Excerpt from Of Claim and Throne
“No! You son of a spitting eel.” I squint, my vision tottering when I peer too closely at the stone pebbles positioned inside their square grids across the game board.
My five white against his sixteen black.
Blasted orc!
“That was my last dux. Oh, War Master, you will pay dearly for this affront.”
Gauron’s tantalizing lips curl into an amused smile.
He has worn the same smirk since it became painfully apparent I have no affinity for rullestein.
This game has always vexed me. Confident and relaxed, he watches me with a predator’s eye, his masculine hands draped between meaty thighs, waiting patiently for my next move.
I abhor defeat, but if losing garners me that smile, I may never strive to win again.
This carefree state transforms him into a heartbreakingly beautiful male.
Even the brutal scar slicing his cheek cannot detract from his looks.
Instead, it adds a layer of depth to the hard angles of his face, heightening the effect of his amber eyes and the devastating appeal of that sinful, sinful mouth.
Yes, it is a face worthy of heartbreak, including mine.
Moons above, is it hot in here?
I tug at the tunic’s neckline and slide my pawn forward. Surely the spirits have not risen to my head so soon? If so, this is some powerful stuff, this orc brew. Until now, my magic has never allowed me the liberties so many fae take for granted. Drinking, dancing, kissing . . .
But now?
Now I completely understand inebriety’s appeal to faekind. This sense of levity, this unbridled freedom is . . .
Intoxicating.
“Understand what, female?”
The words rumble around me. I lift my eyes to Gauron. “Hmm? Oh, it is nothing of consequence. I was merely thinking about your . . .” I cock my head. “You have a lovely voice, War Master. All rich and masculine and ator . . .”
I frown and fold my legs. “Authorative? No, that is incorrect. Authoritative?” I pause. The word still does not feel right on my tongue. No matter. I swat my hand in the air like I am shooing flies. Little, tiny, pesky flies. “You get my point.”
He arches a sexy brow in response.
“Perhaps not, then.” I gesture to the board. “Your move.”
His attention does not shift to the game but remains firmly planted on my face. Or is it my mouth claiming his attention?
“I suppose,” I say, licking my lip, “it must be a rare occurrence to have a random fae compliment your voice as you go about your normal routine.”
His eyes track the movement of my tongue. “You are no random fae.”
“Less random, then?”
He snorts.
“I am sure admitting one’s admiration for your voice amid battle would be a surefire way to lose one’s tongue.”
“Can’t have the enemy tracking our location.” His mouth quirks.
“Then remind me to withhold my praise for those big, fine muscles of yours when we next confront some bloodthirsty creature. After all, we have yet to meet those angry, smelly monkeys.”
For reasons unknown to me, I am besieged by a gaggle of giggles. I cover my mouth to stem my laughter, and when the attack passes, I clear my throat.
Gauron’s lips twitch like he is trying hard not to fall prey to the same malady.
My eyes drop to his chest. I remember the feel of his flesh—hard and supple beneath my fingertips. And smooth. So smooth. How I wish I could strip him of the drab fabric obstructing my view of his golden skin.
“You are handsomely made, War Master. A fact I am sure you are all too aware of.”
He drinks from the jug and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. Color darkens his neck, rising to his face.
My mouth widens. “You blush?”
“I don’t blush.”
“You do too blush. How adorable.” I reach for the brew.
Gauron blocks my attempt. “I think you’ve had enough.”
“Gah, I had but a few gulps. Your spirits have yet to commandeer my brain. Or my tongue.” Perhaps the latter is questionable, but I stand by the rest.
Ignoring the cutting look he shoots me, I wrestle the jug from his hand and bump the game board with my knee. The pieces shift across the grids. “You have nothing to be embarrassed about, you know. I find it rather charming.”
His color deepens, endearing me further.
As if I need more reason to fall for this orc.
Fates help me.
The spirits flow freely down my throat, the heat long gone. Why is it the more I learn about him, the more I like? The more I want? The more I crave? Kissing him is a distraction I cannot afford.
Still . . .
I let out a long, disgruntled sigh, secure the cork, and set the jug on the floor.
The lookout is open to the elements. Above, tree limbs sway and leaves rustle in the breeze.
Closing my eyes, I turn my face skyward to absorb the night air, a cool balm on my heated skin.
I have not felt like myself, not since the portal.
My feelings volley from anger to hurt to disillusionment.
Why would the fates rip away my magic—my only weapon against the fae—and tear me from those I love most? Why make me less in a world filled with more when my strengths are critical to my survival?
