Chapter 29 - Freezing Hot Wrenora
Wrenora
I’d managed to stay away from him for three whole days.
I stayed away from everyone, in fact. Madgala checked on me each day, but I assured her I was fine, just exhausted from imbuing.
This was only a small lie, at least. I struggled to sleep, to focus, to do anything, deciding instead to lie facing the frosted-ice ceiling of my bedchamber.
My mind refused to give me any thoughts other than him.
His violet eyes. His radiant smile. His soft voice when he spoke to me and me alone.
The scars that made him flawed and flawless at the same time.
The way he’d opened up to me—little things at first. Sarcastic comments, always followed by the most gorgeous grin.
And yet, in the three days I’d stayed away, he never once inquired about my wellbeing.
I guess this was to be expected. He had his suppression gem.
He didn’t need me anymore. I’d hoped he’d give me some sort of sign he was done with me—that I could go home and enjoy the freedom I’d been promised—but no.
Fynn found me on the third day. I let him in after he refused to stop his incessant meowing and pawing at my bedchamber door.
“You’re a menace,” I said as he circled my legs and pranced over to one of the chairs in the small sitting area. “You shouldn’t be in here. What if his Royal Broodiness needs you?”
Fynn jumped onto the side table and gazed up at me, his tail swishing back and forth expectantly.
“Has he neglected you?” I scratched the sweet cat behind his ears before dragging my fingers down his neck and to his backside. He spun in a circle, trilling, before running the side of his face against my hand as it hovered beside him. “He seems to make a habit of neglecting those around him.”
A loud knock startled me. I rushed to the door where bright blue eyes greeted me. I tried to hide my momentary disappointment that it was Magdala on the other side.
“I was informed to arrange transportation to the border for you,” she said with a smile. “You’re finally going home.”
I forced a smile onto my face, hoping I was convincing enough. So, this was it, then. Callan had what he needed, so he would send me away—just as he’d said he would. This is all I’d wanted, and now that I nearly had it, my heart ached.
“How soon can I leave?” I hoped my question sounded genuine enough.
“As early as tomorrow, if you wish. In fact, the sooner the better. His Highness has been very...despondent of late.”
I perked up at this.
“Is he not well?”
“Oh, he’s perfectly fine. He’s being his usual spoiled self,” she said as she looked down at her hands.
“Someone is trying to kill him, as you may know.” Her eyes met mine with a seriousness to her expression.
“And he doesn’t feel you’re safe here any longer.
Not with so many people who obviously hate him. ”
Like how I hated the cold. How I should hate him.
“Is anyone safe here?” I asked, unable to hide my disappointment.
She gave me a wry smile. “It’s called a fortress for a reason, Wrenora.” She reached and pinched my chin between her index finger and thumb, tipping my face to hers. “But a thrall so close to someone like Prince Callan...”
There was something off about her words, like she was anxious for me to leave as soon as possible. I tried to push the feeling away. This was Magdala, Callan’s most trusted advisor.
“Tomorrow?”
“I think His Highness would prefer it.”
Of course he would. I meant nothing to him. An imbuing mage and nothing more. And now that I’d managed to imbue him a suppression gem strong enough to control his magic, he didn’t need me anymore.
“I...I guess I leave tomorrow then.”
Magdala nodded, her expression brightening. “I’ll make the arrangements.”
––––––––
That night, I couldn’t sleep no matter how hard I tried.
I relived the way he looked at me when the suppression gem had worked successfully.
His eyes wide, lips parted in shock. Over and over again, I felt the space between us shrink, the ribbon pulling us toward one another. The longing in his eyes.
Why did my mind insist on dwelling on him? Why did it claw at my soul? Why did I long for him? Why? A man I could never have. A man I should never want.
The fabric of my chemise was suddenly too hot where it touched my skin.
I pressed my hands to my chest then over the peaks of my breasts.
Why did I want nothing more than for my hands to be his roaming over my body?
To know how his lips felt against my skin.
To memorize all the lines of his perfect muscles.
I traced the length of my torso, pulling up the lower hem of my chemise, running my fingers over my bare thighs to my navel and between my legs.
A moan escaped me as I touched myself, a current of energy lancing through my veins as I imagined him holding himself over me, his hair falling around his face, strong arms, warm skin.
