Chapter 27
Anya Delemond
The wash of waves on sand ebbed at Anya’s consciousness. It was a soft sound, far calmer than the rough slap of water on the oak planks of the Lupus Star.
That wasn’t right.
She blinked rapidly. Her eyes burned, tears multiplying with every flick of her lashes. Had she gotten drunk again?
She rubbed her head, but the telltale throb of a hangover and regret wasn’t there.
Awareness seeped into the rest of her body, and along with it, every exposed inch of her came to life.
Her senses expanded the longer she was awake.
Toasted sand beneath her toes. Crackling fire.
A quiet drip of water on stone. The rise and fall of breath beneath her cheek.
What?
She looked up to find Roderick fast asleep, clutching her tight to his chest. A single snaggle tooth fang poked out of his mouth.
And he was less than clothed.
“Ah!” Anya screamed. His eyes shot open. She pried herself away from him and fell back into the sandy floor of the cave. Embarrassment flooded her cheeks. She’d been dreaming of him, but this was much too real. She wasn’t about to get hoodwinked by a dream.
“No! Anya, it’s not what it looks like, we didn’t—”
Anya ignored Roderick’s pleading garble.
Panic surged through her as she roved her body with her claws, trying to map how much of her was bare.
She breathed a sigh of relief when she dropped them to her breasts, finding the familiar texture of her corset.
It was disturbingly damp, and was that…seaweed?
She slowly pulled a slimy tendril of seaweed from between her cleavage. Dear Divine, it was a disgusting sensation. She shivered and flung it blindly.
“—and then we washed up he—” The seaweed landed square in Roderick’s face, freezing him mid-sentence.
“Oh stars, that was an accident, I swear!” Anya quickly fetched the piece from his face and threw it into the fire. It popped and sizzled as the water evaporated away. Roderick slowly wiped his face on his forearm.
“Good morning to you too. I’ll shut up now.”
“What happened? Why are you naked? Why am I?”
“Well, first of all, before your screaming and slimy wake up call, I was trying to explain. Second of all, neither of us are naked. On my honor, nothing untoward happened.”
Her breathing steadied as she took stock of the rest of her body. She still had a skirt on. Her corset was still on, just loosened. Weakness radiated through her limbs, but aside from that, there wasn’t a scratch—or a bite—on her.
“I wouldn’t take blood, or anything else for that matter, from someone who was unconscious,” Roderick said, catching her fingering her neck. “You don’t have to worry about that.”
“I-I didn’t mean—”
“It’s all right. I’ve dealt with worse.” Groaning, he stood to his feet and stretched.
And in that same moment, every diplomatic thought Anya ever had went straight out to sea.
This was the first time she’d truly seen Roderick’s body.
Yes, she’d mapped it with her fingertips at the manor and the inn, but her mind’s eye was not nearly as inviting as the reality unfolding before her.
Her core melted as her eyes traced over his form, getting lost among the bristles of red hair and copious scars that spanned his square chest. One long, pale gash divided his left pectoral, just inches from his heart.
A plane of muscle gave way to a deep V that dipped below the waist of his undershorts.
She followed the lines to their inevitable point over the center of him, where a very respectable swell shoved against the midnight fabric.
The salty sea seemed to bring new appreciation to her eyes.
He was…
A man. Not just an annoying presence in her life, or a knight, or an earl. A red-blooded Centarian man.
Roderick cleared his throat, snapping Anya out of her appraisal. She growled to herself and shook her head. It wasn’t even a full moon, and yet she was looking at him like a piece of mulberry pie. And a good-tasting one, at that. The tonic she took wasn’t doing a damn thing to help her out.
“My apologies, I, um—I was trying to remember what happened. Please enlighten me.”
Roderick crouched by the fire, poking the embers with a stick.
The position only further accentuated the sinew of his sculpted legs, covered in thick red hair.
“There was a storm, and you went overboard. Octavio thought it was magic, somehow. But that’s all I really know.