When I open my eyes, Gauron’s heated gaze is the first thing I see.
“Have you ever felt lost?”
His throat works before he answers. “Many times.”
As I stare at the game board, a heavy weariness spreads from my heart to my lungs. “I have spent an eternity hiding my essence, hiding my abilities, hiding what I am, and now that I am free of the burden, I do not know how to be. What if my magic never returns?”
His expression softens, and the warmth in his eyes nips the bitter chill winding its way around my rib cage. “Why would you hide?”
Sly orc. Did he think I would succumb so easily?
Waggling a finger, I tsk. “I am not so intoxicated that I have lost control of my senses. My tongue maybe.” I tap my temple.
“But not my head.” I lift a pawn from the floor and set it back on the game board.
“I cannot divulge the why. Just know that my choice is a matter of self-preservation. Magic leaves a stamp easily traced, and certain experiences amplify this risk.”
“Experiences? Or the emotions they create?” His intense stare unleashes a swarm of nerves battering around in my gut.
I fiddle with the hem of my shirt. “In battle, or when I spar, I funnel these feelings into the swing of my sword, or the velocity of my thrust. My anger and frustration fuel every jump or pivot, leaving very little evidence of my magic behind. I suppose, like my scent, these feelings are a natural part of who I am.”
Suddenly weary, I shrug, my brows lifting and falling in time with my shoulders.
“I have spent a lifetime raging, angry at the circumstances that led to my exile. My vengeance is older than my friendship with my sisters. It is all I have known for far too long. But happiness? Pleasure? Desire? These emotions are foreign, and when they spark, they burn brightly.”
Too bright.
He draws his right leg in, bending at the knee. “It isn’t the emotions you should avoid but the fear sparking your magic.”
“Fear? I do not fear magic, least of all my own.” Yet the weight of the heavy brow he rears gives me pause, forcing me to reconsider my assessment.
Fates, the blasted orc is right.
I do fear.
“How did I not see it before? My family’s magic is born of fear. Fear drives it. Fear controls it.”
“So when you feel fear—”
“I struggle to contain my response, and thus my magic. It is an infernal spiral. The more I fear, the harder it is to harness my signature, the more residue I leave behind. The solution is simple, really, but the execution?”
“Why haven’t you availed yourself of the charms and potions we seek for Kyra?”
“Did I say I had not? I have.” Unsuccessfully, of course, because my magic overpowers these constraints. “However, as you will soon learn, these magicks are a temporary fix. They are not foolproof.”
He angles his head, and the need to squirm beneath the sweep of his amber gaze is overpowering. I have said too much, and there is little this orc does not see.
“Your sisters and the power of the triad hide you from your enemies,” he says softly.
My sisters.
From the moment we swore our oaths to one another, we have been inseparable.
Until now.
“I owe them my life and more.” The words take shape, spilling from my mouth with a will of their own. “Fates, I miss them. Except for my mother, I hold no other fae dearer to my heart. I cannot lose them.”
Gauron shoves the game board aside and slides across the floor. His hand rises, and when his fingers caress my cheek, I close my eyes and lean into his touch.
“You’ll be reunited soon.” His voice is as warm and fleeting as the breath sweeping across my cheek. Lips press softly to my forehead. My eyelids. The tip of my nose, and then the faintest brush against my lips. “You have my word.”
If I had been allowed to dream, if my life had been my own, he would be the suitor I would have hoped to find. Brave. Honorable. Tenacious. A warrior with a heart of gold and a body made for sin. A male with fiery eyes whose heated gaze sets my body aflame.
His breath, tinged with the brew’s spicy mix of cinnamon and cloves, fans the side of my face, and I forget all the reasons this is a bad idea.
Rising to my knees, I slide my hands into his thick hair and pull his lips to mine. He responds, his kiss tender and oh so sweet, sparking a rush of heat to my core.
But he holds back. I feel it in the muscles straining against me, the tightness of the fingers gripping my waist. Honor drives this orc’s very nature, and if he believes me inebriated, he will cast aside his own wants to protect mine.
I do not want tender.
Or sweet.
I want fire.
I want him.
Something snaps inside me. A yearning. A scorching thirst that refuses to accept anything but the savage desire mirrored in this fierce male.
Recapturing his mouth, I tease and coax until a shudder rips through his body.
One arm tightens around my hips, holding me flush against his chest, and his other climbs up my back, fingers gripping my neck.