Chapter 23 Bryony
brYONY
THE RHYTHMIC THUD of blades hitting their marks greets me when I enter the Wolf’s armory.
My breath catches. He’s shirtless, muscles rippling as he launches a dagger into one of the straw targets lined up on the other side of the room.
The warm glow of the illumination sigils on the walls dances across his wings and sweat-dappled skin.
He runs a hand through his damp hair and sights the target. Inhales. Releases.
Thunk. The weapons group so closely together that the hilts almost touch.
“Hey,” I say, leaning against the door.
He glances over. Those eyes flick over my body in a slow sweep, taking in my belted silk robe, my hair still wet from the bath. “I see you managed not to shred yourself on the roses again.” He lets another blade fly. “Progress.”
“The roses and I came to an understanding.” I cross to the weapon racks, running a finger down one of the stiletto blades. “I want to talk about the knives.”
He drops into a chair, legs stretching. I can’t help but let my gaze linger on the way his muscles shift with the movement, on the trail of dark hair disappearing into his waistband, and the graceful V-shaped ridges on his torso. That sweet, subtle curve emphasized by light and shadow.
“Let me work my magic on today’s battle trophies first, and let’s see if you can convince me about those weapons,” he says, patting his thigh.
I’ve lost count of how many nights we’ve done this.
These healing sessions have become a sort of ritual, simmering with the unspoken thing between us.
He likes it, I think. The way I lower myself onto him, letting my body sink into his, slow and steady.
That I’m too stubborn to beg for the pleasure he offers each time.
It’s just another game we play. But tonight, I want to throw him off-balance. I want my victory.
So I go to him. I lift the hem of my robe and straddle his lap, pressing my knees to his hips.
His scent envelops me—sweat, smoke, a hint of spice.
The Wolf’s palm presses into my lower back, pulling me close until I’m right up against the rise and fall of his chest. His warmth seeps through my silk robe, and it takes everything in me not to grind against him to relieve the ache between my thighs.
His other hand finds my bare knee, igniting sparks as he drags his touch up, up, up along my inner thigh, and then down. Grazing. Teasing. When his power finally reaches for me, I sigh. It sinks deep and searches for today’s damage—cuts, bruises, breaks, tears. And I want. Fiercely. Uselessly.
Every touch carries a different meaning.
The grasp of his fingers is, let me undress you.
The slow drag of his magic is, I could make you feel so good.
And every so often, his eyes lift to mine in a silent message I hear with every panting breath: let me have you.
He’d do it so well, too. He’d shatter me apart, then put me back together again, shiny and new.
But that’s not what tonight is about. So I grit my teeth, lock my muscles, and swallow down the moans building in my throat. Bit by bit, he heals me, soothing away every ache and pain until my skin is unmarked again.
“One of these days,” he whispers, “you’re going to stay right here after I fix you up, and I’m going to make you forget every reason you shouldn’t let me have you.”
“But not today,” I say.
“No,” he agrees. “Not today.” He sits back, his power retreating as his hands fall away. “Make your case.”
“You told me to earn the daggers. I want to compete with you for them.”
Those amber eyes flare with interest. “I’m listening.”
Got him.
“Three shots each at the target. Whoever hits closest to the center three times in a row wins.”
“You want to challenge a god to knife-throwing,” he says flatly. “An Eternal who’s been training for centuries. Just to be clear.”
“If I beat you,” I continue as if he hadn’t spoken, “you give me the other two daggers. And you let me draw first blood when you come to hunt me in Vartena.”
“And when you lose, what do I get out of it? A free show and a chance to gloat?”
When, not if. His arrogance would be infuriating if it weren’t exactly what I was counting on.
I smile and lean back, resting my hands on his thighs. “If I lose our wager, you can do anything you want to me. Tonight only.”
He goes still, gaze darkening as it drags over me, the amber irises nearly swallowed by black. The Wolf, for all his power and cruelty, is still just a male—so easy.
“Anything?” His voice is a low rasp.
Good. Let him be hungry. Let him starve.
“Anything. No restrictions, no safe words. Deal?”
His chest rises and falls faster, hands flexing on my hips.
“This feels like you’re angling to fail on purpose.
” His fingers glide down my stomach, slow and teasing.
