Chapter 24
In the beginning, there was a white wolf, standing at the edge
of the world, snow in his fur, hunger in his bones.
There was a red flame too, burning where it should not,
alive in the dark, aching to be touched.
Between them stretched a long, unlit silence,
a darkness thick with things unspoken,
with rules, with grief, with teeth bared against want.
And still, desire found its way through.
It always does.
Because even the coldest night remembers what it is to burn.
Ituck myself tight against him, fingers buried deep in the thick fur at his neck, my cheek pressed into the warmth of his shoulder as he runs.
The forest rushes past us in a blur of shadow and silver.
Snow-laden branches sweep overhead, heavy with white, the world reduced to motion and breath and the powerful rhythm of his body beneath mine.
Each stride eats up the ground with effortless grace, his muscles bunching and releasing under my hands.
The wind tears at my hair, steals my breath, but I laugh anyway, the sound torn loose from my chest. The freedom of it is exhilarating. As if I am seeing the world with fresh eyes, inhaling it all for the first time. Lost in the beautiful wild.
We race through valleys, and up steep, winding paths, his paws striking rock and ice.
Pines give way to bare stone, the forest thinning as the climb grows higher.
The air changes as we rise, cleaner and thinner, but still he runs, tireless, relentless, as if he could run to the edge of time and back again without breaking a sweat.
I cling tighter as the slope steepens, my pulse pounding in time with his until at last, he slows.
The path narrows to a ledge carved into the mountainside, hidden from below by jagged rock and drifting snow. He leaps the final distance with ease, landing before the mouth of a cave half-veiled by ice and stone. The world beyond falls away, the height dizzying, the silence profound.
He lowers himself, allowing me to slide down from his back.
When I turn, the sight is beyond anything I could imagine. Anything my books could dream into reality.
The cave opens onto the sky itself. The snowstorm lies far below us now, the clouds stretched thin and torn, revealing the moon in its full, terrible beauty.
It hangs enormous and luminous above the peaks, bathing the mountains in silver light, blindingly bright and close enough that I feel I could reach out and touch it.
Luceran stands at the edge, the wolf outlined in moonlight, snow dusting his fur. He turns his head, and I know then that I have not been brought here by chance, but by intention.
Up here, above the winter, above the world, everything feels stripped bare.
There are no rules. No laws. No bargains. We are not Fae and human, but something far simpler. And as I stand beneath that impossible moon, with the Winter Lord at my side, I know, without doubt, that I will never see the world the same way again.
I do not want to.
I sit on the ledge, gazing upward, the moon spilling silver across the stone.
I hear Luceran’s steps behind me, then feel the cold press of his nose as it nudges my back.
His breath settles into a steady rhythm against me.
The low growl in his chest is almost a lullaby, one that makes my eyes flutter, that makes me want to surrender to the tremor of it.
He nudges me again.
I reach back, my fingers finding the strong line of his jaw, sinking into the thick fur there.
He responds by sniffing at my hair, inhaling my scent, his nose trailing along my skin, brushing my breast in a way that feels anything but accidental.
He is powerful, enormous, yet there is a gentleness to his touch that makes it hard to think straight.
That makes it hard to separate the wolf from the male within.
I close my eyes, both hands at his jaw now, fur warm and dense between my fingers as I tug, just slightly.
A shiver runs through me when I feel his tongue.
He drags it slowly along my throat, as if tasting me, as if claiming me.
And as I tighten my grip on his fur, I find myself wondering if the beast in him would devour me whole if given the chance.
The idea, dark and unthinkable, has heat flood me without warning, pooling deep in my stomach, lighting every nerve on fire.
When he nudges me again, urging me to lie back, I do.
He hovers over me as the cold air brushes my skin, frost curling from his body, colder still.
I bend my knees, and one powerful leg presses between them, widening me with quiet authority.
Then I feel his tongue again, rolling over the fabric of my clothes, tracing up my stomach and chest, leaving me writhing beneath him.
I am unsettled by the intensity of my want, and yet utterly unable to turn away from it.
My fingers bury deeper into his fur as he licks me again, lower this time, along my thigh, leaving goosebumps in its wake. He nudges my dress higher, pushing it up over my hips, and the cold bites sharply at my newly exposed skin.
