Chapter Sixty-Seven
And Then, the Dawn
The vows were whispered. The gown was shed.
Nothing could stop the storm now.
Amerei pulled Viktor up the hillside, her laughter scattering like bells—bright, defiant, daring him to catch her. His pulse thundered with the chase, with the sight of her hair streaming wild in the twilight—his bride fleeing only so he could claim her again.
He caught her at the steps of the apothecary, his arm banding around her waist as he pinned her against the wooden arbor where they’d been wed.
Her breath broke into a giggle before melting into a gasp as he kissed her neck, again and again, until laughter became a sigh. His hand found hers, guiding her arms high above her head, holding her there as though the world itself couldn’t tear her from him.
“We’re married,” she whispered against his lips.
“We’re married,” he answered—the word burning like a vow reborn.
Her fingers threaded into his raven hair, tugging him down into a kiss spun from devotion but stolen by hunger.
His palm dragged over the silken white of her gown, skimming higher, pressing her thigh against his hip until she caught her breath. His gaze swept her—silk against leather, her heartbeat hammering through her body—before climbing back to drown in her eyes.
“You drive me mad, Amerei. I want you every waking moment.”
“I want you,” she whispered, kissing him like rain breaking on sun-baked stone.
Then, breathless: “Come…”
She twisted free, gown flashing like moonlight, and he barely caught her hand before she darted away, laughter ringing through the garden.
Mine. She’s mine.
With a growl that shook like thunder, he gave chase—through the herb beds, past the forge, over the stone path—every stride a vow to catch her, cage her, keep her.
At the castle doors, he lunged. His hands caught her hips, dragging her back against him. She gasped, half-laugh, half-plea, anticipation spilling from her lips as he tried to claim another kiss. But she twisted free again, skirts whipping, bolts of white across the stair.
From the second-floor veranda, she glanced back—eyes blazing, daring him. “Come to my chamber, High-Captain.”
His pulse hammered as he took the steps slow—devouring her with his gaze. Her gown slipped from one shoulder, baring skin he ached to touch. She waited, one hand braced at her waist, the other tucking a lock of hair behind her ear, knowing full well what it did to him.
He bent close, his breath brushing her throat, his lips grazing her ear.
“Wrong chamber,” he rasped. “I’ve been ordered to carry you over the threshold of mine.”
She shivered at the word.
Then her mouth found his—no longer playful but desperate. Their breaths tangled, wild and shallow. His hands slid beneath her, locking at her thighs as he swept her into his arms. He took the last flight two at a time.
His heart roared in his chest as his chamber door loomed ahead.
Every step over the veranda, aching, holy.
His bride lay in his arms, draped in white, claimed in every sense but this last. He slipped the braid from his dagger hilt and tied it over her wrist without breaking stride, his gaze locked on hers like a storm about to break.
He shouldered the door open. It slammed behind them. She trembled, her hand fisting in the collar of his tunic.
“Amerei…”
His mouth found hers—the sound of his breath ragged against her lips.
He tore himself back just far enough to rasp, “Don’t mistake me, love—I’ll wait if you ask it. But if you don’t…” His thumb traced her jaw. “I won’t last a heartbeat before I take you.”
Her eyes shone with warmth that steadied him even through the fever of wanting.
Was she—smiling?
“Would you… set me down for a moment?” she asked, trembling not with fear, but decision.
He obeyed, though his hands lingered at her waist as if letting go meant losing her.
She reached up, fingers brushing the silver crown on her head.
“I need to… unweave this.”
Then she drew her hair over one shoulder and turned, the line of her neck bared. “Will you untie my gown? Just the top?”
Viktor’s hands shook as he reached the ribbon at her nape, easing it loose. His fingers grazed her skin, and a shudder went through him so fierce he had to steady himself on the wall.
I want her. I don’t know how to stand here and not take her. Not lose myself completely in her. I’m fecking shaking.
“Thank you.” She drew in a breath. “Give me one moment.”
She stepped away, and his hands hovered where she had been. A heartbeat ago she was within his reach, pressed to his chest; now distance stretched between them like a wound.
He stripped off his tunic in a single pull, belt next, boots last. He didn’t reach for nightclothes—what madness would put linen between her skin and his? Not tonight. He stayed in his smallclothes, bare chest rising against the ache.
She’s in the next room. And she… stars help me, she might actually mean to come to me. Like that. As my wife.
He raked his hands through his hair, fists locking at his nape the way he once steadied his helm before battle.
