Chapter 41
My eyes shift back to his face, heart racing, keeping my expression neutral. Though I’m not sure I’m doing a good enough job as my pulse pounds in my ears. He frantically reaches for his tunic, but I’m already bolting for the door.
“Isa, wait! Please, I was going to tell you.”
“Tell me?” I whirl around, and he skids to a stop, pulling on his pants. “Tell me what, Rydian, that you have a mate mark? Who does it belong to?”
I attempt to view the right side of his neck when he shoves my hands away and then smirks, causing my anger to rise to a frightening level. My hands heat, power suddenly surging.
“Are you jealous, little fawn?” He laughs. “You won’t tell me how you feel but you’re jealous of my mark?” He shakes his head, like he has any right to be angry.
“I’m not jealous.”
“No? What is it, then?”
Shock tears through me. “You could have… told me when we talked in the cave. When we talked about them, but you didn’t. Before we started whatever this is between us—”
“It wasn’t important at the time. And what of your mark? Were you going to tell me about yours?” he snaps.
A shocked breath leaves me. He saw the auburn mark in my hair? Realization flickers through me—he must have seen it when we shared my bed that first night together, recalling how his fingers lingered in my hair.
Regardless, I feel as if our situations are not the same, because if he already has a mate in Aurelia, I want to know about it. Then guilt grips me, knowing he’s just as blindsided with my own secrets as I am by his.
A flicker of wariness—perhaps confusion—flashes in his eyes before he turns to light the mantel. It roars to life when he straightens and scratches the back of his head, brows pinched. “What do you know about mate marks?”
I blink. “Just… what we discussed.”
Which is true—I only know as much as we discussed. But just as I go to ask, a breath of air escapes him, a sound of disbelief right before he shakes his head. Like this is all… amusing somehow.
He glances at me, then slowly inhales, hair dripping. “Are you going to tell me how you feel?”
“Why would I, when you have someone waiting for you in Aurelia? There’s no point,” I snap.
Anger flashes in his eyes. “You think there’s no point in telling me how you feel?
Would you like to know my point or how I feel about you?
” He stalks toward me, stopping a foot away to get in my face.
“Because you haven’t asked, nor have you seemed remotely interested in finding out.
You’ve been avoiding me for weeks and until tonight, I didn’t even think you wanted me, so I’ve kept my mouth shut. ”
“Well, you’re right. I don’t want you.”
“You’re a liar,” he growls, suddenly snapping a hand out to grip my jaw, forcing me to look at him.
“You can’t tell me that you don’t want me when I can literally smell it on you.
But let me tell you something, little fawn.
I’ve wanted you far longer than you think.
” His voice is so low it causes the hair to rise on my arms. The words hang between us, his gaze never leaving mine.
“I’ve been in love with you ever since you captivated me at this damn brothel.
No one—and I mean no one—has ever made me feel the way you did that night.
You took my breath away. And when I found out it was you who was there that night, I…
” He trails off, searching my face. His intense gaze pins me in place, and suddenly, the room feels smaller.
“You what?” I ask quietly.
The crackling of the fire pops and hisses, filling the void of the silence between us. My breath falters, the rich scent of him consuming me, making it almost impossible to see reason. His lips inch closer, and the soft brush of his breath against my cheeks causes my hair to stir.
“I knew you were mine,” he mutters, his brows pinching as if he’s suddenly become confused. “Can’t you feel it? Tell me you can feel it.”
For a heartbeat, time stops, as if the realm is holding its breath, waiting for me to recognize what this is between us. My pulse climbs, pounding in my ears as I struggle with the weight of his words. His eyes search mine, waiting for something—anything from me—when it suddenly becomes too much.
Then it dawns on me—I’m in love with him. And he feels the same. What I feel isn’t mere affection. It’s more.
How did I ever let it get this far?
I suddenly pull back, stepping out of his embrace with a shake of my head when his expression falls.
Why would he ever want me? I’m broken and lost and confused.
I don’t even know who I am anymore. He shouldn’t want me because I’ll never be enough for him.
I will never be enough, especially not now.
“You don’t mean it,” I say, hating how my voice wavers.
I suddenly pivot, storming up the mezzanine for my items, but Rydian’s on my heels. I’m almost to the table when my arm snaps back, forcing me to whirl around when his mouth slams into mine with such force that it knocks the breath out of me.
But then I find myself melting and clawing at him, my knees weak as he devours me. He backs me up, my feet stumbling, and I hit the edge of the table before he frantically lifts me, setting me on the edge. Papers rustle beneath me.
He breaks our kiss only to start trailing his nose down my neck, small sounds slipping past my lips. He growls right under my jaw, pulling back to look at me, and then his hand grips my hair at the base of my neck.
“Does this feel like indifference to you?” he hisses, fierce and unflinching. “You don’t get to tell me what I feel, not when every damn part of me is already yours. I would burn the world for you. Don’t you understand that?” He lands another hard, claiming kiss to my mouth.
I instantly grumble into him, and somehow, the sound of it forces him to pull me in as if he can’t get enough. His mouth claims mine while his hands explore, finally landing at the rim of my pants and undoing the button.
And fuck, do I want him.
I’m fully dressed one moment, and in the next, clothes are being tossed aside. I gasp, scrambling for his tunic, lifting it in a frenzy, then work his pants down, dropping them to the floor.
Our mouths clash again, his hands suddenly pulling my hips to the edge of the table. They slide down my legs, forcing me to wrap around him just as he pushes his hips forward, and I feel his cock brush against me.
A whimper. “I need you, Rydian. Please.”
My voice trembles with urgency as something dark and exhilarating begins to form, coiling at the very center of me. His answering growl vibrates against my skin.