“Poor little nemesis, have you been lying in bed with your hand between your thighs, wondering how I would feel instead? Is that what this is about? Because you don’t have to lose a contest to get me inside you—”
I seize his wrist, so close to where I’m wet and aching. “Win tonight, and you can lower this hand another inch.”
The corner of his mouth twitches. “Only an inch?”
“Maybe two, if you’re nice.”
He tilts his head, studying me like he’s trying to figure me out. “You know I could probably hit those targets blindfolded, right?”
“Then prove it. We’ll blindfold you.”
“Hmm.” He grazes his other palm up my side. “When I win—”
“If.”
“When I win,” he says, fingers digging in, “I’m going to use this body.
Fuck it however many times I want. And by the time I’m done, the only name you’ll remember is mine, and all the ways I can make you scream it.
” He leans forward, dragging his lips down my jaw, whispering, “Maybe I’ll even let you come if you beg real sweet. ”
The promise in his voice makes my thighs clench. But I force myself to slide out of his lap and pluck a scrap of fabric from the wastebasket beside the weapon rack—some old rag he uses to clean his knives. The Wolf tracks my movements as I tie it over his eyes, careful not to catch on his hair.
“Whenever you’re ready,” I say, pressing a dagger into his palm.
He stands, testing the weapon’s balance. Then he takes a deep breath and throws. The blade streaks through the air, hitting the center of the farthest target. I hand him another blade, another, watching that cocky smirk grow as each weapon hits its mark.
Yanking off the blindfold, he flashes me a sharp grin. “Top that. If you can.”
I brush past him, letting my shoulder graze his chest. He sucks in a sharp breath and a thrill goes through me—anticipation.
“You know what I love about wagers?” I peruse the weapons cabinet, fingers trailing over hilts and blades.
“It’s all in the details. The precise words.
The parameters. In our agreement, I never specified the type of weapon we had to use.
Only that it had to hit closest to the center. ”
I see the instant it clicks. His eyes sharpen and fix on my hand as it closes around the recurve bow mounted on the wall.
“One of the benefits of growing up in Hellevig,” I continue, testing the draw, the tension, “is that all noblewomen are trained in the ‘genteel’ arts. Painting, pianoforte…” My smile sharpens. “Archery.”
He growls as I nock the first arrow, imagining it’s his heart I’m aiming at. I draw back until the fletching grazes my cheek, breathing in. Shifting my aim just slightly. Exhale…
And release.
The arrow hits the leftmost target. Bullseye.
The Wolf’s hand clenches at his side, the barest tell.
“Seems those ‘genteel’ arts paid off,” I say mildly. “One down. Let’s up the stakes.”
I lower the bow, reaching for my robe’s sash.
The silk whispers as it falls to the floor.
The Wolf’s eyes flare, taking in the black lace and silk nightgown.
Sheer mesh clings to my breasts and hips, hiding absolutely nothing.
There’s naked… and then there’s this. Bait dangled on a hook to tempt a monster.
“What the fuck are you doing?” His voice is a low rasp.
“What’s it look like? You said to surprise you if I wanted the full set of knives.
” I run a hand down my side, smiling as he tracks the movement.
A muscle flickers in his jaw. “So consider this a thank you for the present. You did get this for me, didn’t you?
It came in my clothing bundle last month. ”
I slide my finger over the delicate lace barely covering my nipple. A harsh breath leaves him. He says something under his breath that sounds like a curse.
“Tell me something,” I say, reaching for the second arrow. “When you brought home this nightgown, what were you thinking about? Me wearing it?” I slant him a look as I nock the arrow and draw it back. “Or were you too busy imagining all the ways you’d get me out of it?”
The arrow buries itself in the target, right next to the first. Dead center.
I grin. “Two for two. Sure you don’t want to just give up?”
He’s so still, every muscle tense and ready to lunge. To grab. There’s no concealing the hunger in his expression, as if he’s thinking up all the ways he’ll dominate me, claim me, make me his.
But I’m not done yet.
I spin the third arrow between my fingers. “No? Okay then, one last question. In these fantasies of yours, did you take your time undressing me, or did you just bend me over and fuck me in it?”
His chest heaves, hands flexing at his sides. I have the Wolf right where I want him, and this power is dizzying. It’s depraved how much I want him on his knees for me. At my mercy for once.
“You really want to know?” he asks roughly.
“I really want to win,” I reply with a slow grin.
And maybe torture him a bit. Payback for all the nights he’d left me aching after those healing sessions.