Chapter 18 Rohak
Chapter Eighteen
Rohak
Ihacked and coughed on the biscuit I’d just bitten, the dry bits of dough getting caught in my throat and lungs as my face flamed red, both from the sudden lack of oxygen and Faylinn’s crass comment.
Leave it to Faylinn to ask about sex in such a way.
One thin, manicured eyebrow rose slightly in question as she slowly munched on a cookie, crumbs escaping her mouth to land on her chest and legs.
The yellow of the treat was such a sharp contrast to the black of my borrowed clothing that it momentarily distracted me enough to regain control of my bodily functions.
Still wheezing, I blindly reached for one of the glasses and drained it as quickly as possible. The cool water did wonders for my abused throat, but nothing for the flush creeping up my neck.
Faint amusement tickled the back of my mind, and I instantly recognized it as Faylinn’s.
There was something light to it—an airiness that could never belong to me, but something my soul intrinsically tied to the Rune Master currently curled on my couch.
While the Bond betrayed her humor, Faylinn’s face was as impassive as ever; her stoicism could rival even mine.
What a pair we make, I thought, before cursing internally at my inability to keep my thoughts to myself.
“Indeed, Rohak. What a pair we make,” Faylinn mused quietly as she brushed the wayward crumbs from her borrowed clothes.
They bounced against the thin carpet that dominated the floor of my sitting space and were quickly devoured by Cotton, who lurked just beneath Faylinn, his whiskers coated with leftover salmon.
Sighing, I set the cup back on the decimated tray, the clink of glass against wood a loud bell toll in the silent and nearly empty space. Running a hand through my already disheveled hair, I angled my shoulders as I sat hunched over my knees so I could see Faylinn.
There was a vulnerability in her posture that looked completely out of place on the normally fierce, indestructible Rune Master.
I’d seen many emotions war on Faylinn’s face before—anger, intrigue, desperation, frustration, even desire—but this uncertainty would be the death of me.
She looked so small, so fragile, cloaked in the clothes that sat large and heavy on her wiry frame, her hair pulled into the linen cloth on her head.
Faylinn’s heavily tattooed fingers picked at a stray thread on her pants as the other jumped every so often, as if wanting to reach for something—probably her journal—but something stayed her hand.
“Stop looking at me like that,” she croaked quietly, a faint blush coating her light-brown skin. How I wanted to see that blush everywhere but for an entirely different reason.
You did. That’s why we’re in this predicament to begin with, my mind unhelpfully supplied even as the thin golden filament pulsated in happiness at the memory of my cock slipping through her wet lips to find her center open and waiting for me.
The traitorous appendage in question hardened and jumped at the memory.
“Looking at you how?” I husked, my voice betraying my desire.
Faylinn’s eyes flew wide as she detected the lust that wafted from me in waves.
It was impossible to stop the tempest of my desire as it broke through the wall in my mind, as if it were nothing more than smoke.
After living in scrupulous restraint and piety for so long, I didn’t want to withhold my desire for her.
I growled low in frustration.
“So your cock did find a way inside while we . . . recovered,” she hedged, her voice a breathless whisper. Faylinn’s pupils dilated as her lust twined with my own, causing the connection between us to pulsate and dance.
“I . . . wouldn’t call it that,” I hedged, mesmerized by the rapid pulse visibly thumping in her neck.
“Then, what would you call it?” Faylinn’s full lips parted, her tongue darting out as the breath caught in my chest.
“Cuddling,” I mumbled, drawn completely to her. My hands fell from my hair as I moved inexplicably like a puppet on a string. I was the doll, she my master, and I would dance to her tune every minute for the rest of my life.
I slid across the leather of the couch, turning as I moved until her knees were pressed against my own. Opening my thighs, I pulled closer until our mouths were a hair apart, our exhales mingling in the lax space until her breath became mine.
Sharing this space with Faylinn, her body pressed against mine, warm beneath my hands as I placed them on her thighs, felt right. Like my soul was never actually whole until its rendered pieces finally returned.
Does she feel the same?
I leaned impossibly closer, my lips delicately brushing hers as I hesitated for a moment to allow Faylinn to pull away.
Her breath hitched as our lips connected again, a brief touch, but one that was full of meaning and emotion.
A groan built deep within my chest as my fingers flexed against her thighs, wanting to grab and pull and take; to utterly consume her until nothing of our individualities remained, and we were one.
An impatient banging knock sounded against the door just as my lips connected with hers.
With a gasp, Faylinn scrambled away, falling off the couch to land heavily on the floor with a loud thump. I stumbled forward, my hands seeking purchase on her body that no longer sat pressed against my own.
