CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT #2
I cried out, the sensation of him filling me entirely—stretching me, claiming me, ruining me for anyone else.
“Always felt like home,” he murmured, his voice a lethal vibration in my ear.
He didn't slow down; he didn't give me time to find my bearings. He thundered into me with a raw, carnal desperation, his thrusts echoing the frantic beat of my heart.
His hand moved to my chest, his thumb catching my nipple in a punishing pinch that sent a fresh wave of fire through my veins.
I was a mess of sweat and flames, lost in the shadows of the male who had finally returned to finish the hunt.
Every thrust was a lightning strike, every touch a brand. My knees buckled, but he kept me pinned against his chest, his movement relentless.
“I can’t... I’m done,” I panted, my head lulling back against his shoulder. The intensity was stripping me bare, leaving nothing but the raw need for release.
He chuckled, a dark, wicked sound, before his thumb pressed firmly against my clit.
I doubled over, my vision whiting out as the pleasure spiked into something lethal.
“Asher! Now! Please!”
The blood bond flared one last time, blazing between us.
He gave a final, powerful lunge, his jaw clenching as he came undone.
The grunt that left him was raw and heavy, the sound of a predator finally satiated as we both collapsed into the shadows of the garden.
He kept me pinned to his chest as he emptied himself into me, his jaw tight against my neck.
When it was over, I simply gave up, melting into his arms.
We were covered in sweat and the remnants of the chase, our breaths hitching in the quiet night air.
My eyelids felt like lead.
He pulled away slowly, only to tuck me securely into the crook of his arm.
He smoothed the damp hair away from my face, his silver eyes searching mine with an intensity that made my pulse flicker. He kissed my brow, a gesture so sweet it hurt.
“Your room, princess,” he whispered, his breath ghosting over my lips. “Take me there.”
I offered a dazed smile, too exhausted to argue or point out our lack of clothing.
I leaned my head against his shoulder, letting him guide me.
We moved through the garden like ghosts, two naked, ruined souls returning to the fortress that couldn't possibly hold the darkness we’d just unleashed.
We had barely made it inside when a scurry of frantic footsteps jolted me from my daze.
We had stopped moving, and as my heavy lids blinked open, the world rushed back in—bright, sharp, and hostile.
A dozen guards stood in a semi-circle, fire licking at their palms, their eyes wide with a mix of duty and terror.
I looked up at Asher.
He was grinning, his silver eyes flashing with a wicked sort of amusement.
I glanced down, expecting the worst, but saw only a swirling, impenetrable void of shadow clinging to our skin like a silken shroud.
“You think I would let anyone see what’s mine?” His voice was a tired rasp through the bond, possessive even in his exhaustion.
“Ava?” My blood ran cold, horror washing over me in a freezing wave. I looked straight ahead.
There, standing at the center of the hall, was my father.
My father didn’t look angry; he looked amused, watching us with the patient expression of a male who had caught a child stealing sweets from the kitchen.
“Stand down,” my father ordered, his voice cutting through the tension like a blade.
The guards hesitated for a fraction of a second before the fire in their palms flickered out.
“He’s family.”
My eyes nearly popped out of my skull.
I stiffened in Asher’s arms, my brain short-circuiting as the King of Zymarra—the man who usually demanded a formal bow from every living soul—gave the man carrying me a nod of approval.
I looked up at Asher, expecting confusion. Instead, he gave me the widest, most infuriatingly smug grin I had ever seen.
“Had to mingle with Daddy Pyreson before coming to see you, firecracker.” His voice slid through the bond, dark and purring with a satisfaction that made my toes curl.
Oh, my fucking gods.
“Ava,” My head snapped back to my father’s gaze as he continued.
“I won’t see you two tomorrow. I have business with the Council, but I know you are in good hands,” my father said, his voice thick with a pride that nearly brought me to tears.
He stepped forward, undeterred by the swirling, ink-black shadows Asher had draped over me.
I was acutely aware of what a disaster I must have looked like—caked in dried mud, damp with sweat, and smelling unmistakably of the forest and our shared heat.
My father reached out, his hand cupping my cheek with a tenderness that broke through his royal mask.
His eyes glistened for a fleeting second before he cleared his throat, the King of Zymarra snapping back into place as he withdrew his hand.
“I am proud of you, my darling daughter,” he murmured. Then, his gaze sharpened as he looked pointedly at Asher, lifting a brow in a silent command.
“Now, go get bathed and dressed. And rest these next few days—you’re going to need it. The Trials are approaching, and you better win.”
With a final, decisive nod, he turned on his heel and disappeared down the hall, his cape billowing as the guards trailed after him.
Even Asher was silent for a moment, his silver eyes tracking my father’s retreat before he looked down at me with a slow, devastating grin.
I rolled my eyes, the mortification finally reaching its peak.
Asher leaned down, his nose brushing mine in a slow, predatory gesture.
“You heard the King, princess. Now, show me your room.”
His wicked grin told me everything I needed to know.
Gods help me, I knew exactly how much resting was actually going to happen over the next few days.