, my hands gripping her hips possessively. “No matter what happens, no matter what we face, you’re mine, Rhealyn.”
Her answer is a fierce kiss, her tongue tangling with mine as her nails rake down my back. The pain only fuels the fire between us, and I lose myself in her completely.
Her fingernails dig into my shoulders, her body arching against mine as I drive into her with deliberate force. The table still creaks beneath us, but I don’t slow. Can’t slow. Not when she feels this perfect around me, so tight and hot, not when her breath comes in sharp gasps and her legs quiver.
“You like that, don’t you?” I growl, adjusting my angle, feeling her body tighten around me as I find that spot deep inside her. “You like when I fuck you like this. Hard, like you deserve.”
Her answer is a broken moan, her head falling back, exposing her jaw. I bury my face in her neck as I pound into her, each thrust deliberate, each one designed to make her feel every inch of me.
“Oh, Goddess!” A plea on her lips, and it sends a surge of animal satisfaction through me. I grip her hips harder, lifting her slightly to meet each thrust, driving deeper, deeper, deeper.
“Again,” I command, my voice rough with need. “I want to feel you come around me this time.”
Her body obeys, her muscles clenching tight as another climax tears through her. The raw sound she makes nearly undoes me. But I hold on, my control fraying as I chase my own release.
“Mine,” I growl, my thrusts growing erratic as pleasure coils tight in my gut. “You’re mine, Rhealyn.”
And then I’m lost, my release crashing over me like a storm. I bury myself deep, my body shuddering as I spill inside her, her name a prayer on my lips. For this moment, nothing else exists. No war, no duty, no secrets.
Just her. Just us. Just this.
I hold Rhealyn against me, her breath warm on my neck, her heart thundering against skin. Sweat cools on our skin in the night air filtering through the window. My fingers trace idle patterns on her bare back, following the curve of her spine. For this moment, we exist in perfect stillness.
Her voice breaks the silence, so soft I almost miss it.
“Vaylen.”
“Hmm.”
“I… I love you.”
The words strike me like lightning—unexpected, powerful, illuminating everything in a blinding flash. I pull back just enough to see her face, wondering if I conjured the confession from my own desperate wanting.
But there she is, looking up at me with those ferocious hazel eyes, vulnerability written across her features. The admission clearly cost her dearly, Rhealyn, who guards her heart more fiercely than any.
“What did you say?” I ask, needing to hear it again, to know I haven’t imagined it.
Her features pinch, that familiar defiance rising. “Don’t make me repeat it, Stormsong.”
A laugh escapes me—part joy, part relief so profound it leaves me lightheaded. “You love me.”
“Is that so difficult to believe?” A flush spreads across her cheeks, and she attempts to push away, embarrassed.
I hold her in place, refusing to let her retreat. “Yes.” I cup her face between my palms. “Because you fight it with every breath.”
The knowledge sinks into my bones, warming me from within. I’m not alone in this madness. The woman who trusts no one, who has spent a lifetime building barricades to keep others out, has let me behind her defenses.
“I feared…” I stop, suddenly reluctant to speak his name in this sacred moment.
“What?” she prompts.
“Tahranis.” The name tastes foul, like poison and hatred. “This phantom who lingers in your mind. I feared that perhaps...”
“That I belonged to him?” Her eyes flash. “I belong to no one.”
“Except Zephyros?” I suggest with a smile.
“Except Zephyros,” she agrees.
I press my forehead to hers. “And now, perhaps, to me. A little. As I belong to you.”
This jealous fear that haunts me—that she might be taken from me again, that the stranger she dreamed of might claim her—it doesn’t vanish, but it retreats. Love is no small thing. It is armor against uncertainty, a sword against my suspicion.
“I love you too, Rhealyn. Now and always.”
She kisses me then, not with the desperate passion of before, but with something deeper, something that tastes of promise.