Chapter 23 #2
My eyes widen. I whimper into his hand, grinding my teeth against his palm, and the dark grin that curves his mouth tells me exactly how much he enjoys it.
His lips return to my neck, kissing harder, faster, and I feel the scrape of his fangs.
It only intensifies the aching pleasure as his fingers dip in and out of me.
He groans. “I’ve missed that smell. So sweet. If I move my fingers faster, will that gorgeous scent get stronger? Tell me.”
But I can’t. Not just because his hand is still clamped over my mouth, but because I cannot form fucking words even if I tried.
Gods, I have never wanted anyone like this.
Never wanted anything so desperately as I want this male inside me, to feel the stretch of him, to see if my heat would devour him whole and chase away the last fragments of his cold.
To hear the way he would snarl my name into my skin as he fills me completely.
That is why I can barely believe it when I am the one who stops.
My chest heaves as I press my hand against his mouth and shake my head, every part of me screaming in protest even as I do it.
“What do you think you are doing?” he groans into my palm, pressing himself against me as if daring me to change my mind.
I grip his wrist, slowly dragging his hand away from my mouth, and he trails his fingers over my lips as I do.
“Not here,” I manage at last, breathless and shaking. “I want you to take your time with me. You can’t do that here.”
He scowls at first, his bottom lip pushing out like a petulant brat. Then, slowly, a feral grin spreads across his face, and I shiver when his canines slip free.
“You’re right, Neve Devlin,” he whispers. “You deserve hours of my undivided fucking attention.”
And even though it leaves me aching and throbbing, he lowers me back to the ground.
We straighten ourselves, and Luceran sweeps his hair back from his face.
“I barely recognize the castle. It should be enough to please House Taramethos.”
“Perhaps you could pause the snow,” I say. “Save us from having to dig it out again.”
He studies me for a moment. “Perhaps I can. Just for a little while.” His thumb trails along my jaw. “Just because you asked.”
“Who knows,” I say. “Maybe you’ll like it. Maybe you’ll want to end the winter altogether.”
It was meant lightly, almost teasing, and my brow furrows when he pulls his hand away, his arms falling to his sides.
“Maybe,” he replies, but I do not believe a word of it.
I know it in my bones, as surely as he does. The winter will never end.
He will not allow it.
“I should go,” he says, and the smile he leaves me with never reaches his eyes.
He turns and strides across the ballroom, lifting a hand toward the door. The doors that once took a handful of men to open part at his command, moved by nothing more than a rush of cold air.
I remain where I am, alone in the glittering silence of the ballroom, left with questions that settle heavy in my chest. About his past. About Aluna. About the truth of this winter that came with her death and never lifted.
And the hardest truth of all, the one I cannot escape, no matter how close we become, no matter how intimate.
Luceran Frostwyn will always keep part of himself locked away from me.
By the end of the day, after the repairs, the alterations, the cleaning, Frostwyn no longer feels abandoned or forgotten. It is a castle framed by winter now, not consumed by it. Not a frozen tundra, but something closer to an enchanted wonderland.
I do not know if Luceran approves.
He does not return for the rest of the day. I feel the conversation in the ballroom had something to do with that.
When the last of Lady Atilia’s court departs, their voices fading down the road, and the straggling miners hurry after the final wagon bound for the Aurevault, I close the doors and stretch long and slow.
My bones ache pleasantly, the deep, honest soreness that comes from a day of hard work.
I have never shied away from it. A good night’s sleep will set me right again.
The castle is close to ready for the banquet, though not finished. There is still the food to arrange. The wine. More staff will need to be brought in if the entire court of Taramethos is to be properly attended.
But that is a problem for tomorrow.
I turn toward the stairs and then stop.
A flash of white moves beyond the window.
At first it is difficult to make out the shape through the falling snow, but those eyes are unmistakable. Luceran paces the length of the verandah, back and forth, restless and watchful, not in his Fae form.
He is the wolf tonight.
Snow gathers along his pale fur as if he is a part of it. When his gaze lifts and locks onto mine, the intensity of it sends a sharp thrill through every nerve in my body. He does not need to speak.
I already know what he wants.
I move to the window, push open the verandah doors, and step out into the snow. The cold bites immediately, but I barely feel it. His breath fogs the air as I approach, heavy and slow. I reach out, my fingers sinking into the coarse white fur along his jaw, stroking him with quiet reverence.
He dips slightly, just enough.
I grip his fur and pull myself onto his back.
With a powerful rise, he stands, lifting his head to the sky, and his howl splits the night, long and fierce, echoing beneath the full moon struggling to shine through the veil of falling snow.
Then he runs.
Straight into the white, carrying me with him, the world blurring into motion and cold and freedom as Castle Frostwyn disappears behind us.