A wave of ecstasy waited just beyond my grasp, each pulse of desire tugging me further into this impossible delusion.
It was his hand in my mind, soft and gentle, his other holding me in place.
His lips on my breasts where my fingers danced over them.
His breath on my face. His hips between my thighs.
His flawless body beneath my fingertips.
Fucking Nine Hells. I wanted him, and I hated it.
My breathing grew ragged and rushed. I could hear his voice in my mind.
“I do not, and have never, hated you, Wrenora.” Precious release took me as I stifled a cry of pleasure with my free hand.
And yet, I wanted him all the more. Wanted the weight of him crushing the breath from my lungs. Needed his lips on mine.
This was agony, and I couldn’t imagine the torture he’d felt over the last eight years, being forced to yearn and want and never be able to have.
The image of him taking himself in his own hand squeezed my throat, turning my breaths frantic. “Wrenora...” The muscles of his shoulders flexing with the effort drove me mad with hunger as I plunged my fingers into myself again, begging for a second release.
His beautiful face in the throes of pleasure...That was what I wanted. I wanted to melt the frozen fragments of his heart. To weld the broken facets of him back together until he was whole. Until he was satisfied. Until he was mine.
When I was spent, I lay with my legs spread wide, my chemise hiked up to my chest, pretending the cold air was his breath on my sweat-damp skin.
Why? Why him? Why now as I was about to leave? Why ever?
I let my heart rate slow before I dragged myself from the bed, needing something to quench my dry throat.
I didn’t concern myself with slippers or a dressing gown, slipping into the hall in nothing more than my chemise.
I hardly felt the cold ice on my bare feet as I descended the stairs to the main level of the fortress, still hot from my own hands on my flesh.
Light flooded the hall from the throne room, and I watched it cascade across the faceted wall, long strips of shimmering light that shifted in color. My heart was still racing, my skin still hot from the ecstasy of release.
A piece of me wanted him to be there. I hadn’t seen him for three days, but I knew if I saw him now, whatever this ache was—this insatiable longing—would consume me entirely.
I took a deep breath and continued down the hall, admiring every glittering facet on the wall, the icicles that held each massive sheet of ice in place.
The gentle way the fortress glowed from the light of the moon.
I saw it all with new eyes. Ones that hadn’t been able to appreciate the beauty of this place because I was too busy hating it, hating the bitter cold, hating him.
The throne room was empty, and I sighed in relief. It would be my luck that he’d know. He’d see the lust in my eyes, the heat in my cheeks, the shame of pleasuring myself as I thought of him.
The permafrost glittered in the moonlight like millions of tiny diamonds.
A pale blue, shimmering expanse that soaked up every drop of light from the moon and stars and reflected it back to the dark sky above.
It was so beautiful that I held my breath, realizing the sky was so rarely cloudless.
This was endless winter, yet for the first time since coming to the Ice Fortress I wasn’t cold.
I wasn’t cold at all.
“Couldn’t sleep?” I tensed at the sound of Callan’s voice, smooth and rich and exactly as it had sounded in my mind. It smoothed over my consciousness and sank into my core.
I relaxed my shoulders as he stepped beside me, and I peered up at him. His hair had been pulled back at the nape into a loose ponytail. It only sharpened the angle of his jaw and the soft lines of his lips. He was only inches away. I worried he could feel the heat that still radiated off my body.
Minutes passed as we gazed out at the pristine tundra beyond the fortress.
In the far distance, the dark shadows of the Breven Mountains loomed like ominous storm clouds.
A warm finger touched my hand, and butterflies fluttered to life in my chest. So softly, Callan’s hand slipped around my own as he captured it.
He was holding my hand! My hand! He was touching my skin with his own.
I glanced over at him again, noticing the length of silver chain that hung around his neck, the sapphire I’d imbued dangling from it. It glowed, leaving a wispy trail of purple magic spiraling out from his chest.
“Magdala had the sapphire mounted for me so I could wear it. I may never take it off.”
When our eyes met, my world seemed to break in half. I was leaving tomorrow, yet I felt like I could never leave. The rope that wove around my ribs thickened and tugged me closer. His gaze traveled down the length of me, landing on my bare feet.