“I know.” His voice is rough, but he doesn’t stop. His grip only tightens, hands trembling as if trying to hold himself back. “Do you have any idea what you do to me?”
His head dips, lips trailing a scorching path down my neck and onto my chest. My hand flies to his hair when I feel him begin to work between my legs, rubbing me in tight circles.
Then he groans against me once he feels how soaked I am. The pressure has already begun to coil low, aching for my release as he rubs and slips a finger in, curling. My hips begin to rock against his hand, urging him to continue, when he suddenly takes away my pleasure, halting the movement.
“Wha–what are you doing? Don’t stop.” My eyes flutter open.
I ache and attempt to guide his hand back down, but he holds it firm on my hip, leaving me to groan in frustration.
He gently guides me down so that my back rests on the table, continuing to graze his mouth down my stomach, grip firm on my hips.
He straightens, his tongue trailing across his fingers—tasting me—and I watch his muscles twitch with restraint.
“You look so beautiful when you beg,” he mumbles, eyes slowly raking over my body. “Do you know what I love?”
A whimper escapes when I shake my head, my tone unrecognizable as I continue to grip his hips with my knees. I begin to quiver and my back suddenly arches, the movement involuntary as the pressure becomes too much.
With a groan, my hand dips between my legs to relieve some of the tension, but he snatches both of my wrists and holds them above my head, pinned between him and the table.
“Not until I say so.” He leans over me, a possessive glint in his eyes as he holds my gaze. His head dips, biting my bottom lip, and I writhe beneath him. “I love it when you beg,” he growls. “And I love it when you’re mine.”
He forces my legs apart, spreading wider as he lines himself up, a small grin forming on his mouth.
Then our mouths instinctively part, collectively moaning when he drives his hips forward and finally—finally the pressure subsides.
With gasped pants, we hold each other’s stare as we savor the moment. And then his hips begin to move.
“Fuck,” I get out.
My eyes fall on his expression as he hovers, my hands still tightly secured under his grasp. He drives into me with the perfect rhythm and without restraint, his gaze never leaving mine when his brows knit.
“Nothing—no one—will take you from me,” he breathes.
His movements become frantic—hungry. The table rattles beneath us, scraping across the floor as papers scatter to the ground.
He releases my wrists, pulling me up so that my arms clasp around his neck. My head drops back, my release already forming with a sudden quickness, leaving my legs trembling. Our moans collide, the sounds echoing in the loft as if they were always meant to meld in the air together.
Then he wraps an arm around my waist, pulling me in and somehow pushing himself deeper, forcing a breathy cry to rush past. My clit rubs against him as he pushes into me over and over, and somehow, it’s the right amount of—
“Rydian, gods!” I tremble, my body suddenly too weak to hold myself upright, but he holds me in place before devouring my mouth.
His cock tightens just as he thrusts his hips forward, once, then twice, before he’s spilling himself in me. Satisfied groans fill the air.
We pant, holding each other as we slowly crawl back to reality. My forehead rests on his shoulder, slick with sweat, when he leans down to kiss the top of my head with a soft chuckle. Then his lips brush mine, though a grin tugs at his mouth.
“I’ll bring you water and something to clean you up,” he says, vanishing, then appears with water and a rag. I brace my palms against the table with a smirk, taking the glass from him and sipping, arching a brow. After taking the time to clean me himself, his gaze meets mine, and he straightens.
“In case you didn’t hear me earlier—I love you,” he murmurs, his voice steady but intense. I lean forward with pinched brows, my gaze softening as my own doubts come flooding back.
The emotions—the fear of never being enough for him. I part my lips in an attempt to speak, but he interrupts, his voice firmer this time.
“Truly, Isa. I love you.” He studies me, tilting my head back as a swirl of emotions threatens to consume me.
“Not the idea of you. Not just the pieces of you that you’re willing to share but everything.
Even the secrets you keep from me, and I know you have a few.
” He tugs at the end of my hair. “I love your wild spirit and the way you try to hide your embarrassment. The way your eyes flicker when something angers you, or the way you rub your wrist when you get nervous.”
My secrets. “I—”
“I want you to tell me when you’re ready, but I just wanted you to know,” he interrupts, then leans down for my clothes.
He dresses me in silence, and I watch as he pulls his pants over his hips.
“Let’s clean up.” Rydian smirks. “The others will be fully disgusted if they find us all over our research.”
I snort, bending to grab papers to begin placing each one back in their original stacks, sorting through the notes and relabeling everything. Gods, we made a mess.
“Remind me not to fuck on our research again,” I mumble, smoothing out the wrinkled map and flattening it only to lean in again. “What the… oh my gods.” My eyes flare as realization dawns on me.
I’m suddenly bracing myself against the table for stability as I take a deep breath, willing the nausea to subside. I can’t help the bile that rises in my throat.
“What is it?” Rydian rushes to my side. His eyes meet mine over my shoulder.
“Do you see that?” I ask, pointing to the edge of the map, and he furrows his brows.
“That’s the map of the castle.”
“This,” I say slowly, “is the edge of the king’s archives. This is not his archive, or the correct one anyway. I was there a couple of weeks ago when he summoned me and got a good look at the inside. What is on this map is not correct. It’s wrong.”
“What do you mean?” he asks, though his face goes white as he registers my words.
“The map. It’s wrong.” I reach across the table, unfold the corner of the parchment, and point to the title. “Look at the title, here. It’s not just a numbered document. We misread it.”
A dark, unamused laugh escapes me. I knew it meant something. I just didn’t know what it meant, but now I do. But how did I miss that before?
“It’s not a number. It’s a slash. Castle Alvonia one out of two. Meaning this map is the first one and we’re missing the other half—the rest of his archives. I’m willing to bet it’s what we need.”