And then, slowly, the fur beneath my hands gives way to silk-smooth skin.
The weight between my legs shifts, replaced by the press of his Fae body, stunning and bare, shimmering with a pearlescent sheen in the moonlight as he bears down on me.
The Winter Lord, no, the Winter King, no longer a beast and yet no less dangerous, claims my mouth as if it has always been his to take.
He kisses me slowly, deeply, his tongue sliding against mine, as if he is relearning me with every press of his mouth. There is nothing rushed in it now. Nothing feral. Just heat and intention and the ache of something finally allowed.
His weight settles more fully against me, the cold of his body as unforgiving as the stone beneath my back.
I feel him everywhere, at my hips, my thighs, the length of his cock pressed against me as he rubs it gently through the heat building between my legs.
The sensation is light, deliberate, exactly where it needs to be, and it makes my breath stutter.
Without thought, my fingers rush to tangle in his hair, gripping at the roots just as I did with the wolf’s ivory fur.
Luceran breaks the kiss only to rest his forehead against mine.
For a moment, he simply breathes with me.
His hands roam my sides, slow and reverent, as if memorizing the shape of me, as if this closeness is something he has denied himself for far too long.
He braces one hand beside my head. With the other, he undoes my shirt one button at a time, unhurried, spreading the fabric as he goes until my breasts are bare, my nipples peaked.
He takes the weight of one in his hand, kneading the flesh, his thumb rolling over my nipple until I bite down hard on my bottom lip.
Then he lowers his head, parts his lips, and groans softly as he takes my nipple into his mouth.
His tongue flicks. His teeth graze. He sucks so gently it makes me squirm beneath him, my legs fighting to clench back together, but he only nudges them wider with his own.
Luceran looks up at me, tongue still rolling over my nipple as his eyes meet mine, and heat floods my face.
“Do you like that?” he asks. “When I lick you there. Does it make you feel good?”
I can barely look at him, and I definitely cannot form words, so I murmur something and nod. His grin is slow and satisfied.
“I’m glad you like my tongue,” he says. “Because I’m going to lick every inch of your body before I’m done.
I’m going to kiss and lick and suck each of your nipples, and when I’m finished, I’m going to put my head between your legs and finally taste that scent that has been driving me mad since you first stepped into my throne room. ”
I gulp. “Throne room. You mean… you could smell…”
His laugh is rough and low. “Yes. I could smell you, even then. But it wasn’t until you laid naked beside me, when you touched my skin, when you rubbed yourself against my cock—”
“I didn’t,” I protest, still writhing as his thumb flicks my nipple again.
He groans. “Be quiet for once, Neve Devlin,” he says dismissively. “When you rubbed yourself against me, that is when your smell became fucking irresistible. Because that is when I knew, with absolute certainty, how badly you wanted me to fuck you.”
I go still beneath him.
“Tell me I’m wrong,” he says.
But I don’t turn away, even though the embarrassment makes my blood burn and my skin flush scarlet. I lift my chin and meet his gaze, fearless.
“You’re not wrong. That is what I want. So why don’t you be quiet for once and show me exactly why you brought me here?”
Now he is the one who freezes, the dark, humorless look on his face breaking into a stunned grin, almost proud.
“I am going to enjoy this, Neve Devlin,” he says. “You are like fire, and I would go willingly into the flames if it meant I could taste you just once.”
He rises, kisses me once more, then slides back down my body.
He does exactly what he promised, just as he described.
He takes each nipple into his mouth, licking and sucking with almost obsessive care, lavishing attention as though he draws as much pleasure from it as I do.
I grind against him without shame as the heat between my legs builds to something unbearable.
He lifts his thigh, pressing it firmly against my tender nerves, giving me just enough pressure to keep me right on the edge.
But I need more.
I need his head between my legs.
I need his tongue pressing hard against my clit.
“Luceran,” I murmur. “Please.”
He glances up at me, his eyes seeming to pulse with light as the runes inked across his chest flare blue.
He nods once, then moves lower, and I tangle my fingers in his hair as he goes, gathering the loose strands and knotting them in my fist. I don’t realize I’m guiding him, drawing his head exactly where the ache is tightest, pushing him deeper between my legs as my knees bend and widen.