She trusts me. If she falters—if she isn’t ready—I cannot break that trust.
He turned—and the world stopped.
There she was.
His bride.
Her gown lay pooled at her feet, a ripple of silken white. Torchlight caught the curve of her shoulder, her hair spilling down her back, her breath unsteady but unafraid. All that adorned her now was the amethyst at her throat, the sapphire glint at her navel, and her wedding band—his wedding band.
Her hair tumbled like something meant for his hands, framing her every breath, her every heartbeat.
And for one fractured moment, Viktor forgot how to breathe at all.
Mine. Dask—she’s mine.
His chest tightened, his blood roaring hot. He couldn’t just look—his body wouldn’t allow it. She was his. And she had never given herself to anyone.
He crossed the space in two strides, one hand cradling her face before sliding back, tangling in her hair, tilting her head just enough to bare her throat. His thumb swept the line of her jaw.
“Amerei…” His voice came low, ragged.
She stood before him, unflinching, her breasts rising with each uneven breath. Her eyes lifted, steady on his. Then she took his hand and pressed it over her heart, bare skin to bare skin, her pulse thundering against his palm.
“I’m not afraid anymore.”
The words detonated inside him.
His restraint burned to ash.
He seized her mouth in a kiss so deep it felt like claiming a vow with his tongue, his soul, his fire. His hands roamed lower, mapping every line, every curve of her body as though he had the right to memorize what no one else had ever touched.
She gasped against his lips—the sound sin and salvation—snapping something primal loose.
With one fierce motion he caught her thighs in his arms and lifted her as though she weighed nothing, crushing her chest to his. Her laugh broke on a cry when his strength stole her breath, when she felt just how badly he needed her.
He tore the sheets back with a desperate hand and lowered her onto the bed, his body following until she was caged beneath him—heat and muscle and hunger pressing in until her whole body quaked. His breath seared her lips, eyes dark and blazing.
“Tell me, Amerei,” he rasped, voice raw, unrestrained.
“Tell me you’re mine. Tell me you want me to ruin you.”
Her fingers clutched at his shoulders, dragging him closer.
“I want you, Viktor,” she panted, eyes fierce even through the tremor of her voice. “All of you. Only you.”
His mouth crashed back into hers—hungry, consuming, a claiming kiss that left no air between them. Every sound she made he drank like it was meant for him alone. She moaned against him, desperate, breaking what little control he had left.
When his lips tore away, they branded her skin—down her throat, across her collarbone—until he closed over the swell of her breast.
Her back arched, a cry spilling free, her fingers tangling in his braids to hold him there.
“Yes, Amerei,” he groaned, the words hoarse, wrecked.
“Every sound you make—I’ll take it as command. Every shiver, every cry—mine.”
His mouth lingered, tongue circling her in slow, coaxing strokes before flicking against her until her breath fractured into soft, uneven gasps.
“Do you hear yourself?” he rumbled, voice frayed with restraint.
His lips brushed her skin.
“That’s your body begging for me, Amerei—telling me how to touch you.”
Her eyes fluttered closed, a sob of pleasure catching in her throat, her body rising into his mouth as though she did command him closer.
He dragged his tongue in one last aching circle before releasing her with a groan, lips wet and shaking against her skin.
His mouth trailed kisses along her neck, breath hot, even as his hand slipped lower—gliding over her hip, then sliding between her thighs.
Her body jolted, instinct taut, but his murmur steadied her.
“Easy, love… I’ll never hurt you.”
His fingers brushed her, feather-light at first, then with careful pressure, and her gasp broke into a cry. Her thighs trembled, torn between closing tight around him and opening wider in surrender.
“Viktor…” she moaned, her hips arching to meet his touch, her voice breaking on his name.
A sound tore from him—half curse, half worship.
“Dask, look at you… opening for me. You’re ready for me, love—ready for all of me.”
Her breath caught, and when he pressed deeper she clung to him, gasping her answer through a nod—then words, soft but fierce:
“Take me, Viktor. I was always yours.”
He groaned, the sound ripped from his chest, his body strung taut on the knife-edge of control. His jaw locked, muscles shaking as if one careless motion might undo them both.
“Dask, Amerei…” His forehead touched hers, his voice a rough whisper. “You don’t know what you’re doing to me.”
His hand slid up to cradle her face.
“Take a deep breath,” he murmured, thumb brushing her cheek. “Now let it out slowly.”
She obeyed, chest rising against his, and he nearly broke.