” He kept his eyes trained on the flames.
“What about you?”
“What about me?” He glanced up, glacier eyes reflecting in the firelight. They were blue like the glacial wall, but unlike the icy divide, nothing about these eyes said “keep out.”
“You saved me.”
“I did what any loyal knight would do. Although, you are lucky that I have experience going overboard.” He peeked up at her and smirked.
His smile lessened her guilt. But it was still there. Though for what, she wasn’t sure. Was it really about tossing him overboard, or the secret she guarded? Given his outburst, it was obvious there was deep-rooted pain in his heart. Though now was hardly the time to address it.
“Do you think they’ll find us?” Anya asked, pacing in front of the fire.
Roderick nodded. “The breeze is drawing the smoke out of the cave. They’ll see it. It’s only a matter of time before Yomira pokes her head in.”
Anya glanced down at her corset. She wasn’t eager to fly again, but better Yomira than the entire crew. Especially when she looked like this.
“Worried about what a wyvern thinks of your ensemble?” Roderick chuckled and leaned back against the cave wall. Every time Anya looked over at him, her eyes would catch on his broad chest. She wanted to count those scars. She wanted to hear the story behind each one.
“No,” she replied, blushing hard but still tipping her chin up in defiance.
Upon the sight of her dress neatly spread in front of the fire to dry, she became suddenly aware that Roderick must have been the one to undress her.
Most alarmingly, her shoes were gone. Had they come off in the water?
Did he take them off and see the scar on her foot?
“Where are my shoes?” she asked hesitantly.
Roderick rubbed the back of his neck. “Probably at the bottom of the sea by now. Why? I thought you hated shoes.”
“I do, but I—” She froze. She’d let her guard down, and now one of her masquerade mannerisms was confirmed, fully sober this time. She glanced at Roderick. His face betrayed nothing. She abandoned the answer. More words would only be her undoing.
“Look, Anya…I know I said it before, but I really am sorry about the other day. I lost control of myself. It isn’t your fault for looking like…someone I knew.” He rubbed a hand over his scruffy jawline.
She stiffened. She didn’t just look like someone.
She was the someone.
How could she even respond to that? Was this really a time that called for digging a little deeper? Even if it wasn’t, a sadistic curiosity got the better of her. It would serve as a distraction regardless.
“Who?” she asked nonchalantly, fumbling with the ties behind her back. Threads were better than buttons with her Lycanian claws, but it was still a languishing task without Blackbird.
“Here, can I help?” Roderick rose to his feet with a grunt. His warmth was palpable as he stood behind her, despite the inches between them. “I’m pretty good with knots. Same concept, right?”
Noticeably, he didn’t dive right in. He hovered awkwardly behind her, awaiting her answer. She appreciated him not forcing his help on her like he’d done so many times on their first voyage.
“Yes, thank you.” She drew her blonde hair out of his way, letting it fall across her chest. Her breath caught as Roderick trailed a hand down the bare space between her shoulder blades. Everywhere he grazed with his fingers felt red hot. She prayed her skin didn’t look like it.
Roderick wrapped the threads around his fingers and worked quietly. She cast a glance back at him, lips slightly parted.
“Who do I remind you of?”
“I was hoping you would forget the question.”
“Tell me.”
The firelight cast dancing shadows on her white corset.
The barely audible sound of Roderick’s fingers brushing her skin came between the slosh of the waves, crackle of flames and shifting logs.
He was struggling a bit. Though his large hands weren’t made for such delicate work, he approached the task with a patient reverence.
He sighed, sending a puff of breath onto the nape of her neck. “I don’t want to talk about it. I’m trying to forget her.”
“You…want to forget her?”
Disappointment wormed into her gut. Anya had wished for a lot of things, but forgetting that night wasn’t one of them. Even if it was him she’d been with, he made her feel like a woman and not a princess for the first time in her life.
