CHAPTER 59 Wren
Wren
‘No crown rests upon a faultless head’
– The Midrealms Chronicles
brAZIERS AND THICK tallow candles illuminated the inside of the war camp armoury, and the bare, muscular shoulders bunching with each strike of the hammer within.
Wren stood at the entrance of the large canvas tent, watching her Warsword mend a shield, rivulets of perspiration running down the broad expanse of his back.
Strength poured from him; she could feel it down the bond, thrumming alongside her storm magic.
‘What are you doing here, Embers?’ Torj’s voice was a sultry promise, and yet he didn’t turn around. She could sense the self-blame roiling in him.
‘Looking for my husband.’ Wren took another step inside, dismissing the guards behind her with a nod as the flap dropped closed. It smelled of leather and steel, of smoke and oil. It smelled of him – of belonging.
‘I’m sorry.’ He struck another dent from the shield. ‘I didn’t mean . . . I’m sorry for what I’ve cost you.’
‘You cost me nothing I wasn’t willing to give, nothing I hadn’t already set in motion myself.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I was done with that lie the moment you became my husband aboard that ship.’
He blinked at her. ‘What about Darian? The resources? The allies?’
‘It was never about that, and you know it. It was always about saving your life, about buying time to find out more about the poison inside you. Lucian—’ The name made her flinch, even after scrubbing the imprint of his hands from her skin. She sighed. ‘I don’t want to talk about him right now.’
For a moment, she said nothing, simply admiring how Torj worked – the confident swing of the blacksmith’s hammer; the meticulous shifting of the shield, ensuring it yielded back into the correct shape.
Locks of the Bear Slayer’s silver hair had come loose and fell into his eyes as he moved.
Wren drank in the sight of him as she circled the bench, her gaze dipping to the hard line of his mouth, the sculpted ridges of his tattooed chest.
Warsword. Bear Slayer. Lightning-kissed.
Husband.
At last, he looked up and caught her staring. ‘Keep looking at me like that, and the forge won’t be the only fire in here . . .’
Wren felt the bond hum between them, a living connection that seemed to answer the yearning of her own body. She watched as Torj set down the hammer and moved the shield aside, and without thinking, she closed the gap between them.
The Bear Slayer tensed. ‘What are you doing?’
Wren reached for him, trailing a finger from the hollow of his throat down through the perspiration on his chest, and lower still. She traced a line down his chiselled abdomen, between the grooves that pointed below the laces of his leathers. Gods, he was everything.
‘Wren . . .’ Torj’s chest rose and fell with each breath. ‘There are people right outside. What are you doing?’
Wren hopped up on the bench before him, opening her legs so he could stand between them as she whispered the words against his lips.
‘Taking what’s mine.’
And then she kissed him.
Torj moaned as her lips closed over his, the sound deep and guttural.
His mouth moved against hers, hot and heady and demanding, as though he were starved for her.
Wren was all too willing to give him exactly what he needed.
She gasped as his tongue swept inside and his hand found her throat, applying just the right amount of pressure there.
Power and heat radiated from him, his touch searing her as he claimed her with deep, smouldering kisses that she could feel in her very bones.
‘Gods, I’ve missed you,’ he murmured against her lips, and she felt the pain of his words echo in her chest.
‘I’ve missed you too.’ Her voice wavered as a rush of anguish caught her off guard. Ignoring the tears stinging her eyes, Wren dragged her nails down the hard planes of Torj’s chest, wanting to mark him, wanting the world to know he was hers.
The Bear Slayer hissed at the sting, his nipples hardening beneath her touch, but only kissed her more fiercely for it.
‘I need you,’ Wren panted.
He squeezed her breasts through her shirt, and she arched into him. ‘You have me,’ he told her hoarsely. ‘All of me. For as long as I draw breath, Embers. And I have you, wife.’
‘Then show me, Bear Slayer. Show me who I belong to.’
His hands were at the laces of her leathers then, tearing the knots apart and ripping the material down her legs. Torj dropped to his knees before her and spread her thighs wide.
‘Perfect,’ he muttered, running his thumb down her centre. ‘Fucking perfect.’
Then, his mouth closed over her.
‘Fuck,’ Wren cried out as Torj sucked on her clit.
She grabbed his hair by the roots, and he made a noise of approval against her, the vibration making her toes curl.
His tongue pushed inside her, only to be replaced by his fingers as he lapped at her, coaxing that addictive build-up of pressure, sending spirals of need rippling through her body.
She watched the tapered muscles of his back shift as he worked her, that powerful body kneeling at the altar of her pleasure. It was almost too much to bear. It was too much to bear.
‘Now, Torj . . . I need your cock now,’ she managed as he teased her with his fingers.
He stood, his dark gaze hungry as he ripped open her shirt and bared her breasts. ‘Need to see all of you,’ he gritted out, his hands at the laces of his own leathers. ‘Need to see my wife.’
Wren pushed his hands aside and undid the laces with deft fingers, freeing the hard length of him, her mouth going dry at the sight. The bench put her at the perfect height, and she positioned him at her entrance.
But the Warsword had other ideas. He rubbed the head of his cock through her wetness, teasing her clit again, coaxing desperate whimpers from her. She bucked her hips, trying to gain more friction, but he kept his touches featherlight, smiling wickedly as she felt herself coil tighter and tighter.
‘You’ve driven me crazy these past few weeks,’ he rasped, sliding against her and grabbing her backside hard enough to bruise. ‘This ass has been tempting me to no end.’
‘Are you going to do something about it?’ Wren bit the side of his neck before sucking the skin there, dragging a moan from the back of his throat. ‘Are you going to do what you showed me when we went through the mountain pass?’ The thought of him touching her there made her breath catch.
‘Not today, Embers. I want to take my time. Today is for fucking hard and fast.’
‘So fuck me hard and fast then.’
‘Is that a queen’s command?’ he teased, still rubbing her clit with his length. ‘Perhaps I should just give you the tip . . .’
Wren bucked her hips in silent demand.
Smiling against her lips, Torj pressed the head of his cock inside her and stilled.
‘Torj,’ she moaned.
And then he thrust, hard, filling her to the hilt.
A sob of relief broke from her as the sensation overwhelmed her, and she clung to Torj as he began to fuck her in earnest. With every drive of his hips, she clenched around him, the force of him all-consuming. The shield he’d been fixing clattered to the ground and the table rattled beneath her.
‘Furies save me,’ she cried out as he hit that spot deep inside that set her alight.
Every stroke was a brutal claiming, a declaration. ‘No gods here, Embers,’ he growled, reaching between their sweat-slicked bodies. ‘And I’m not going to save you. I’m going to ruin you.’
As the rough words left his lips, his fingers found her clit.
Wren shattered.
For a moment, her vision went white, and she thought her heart might burst right out of her chest. Torj kept fucking her as the waves of her climax washed over her, causing her to shudder against him.
‘Torj,’ she breathed into the crook of his neck.
‘Husband.’ He ground out the correction. ‘I’m.’ Thrust. ‘Your.’ Thrust. ‘Husband.’ Thrust. ‘Tell me, wife. I need to hear you say the words. Who do you belong to?’
‘You. Always you.’ Tears stung her eyes. He tasted of home, of hope, of everything she had always wanted. ‘I—’
‘I know, Embers,’ he murmured against her lips. ‘I know. I love you too.’
His words washed over her, their pleasure entwining down the bond, the force of that ancient magic fusing together, dancing in gold across their skin.
And then he followed her over the edge, spilling inside her with a shout and a rumbling moan.
Wren kept clinging to him, vowing that she’d never let him go.