Chapter 17
T here were good ideas, bad ideas, and really fucking bad ideas.
Clara’s warm lips pressed against Bronze’s fell somewhere in the realm of all three. Likewise, the kiss brushed over him in a measure that was just as tremulous. The good: a warm, answering tenderness that was sweeter than any confection. The bad: an urgency that lurked beneath her searching lips, reminding him of who she was, where they were, and exactly what was at stake. And then the very bad: his hand was trapped between her mounded breasts, and the threadbare hope he had of limping out of that room without disappointing either of them was quickly unraveling.
But by the mages, her mouth! Kisses weren’t meant to be like this. They were meant to be raw, eager, demanding, a precursor to the baser instincts of what two bodies needed. Sure, there could be tenderness to start, but it was always— should always—be fleeting. An appetizer before the main course. Soup before salad. Drinks before dessert.
They weren’t supposed to be fucking perfect.
The sweet pressure of their kiss shifted as Clara angled her head slightly before resuming her clinging rhythm, and boy, did that make him smile. She was a curious one, his little lycan. And judging by the rhythm she soon adopted, a damn quick study. With his free hand, he held her to him, fully aware he was indulging in more of her intoxicating pull as well as his own deception.
Outside of his brothers, no one still breathing knew of Malik, and even fewer knew of Bronze’s pact regarding Polina. No matter how many years had gone by and no matter how many realms he’d traveled through, time did jack shit to ease the memories of his best friend’s body draped across Bronze’s lap as the light left the male’s soul.
Malik. Fucking Malik , who’d been stacked like a mountain and weighed twice as much, had been felled to no heavier than the weight of Bronze’s halberd once the charmers had shorn off his wings and stripped him of his battle skin, weapons, and anything that might be worth bringing back to Cyro.
It was by some miracle that the male had even had breath to speak the plea that Bronze had been powerless to ignore.
Bond with Polina. No matter what happens, she’ll be safe with a sentinel. You must do this, brother. For me.
At the time, Bronze had been so wrought with agony that he’d have given his own wings, his powers, if Malik would have asked for them, if they would have stuffed the leaking light of Malik’s soul back into his shredded body.
Interesting thing about death, though. It didn’t matter what side of the coin you rubbed for luck. That midnight train ride came for you regardless, and it was never late.
So, the oath had left his lips in the same slow trickle that Malik’s blood flowed out of him. A few searing pulses later, the tattoo had been branded onto his chest, sealing his fate. And then the Sealing had done the rest.
He’d done nothing but spin out of control ever since.
Until Clara, who he’d known for such a short time, had the absolute gall to nearly get herself killed so he might have the privilege of rescuing her.
He tightened his arm around her and moaned into her sweet mouth when her exploring fingers skimmed over his goatee. The delicate scratches and smooth whorls of her fingertips along his jaw and beneath his chin were far more than the rhythmic delights of a curious lover.
Her touch was a balm to his ravaged soul, and if he had any honor left in him, he’d gently push her away and lay himself bare. Tell her everything. About the relic. Polina. How he absolutely fucking hated the idea of mating her in ceremony only, when his fire roared with an instinct to claim her as far more.
But any honor he’d once had was still sealed off somewhere in the Empyrean, waiting for him to return and fulfill the eternal oath he’d made to a fallen brother.
No. Whatever indulgences he’d grant himself a taste of would be just that, and only what she freely offered. If she needed a male, a mate in name and appearance only to see her through what lay ahead, he could be that for her but never more.
That was all he could ever permit this to be.
When Bronze’s hand caressed Clara’s back and pulled her closer, a wave of relief rushed through her limbs, and she settled the rest of her weight against him.
God, she’d wanted to touch him. Even bloody and bandaged as he was, she didn’t think any amount of gore could fully detract from all the glorious strength on display.
Strength he was now wrapping around her.
She sank further into the pull of his mouth, reveling in the salty seduction of him. By the Moon Mother, he smelled exquisite, and her wolf whined in rapt agreement, causing her heart to make requests of her body on her behalf. Curious, oh so tempted, and with a desire spurred on by her lycan nature, she darted her tongue out.
