Chapter 28
Daed
The wind claws at our sails, snarling through the rigging as the sea rears and bucks beneath us. Lightning rips across the sky, blinding and crooked, followed by a thunderclap that shakes the bones of the ship.
There’s no doubt now. We’re close. Baev’kalath is calling us home.
And still, my wife torments me.
She let me touch her. Taste her. She let my mouth worship her body, my hands draw sounds from her that haunt me even now. But since then, nothing. No kiss. No release. Only the cruel seduction of her nearness. Her body brushing past mine. Her scent in every breath I take.
She is ruthless in her restraint, and I am unraveling beneath it. Gods help me, I never knew I could want someone like this.
Another bolt of lightning flashes, and this time, in the distance, I see them.
The craggy spires of Baev’kalath, rising like black teeth from the ocean.
The storm lashes harder as we near, as if the sea itself is trying to tear us away from our destination.
Waves crash against the hull, spilling over the deck in surging sheets. Rain comes sideways, pelting the wood and soaking through cloaks and skin. The Shattered Edge groans under the strain, her masts swaying, ropes creaking in protest.
“Shorten the sails!” I bellow over the roar. “Don’t give the wind more to tear.”
Reon and Orios sprint, slick with spray, yanking wet canvas down and binding it tight against the yards.
Zyphoro and Solena lash barrels to the rails so they won’t become rolling battering rams while I haul at the wheel.
It fights like an angry beast, trying to wrench from my grip whenever a wave strikes us broadside.
The ship bucks, corkscrews. Boards shriek. Another wave smashes across the deck, knee-deep and frigid, but the crew cling on, faces set, pulling lines tighter, hammering in fresh wedges, dumping water by the barrelful back into the roaring sea.
I plant both hands on the wheel. My shoulders burn, my palms slip, but I will not let the storm turn us aside. Not with home so close.
Amara is below deck with our daughter, under Ashen’s constant, watchful gaze. I can only hope they’re not being thrown around too violently down there until, of course, the gods decide to punish me further.
She appears.
Soaked through in seconds, rain clinging to her like silk, her hair plastered to her face, her jaw set like iron.
Exactly where I want her least.
Exactly where I want her most.
I bare my teeth. “Amara. Below. Now.”
She lifts her chin, blinking through the deluge. “I can help. What do you need?”
“I need you out of the damn way!” I snap. “Back to the cabin!”
But it’s like throwing kindling on fire. Her eyes flash, a wildfire glare that could cut through steel, and she charges straight into the chaos, heading for Zyphoro as she fights the ropes.
“Amara!” I roar again, but the storm swallows her name.
My canines lengthen.
“Orios!” I bellow, turning toward the mast.
He hears me. Even through the thunder and the scream of the wind. His wings burst from his back, feathers buffeted by the gale as he pushes into the sky, lands hard at the wheel, and folds them away with a crackle of rune-light and for a brief second I’m reminded of how much I miss my own wings.
“Hold her steady,” I bark. “Don’t let her veer.”
Orios nods and takes the wheel. I leap from the helm and charge across the slick deck. Water surges underfoot, thunder cracks overhead, and lightning casts her in stark flashes, head bowed, hands on rope, the line of her back tight with fury and defiance.
She doesn’t see me coming.
I grab her around the waist and lift her, furious and writhing, hauling her back toward the cabin. Her voice shrieks over the rain.
“Put me down, Daedalus! Right now!”
I don’t. I carry her as if she’s nothing.
“You’ll regret this, I swear it!” she screams, rage thick in her throat.
Still, I ignore her. She’s taught me well.
I kick the cabin door open and slam it behind us. Inside, the lanterns flicker wildly, casting half-shadows across the ink-stained table and swinging maps. I set her down hard. She’s still yelling, arms flailing, until she looks around and realizes we’re not in her quarters.
Her voice falters. “What is this? What are we doing here?”
And then she sees the look on my face.
Sees the way my eyes drag over her, every line, every soaked inch of her skin-tight gown, white fabric sheer now, clinging to her breasts, her curves, her thighs. Her nipples stand tight against the cold, and I feel my cock pulse beneath my leathers, already half undone.
She steps back toward the table, hands bracing on the edge, her breath catching.
“What are you doing?” she asks again, softer now, but not uncertain.
I say nothing.
Rain slicks over my skin as I rip my shirt open, the soaked fabric tearing under my hands.