“Aren’t you cold?”
His voice was so soft, so gentle. All the harsh edges of the warrior prince I’d first met were gone. Instead, I was left with whoever this man was. Beautiful, tender, and concerned for a human’s wellbeing.
I couldn’t speak. Instead, I shook my head, my eyes unable to leave his calm expression.
He looked out at the permafrost again. “Magdala said you’re...leaving tomorrow.”
I swallowed hard, trying to pull the words forward. I didn’t want to leave. Not yet. Not when I felt like there was something pulling us together. A chain that kept losing links each day until we were only inches apart.
He turned back to me, closing the distance between us as he took both my hands in his—his naked hands. They were so warm, not as I’d imagined a frost elf’s hands to be. I shivered from the gentle touch.
“Thank you,” he said, so softly I almost didn’t hear.
I blinked a few times, trying to register his words in my mind, still swirling with wishes that would never come true.
“Thank you, for giving me my freedom,” I said, gazing up into his eyes.
The need to touch his face melted through me, and I reached. My fingers eased over the scars on his cheek, smoothing along his jaw until they disappeared into his silken, white hair. His eyes slipped closed at my touch, eyebrows furrowed in anguish.
“You don’t understand what you’ve given me,” he said, so much pain staining the edges of his voice.
“Almost as much as you’ve given me, I should think,” I said as his gaze met mine again. I smiled weakly. “You’ve given me my life back. What little I have left as a mere human, anyway.”
He grinned, but it faded quickly before he covered my hand with his, keeping it pressed to his skin a little longer. “I won’t forget you.”
Any other words I might have had fell away when my hand finally slipped from his face.
He entwined his fingers with mine, looking down at our joined hands.
My gaze moved from the sapphire resting on his chest to his lips, a need to press my own against them building in my stomach until it was almost uncomfortable.
Why did I have to leave? Why couldn’t I stay and help him put the pieces of his heart back together? To figure out what could be done to end the winter blight?
He stepped closer, pulling me toward him until I was close enough to smell the crisp scent of him, like a frigid winter morning after a fresh snow. With arduous slowness, he leaned his face toward mine as one of his hands took my chin and tipped it up.
His restraint was admirable as he gave me a chaste kiss then pulled back, but I was not so chivalrous.
I crushed my lips to his. I worried he’d push me away, but instead his hand slipped around my neck, the other wrapping firmly around my waist and yanking me into him.
He had needed permission, and I had willingly given it to him.
Heat plunged between my legs at the feel of his unyielding body pressed to mine.
My own arms tightened around his shoulders, my fingers digging into his hair as I held him against me.
This was what I wanted. Him in my arms. His body against mine. The heat of him soaking through the thin fabric of my chemise and into my skin.
This kiss was claiming—ruthless in our quest to know one another.
He hadn’t kissed anyone in years, but if anything, it made him far more diligent than he might have otherwise been as he ravaged my mouth.
A moan escaped him, igniting fire in my veins with the same need I’d just desperately tried to sate.
But there was no satisfying this. Not with a kiss.
And as his hand followed the side seams of my chemise, I begged the gods for more.
I wanted his fingers on my flesh. Instead, he pulled back, his eyes lost in some nameless emotion.
And here we stood, staring at one another for several long minutes as our shoulders rose and fell with ragged breaths.
Why did I need him so desperately when I knew I couldn’t have him?
He finally glanced out over the permafrost again, but he didn’t step back, as if he could feel the same thread that wove itself tighter and tighter, pulling us together until we were one tapestry.
“You should sleep,” he said as his gaze returned to my lips, throat bobbing. “The journey to the border is long.”
Why did I feel like I couldn’t breathe without him?
“Must I go so soon?”
He tipped his head up. “You aren’t safe here.”
I nodded, unsure what else to say, but wanting so desperately not to leave. Would I see him in the morning? Was it too forward of me to ask him to hold my hand a little longer? To kiss me again? To never stop kissing me?
I swallowed my sorrow as tears clung to the corners of my eyes. This wasn’t meant to be. He was trying to say goodbye the most gentle way possible. I pulled my fingers from his and somehow willed my feet to carry me away.