When he didn’t pull away and answered with a muffled moan and a sweeping greedy kiss of his own, her body thrilled at the connection. Dark heat pooled between her legs and was only made worse by the constriction of her leather trousers.
If only all of her spontaneity in life had been rewarded in such manners, instead of spurned. Her path up until then had been as rigid as bone, with no way out, no hope for change or choice or chances.
Until Bronze had said yes. It was a vote that had never been cast in her favor on a ballot before and one she wasn’t entirely sure how to secure. Were there limits to his role in this ruse? To his affection?
Oh, hell, did she really care if he kissed her like that and didn’t laugh at her when she finally mustered the strength to try and stand on legs that had never been used before?
He was a mate in every sense of the word. A true leader who would inspire males to follow him and people to rise up for him.
And for the moment, he was hers.
The realization made her grip his hand tighter against her aching breasts, which had begun to strain against the laces of her blouse. What would be if she loosened them?
What would be if she asked him to do it instead?
As soon as the thought materialized in her mind, it skittered away on a sharp breath. Bronze moved his hand, the very hand she had been secretly willing to enlist into action. Simmering need shot through her, tightening every nerve ending that came into contact with his skin, and many that didn’t but still sought him out like a flower to the sun.
Surely he would touch her now. Just give one light tug on her laces and alleviate some of the pressure against her already full heart.
His hand retreated, and the disappointment was the kindest no thank you she’d ever experienced in her life. As clear a refusal as there’d ever been. A gentle reminder of their arrangement.
Then that strong hand returned and positioned so it could intertwine with hers perfectly.
“Clara,” he murmured against her mouth, then dragged her name in a sweet trail until his kiss stowed it safely beneath her ear.
She’d never heard her name spoken in such a way. Like it was necessary and elementally vital. Like the way her wolf needed meat or her lungs needed air. The sensation was almost as dizzying as the tortured tingles left in the wake of Bronze’s mouth.
“What do you need, my lady?”
What did she need? How the heck should she know? The past few days had been a giant exercise in step first, think later. But something was taunting her, dragging her attention toward sensations she had no frame of reference for . . .
“I . . . I don’t . . .”
“You don’t need or you don’t know?”
Oh, holy hell. Who was she kidding? She needed, all right. Her whole body was a firework of demands that had exploded every which way. But how could she possibly pick a route? She was like a log adrift, bobbing toward a waterfall she couldn’t see the bottom of.
“I don’t know,” she breathed.
Her doubt was lost on another scorching kiss as he wrenched her beneath him and stretched their clasped hands above her. Bronze was everywhere at once. His scent, his heat, his damnable mouth. He gave her no opportunity to think, which she supposed was part of the point.
Who the hell would want to waste an iota of time thinking when there was so much to feel? And who knew how much longer he’d indulge her? Time was a fleeting factor for both of them.
Then her sharp resolve snapped into focus, chasing the chaos from her mind like an unruly pack of pups.
She knew exactly what she wanted.
Clara tugged on her hand, directing it southward until it reached the laces binding her breasts. His sentinel’s eyes grew darker, giving a wicked contrast to the citrine sparks that hungrily flashed. Then she looped his index finger beneath a single lace.
And waited.
And waited.
Please.
The rip rang out overloud in the spacious medical suite, and the white linen flaps of her blouse parted, exposing her bare breasts. She only had a moment of cool air kissing her nipples before his mouth warmed one chilly peak while his strong warrior’s palm possessively gripped the other.
“Perfect. So fucking perfect, princess.”
Her hands were now free, but the blanket beneath her wasn’t. With each swipe of his tongue and pump of his hand against her newly exposed flesh, she clenched that cotton as if it were a life preserver and she were an unmoored vessel in a storm-tossed ocean.
The relief was short-lived, however, and soon, she was gripping anything she could to make the aching parts of the rest of her ease. Shoulders, biceps, strong hips. She’d have torn out a chunk of the stone wall if he hadn’t caught up her hands and settled them on the sides of his waist.
Did the male have a death wish? Surely, she would rip out whole parts of him if he kept this up. Weren’t his kidneys not far from her fingers?
But she got the sense there was something more she should be seeking. Something else she should be asking for.