The runes across my chest flare bright, light carving over hard muscle, tracing the ridges of my abdomen.
Water slides between each line, gathering at the sharp dip of my hips, where the deep V cuts down toward the buckle I shove open.
I fling the belt aside. Her gaze follows, hungry, drawn to the strength in my stomach, the carved hollows that frame every breath.
Power thrums beneath my skin, runes burning hot, alive, pulsing with restrained fire.
Then I see it, her rune, glowing softly at her throat, alive with heat and want. It calls to mine. It calls to me.
Her pulse jumps beneath the skin. That perfect throat. A vein begging for teeth.
I close the space between us in a single step, her breath hitching as I loom over her. She’s trembling, part fury, part anticipation. Her scent hits me like a punch to the gut, sweet and wild and storm-sharpened, and I don’t even try to fight it.
“Say something!” she yells, hair dripping into her mouth, eyes alight. “Daedalus, answer me!”
I grip the edge of the table behind her, caging her between my arms, my body pressing hers, my lips brushing her ear.
“I know I have a lifetime of wrongs to make up for,” I rasp, voice barely a whisper above the storm. “And I swear to every god still watching that I will earn your forgiveness.”
My hand slips down, anchoring her hips to mine. She gasps, arching.
“I will worship you as my queen.”
Her nails bite into my shoulders.
“But right now?” I growl, mouth grazing the shell of her ear. “Right now, I need to fuck my wife.”
She trembles beneath me, her chest heaving. Her glare hasn’t dulled, but her breath has changed, faster now, sharper. Anticipation and fury colliding in her eyes.
But then she lunges for me, her mouth crashing against mine.
She gasps into the kiss, and I take it, drinking her in.
My hand grips her chin, holding her mouth to mine, while my other hand roams down, gripping her hips, dragging her soaked body flush against mine.
Her thighs part around me instinctively, and I lift her onto the table in one swift motion.
My fingers slide up under the clinging fabric of her gown, dragging it over her hips and baring her to me. She shudders when my hands find her. Hot, slick, already aching for me.
“Daedalus,” she breathes, voice trembling on the edge of desperation.
“I told you,” I mutter against her throat, “I need you.”
Then I drop to my knees.
She stiffens in surprise, her hands bracing on the table behind her.
But I hook one of her thighs over my shoulder, spreading her open with a firm grip as I drag my mouth along her inner thigh.
Her breath catches when I kiss just beside where she wants me, and again when my tongue finally finds her, slow at first, savoring every taste, every twitch of her hips.
She lets out a strangled sound, thighs trembling around my head, her hands darting into my hair and fisting tight.
I groan into her, the sound vibrating against her, and her hips buck in response.
I lick her again, firmer, deeper, letting her ride the rhythm of my tongue until she’s writhing, panting, muttering broken curses in a voice I barely recognize.
Her gown slips down her chest, baring one breast, and I reach up to cup it, thumb brushing over the hardened peak while I fuck her with my mouth like I’m starving.
Her cries rise higher with every flick of my tongue, her whole body clenching, desperate and close.
“Daedalus,” she gasps, breath hitching.
I look up, lips slick with her, and rasp, “Cum for me.”
She does.
Her thighs clamp tight, her back arches, and she cries out my name like a prayer as she breaks apart against my mouth.
I stand, catching her before she can slump fully back, and kiss her, messy, possessive, letting her taste herself on my tongue.
She’s still trembling when her hands slide down, fingers deft and hungry, pushing at the edge of my trousers.
When she finally frees me, her hand wraps around my cock, her fingers damp and chilled by rain, but the heat steaming off me warms them almost immediately.
I grunt, hips twitching in response, but she doesn’t rush.
She strokes me with a teasing rhythm, slow at first, gliding from base to tip, her thumb brushing over the head with maddening lightness.
My breath hitches when she tightens her grip just slightly, dragging her fist back down.
“You’re going to make me lose my mind,” I rasp, jaw clenched as I fight to stay still, to let her touch me like this.
Her eyes gleam with something wicked and knowing. “Good.”
She strokes me again, longer this time, firmer, twisting her wrist at the end in a way that makes me groan low and dangerous. My hand finds her hip, fingers digging in, but still I wait. She leans in, brushing her lips against mine as her hand works me, wet and slick and mercilessly slow.
“You’re so hard,” she whispers. “All for me.”
“All for you,” I growl. “Always.”