“I want to live in the moment for once in my life.”
Anya’s cheeks flushed as Roderick snaked an arm around her waist, tugging her closer, breath billowing over her neck.
“What are you doing?” She looked down at his possessive grip.
“Tying you up.”
“Ah!” She sucked through her teeth as he gave the corset strings a final pull. It wasn’t hard, but her chest was sore from some terrible combination of slamming into the baluster, nearly drowning, and sleeping in her corset.
Anya waited for Roderick to release her, but his arm stayed firmly around her waist. Stars above, just the feel of his hand on her belly was bringing her back to that night, the way his fingers tangled in her hair, the heady scent of wine, sweat and lust—the sensation of his lips brushing hers.
Desire sparked to life in her core. She could tell this wasn’t a fleeting flame—more like an ember; a steady, burning coal she would have to contend with as long as Roderick was near. It was irrational. Girlish.
Thrilling.
“Why do you wear this?” Roderick asked, tracing a hand down her side. It seemed like an honest question. Had he never seen a corset up close before? Anya had assumed he had plenty of experience removing them.
“I kind of have to, don’t I?” Her eyes fell to where his fingers were slowly drifting down her waist.
She hadn’t worn a corset at the manor, but that was a special circumstance.
Even with her daring choice of fashion at the Council session, she still gave over to the most basic of societal expectations.
Compromises for appearance’s sake were a necessary part of her position.
Anya couldn’t deny that being without it during such an enchanting evening had made her feel like a new woman. Or was it the effervescent wine?
Or…him?
“Do you like wearing it?”
“No. Who would?”
His hands paused on her hips. “I don’t see why you should force yourself to do something you don’t like. We’re thousands of miles from Valeria, Princess. There are no royal eyes here, aside from your own.”
The truth of those words sent a shiver down her spine. Anya dropped her gaze to where Roderick’s fingers pressed into the slit where her corset ended, giving way to bare skin. A finger occasionally dipped beneath the band of her sea-stained skirt.
Her willpower waned as his words sunk in. No one would see what they did in the solitude of this cave. Only nature would witness her weakness. The foamy waves would surely whisper, but no one would understand.
“My Lord, are you suggesting I take it off?”
His bare chest pressed against her back, slowly warming her center as he brought his face to her neck.
“Anya, I fear you’ve hit your head. That idea was all yours.”
“Ngh…” She tried to stifle a moan as Roderick’s breath diffused across her skin, filling the wolfish part of her mind with immense satisfaction. All her senses tilted toward her inner beast. A real, raw, vulnerable part of her that the weight of the impending Crown had suffocated for far too long.
This wasn’t lust. Lust for her was a sudden splinter of need that she would forget as fast as it had come. This was an ache in her core, a fire in her belly that sent steam up to her heart. Each thump sent droplets back down onto the flames with a fizzle, a pop, then a sensual hiss.
The frigid, whimpering she-wolf within melted as Roderick slipped a finger under her corset, then another. One hand, then the next, until his warm, broad hands were firmly perched on her waist.
Roderick inhaled deep and slow, then coaxed her around to face him. More bewildering to herself, she allowed it. The heat engulfing her cheeks intensified as she looked up at him. A soft pulse throbbed between her legs.
“You never answered my question,” Anya murmured, hoping more questions would cool her.
Condensation dripped from the cave ceiling onto the fire, exploding in little crackles.
She still wanted to know, of course. She wanted to hear from his own lips exactly what he cherished so much about their evening together all those months ago.
His chest rose and fell against hers as he chuckled softly. “That pout on your lip makes you look like a damsel.”
“Well, you make me distressed.”
She licked dry lips. Not that she was preparing for anything.
Roderick pulled her closer, pressing his fingers into the swell of her hips. “Now now, is that any way to talk to your rescuer?”
“You dodged the question.” Her eyes fell to his lips.
“I’m not disagreeing with you.”
“Then what are you doing?”
“This.”