Cotton screeched loudly as he sought shelter beneath the couch, away from our flailing limbs.
“Faylinn? General? Are you . . . decent?” a male’s voice rang through the thick wood of my door, and I growled at the idea of another thinking of Faylinn’s body in any way that was considered indecent.
Mine.
Faylinn scrambled up from the floor, tripping over her feet in her haste. I reached out a hand, balancing precariously on the other while I helped her.
“Faylinn? General?” The knock and voice sounded again.
“In a minute!” I called, frustration casting a harshness to my words.
“Oh, yes, of course. Uhm, sorry,” the voice called, growing fainter as they retreated a few steps from the door.
Faylinn finally righted herself completely, her shaking fingers working to deftly straighten her tunic and pants.
At some point in the disaster of the last few minutes, the linen towel fell from her hair, exposing unruly curls that were still slightly damp, the lack of product causing the normally well-kept coils to frizz.
I winced at my forgetfulness, pushing to a stand from the couch and grabbing a small tub from the empty tray.
“Here,” I said quietly, holding the jar between us. Faylinn frowned slightly, her eyes darting from the pot to me and back again. I thrust it slightly toward her. “It’s not going to bite, Faylinn.”
“What is it?” she asked, long fingers delicately brushing my palm as she reached for the container. I shivered at the contact but tried to smother the reaction my body had to hers.
“Coconut oil,” I said with a shrug. “One of the servants in the kitchen said that, in a pinch, this works for her curls. They’re not as tightly coiled as yours, but I figured that something was better than nothing. I apologize for not having the right creams and elixirs for your hair here.”
Faylinn blinked owlishly at me, her hand clutching the jar frozen in midair. I grabbed the back of my neck, a faint blush coating my cheeks from embarrassment for the second time today.
“Thank you,” she finally murmured, shaking herself from the stupor. Faylinn deftly twisted the top from the jar, dipping her fingers in the oil and massaging it between her palms before quickly skating her hands through her tresses, meticulously coating each curl.
I was enraptured with her movements, committing the process to memory so that one day, if she chose me and this Bond, I could repeat the action for her.
More than anything else, my blood and soul ached to care for her, to protect her, to love her.
Wiping her palms on her pants, Faylinn crossed to the door, but I intercepted her with a strong hand on her shoulder.
“Let me. You don’t know who is outside that door, what they intend, or what happened after the battle ended.” I gently pulled her behind my body. “At most, I have the ability to protect you with my magic.”
“Rohak,” Faylinn’s voice was faint and pained as I reached for the door, throwing it wide in hopes of catching our visitor unaware.
Squeals and gasps, sighs of relief and whoops of excitement met me as I stood stunned in the doorway.
There, clogging the hallway completely, looked to be at least half of the Mage Academy.
A few young cadets jostled the legs of the older men and women in an attempt to secure a better viewing angle while I could see the distinct glint of Gene and Art’s glasses as they peered over countless shoulders from the back of the crowd.
Voices dulled and stray sounds muted as, as one, each of the nosy interrupters fell to a knee, heads bowed in supplication.
My heart thundered and palms sweat as I tried to make sense of the scene unfolding in the manor’s hallway. I was panicking, my throat tightening as I fought for understanding.
A gentle yet firm hand on my elbow pulled me from my spiraling thoughts as a whisper of Faylinn filtered through the Bond. She shot me a sad smile as her words blossomed in my mind.
“They bow to you as their king. You were Alois’ second; his death means you now take that mantle.”
My eyes flew wider, my pulse thumping erratically at the notion and I started to shake my head, the word “no” on the tip of my tongue, but was halted again by the intelligent woman I’d been Bonded to.
“Reverse it later. For now, they need this. They need your strength and your unwavering discipline. Lend it to them until the time is right.”
“That crown is a heavy burden to bear, and not one I want,” I insisted, but Faylinn only squeezed harder.
“Yet is a yoke you must accept, at least for now.”
As much as I detested the idea of ruling, I couldn’t deny the merit to Faylinn’s words.
Vespera was decimated.
People were dead.
The Academy was in shambles.
And we were leaderless.
With a heavy sigh, I straightened my back and accepted the duty thrust upon me unwillingly.
“Rise,” I called, unsure of my words. I bit back a sigh of relief as everyone found their feet, and a few roguish grins shot my way when they noticed Faylinn’s presence at my side.
“All hail the King,” Ben called, his declaration echoing through murmurs from the rest of the onlookers.
My stomach sank with dread.