Instinctively, she curled her fingers into the waistband of his khakis and tugged.
The maneuver pulled his mouth and hand free of her breasts and miraculously, as if his head was tied to a string connected to her searching fingers, lured him lower down her stomach. What a thrill to have such power over a male! Even more thrilling, she learned, was the delectable breadcrumbs trail he left of soft, insistent kisses on top of her blouse covering her abdomen, as if he was worried about losing his way back to her breasts.
Impossible, but who was she to argue?
But oh God, the ache! She squirmed, near to thrashing. It was a panic of a different sort and not one she’d ever experienced. She’d had a lover or two before, though more to satisfy her curiosity than anything else. Her trysts had been short, sweaty, and over long before any sort of enjoyment had been achieved on her part.
None had been like this. Never like this.
“I know, princess,” he said. Then, right when his lips were millimeters away from the laces of her trousers, he levered his head up and asked, “Permit me?”
“Permit you to do what?”
That self-satisfied smirk returned just for her. “To make you feel better.”
Oh, hell. She was all in for it now, wasn’t she? Her spontaneity had set up shop, and it had no intention of moving until it was satisfied.
Until she was satisfied.
“Yes,” she gasped. “I permit you.”
If she’d known how fast an injured angel could move, she’d have chosen her words more carefully. No sooner had the final word left her tongue than his hands had shoved her trousers down to her thighs. If her heart had thought itself a wild mare who had broken free before, it had nothing on what the sight of Bronze’s mouth descending to her core would do to it.
Mumbles came next, or perhaps sighs. More gasping, for sure, though her brain hadn’t the appropriate span of higher reasoning in that moment to discern between them. All she could focus on was the brush of Bronze’s goatee against her inner thighs and the passionate placement of tender kisses in a place that she didn’t even think could process tenderness.
She trembled further at his touch, both at the lapping of his lips and the passionate, masterful presses of his palm, which had found its way back to her breasts. And then the helplessness set in as a foreign wave of pleasure bumped further against her shores.
“Bronze,” she whimpered. “What’s happening? What are you doing to me?”
“Pleasing you,” he said against her core as he gripped her on either side of her rib cage and slid her down farther to him, exposing more of her to his mouth.
Farther toward an exquisite feeling and what she irrevocably knew would be a total and complete loss of control.
Heat blazed like fire over her skin, claiming her body in a searing tsunami that assaulted every available sense. A cry erupted. Was that her voice? The trill shattered whatever logic she thought she possessed into fleeting specks of starlight across an eternal universe. Energy whipped her left and right, in sync with Bronze’s slowing tongue and careful calmness. And just when she didn’t think her body had any more aftershocks left in it, a final swipe and secret kiss pulled one last greedy jerk out of her.
She had no control over what happened next. No inkling of what it would mean for her skin to scatter from her flesh and reassemble in the warm embrace of a male who murmured light hushes up her thighs and still tracked reassuring tender kisses across her quivering abdomen. Her breaths barely had a chance to return to a steady rhythm before he placed a parting kiss over her navel and covered her with a blanket.
Then, strangely, he settled in beside her, tucking her against his warm chest but still cradling her face away from him slightly. “One day, princess, we’re going to finally have a discussion about the lack of lights and electricity here because it’s absolutely killing me that I can’t see you the way I want to right now.”
“Electricity?” Oh, that’s right. Before he nearly sent her to the Moon Mother herself, he had mentioned something about that, hadn’t he? “You’re correct. There’s no electricity here. Certain things don’t?—”
Heavy footsteps pounded through the hall outside their suite. “Lady? Are you down here?”
Shit! Clara turned, forced her hands over Bronze’s mouth, and held him as still as she could.
“No sign of her,” muttered a frustrated male, whose worried tenor tones alerted her as belonging to Pascal. “I’ll search the gardens, then. Broderick, talk to the housekeeper and have the staff see to it that Lord Raff’s rooms are ready.”
“Sir? But he’s not due until tomorrow.”
Cold dread turned Clara’s already misted skin clammier.
“The lord will be arriving earlier than expected, I’m afraid. A messenger just informed the king that he’ll be here within the hour.”