Chapter 53
She let him squirm for just a moment as the word registered in his lust-fogged brain.
“No?” he repeated.
“No . . . not yet.”
Westley let out a whoosh of relief, his forehead hitting the inside of her thigh. Fuck, she was throbbing. Lust swirled between them, and the low rumble of his groan reverberated through her before he grabbed her by the waist and threw her over his shoulder.
“Don’t you dare stab me,” he hissed, holding her wrist in an iron-tight grip, preventing her from going for the dagger. She wasn’t in a particularly stabby kind of mood.
That could change though.
“It’s a pity I only have the one on me,” she said sarcastically. He slapped her ass with his other hand, earning a delighted gasp from her.
He sounded like a dying man. “Fuck, Solveig, you’re killing me.”
When he threw her on the bed, her loose robe fell open. His eyes darkened as he took her in, pulling his shirt over his head to expose his defined muscles and tempting tattoos. She raked her eyes down his chest, following all the dips and valleys.
“Why not?” he said roughly.
She shook her head, her mouth curling. He moved one hand across his pants and slowly undid the belt at his waist, whipping it out and tossing it to the side.
He flipped the button open and his pants fell a fraction, his hip bones jutting out.
Dark hair dusted the skin above his pelvis, where muscles trailed down and disappeared below his waistband.
Her mouth went dry.
He knelt on the bed, parting her legs and climbing onto all fours overtop of her.
“How about now?” His voice was husky, his eyes dark.
She shook her head again, running her hands up the length of his chest, feeling the textured skin and hair that bloomed at his heart.
It was all she allowed herself to do. Though most of her body was screaming at her, her heart insisted they needed more time.
She trusted her heart more than her lady bits, so that’s the body part she would listen to.
He closed his eyes and took in a deep breath as he lowered himself. He was everywhere.
“Why are you torturing yourself?” She leaned up to whisper in his ear, her tongue licking up the side of his neck. Okay, that was all she’d allow herself.
“Because I can’t think with you this close.” He groaned with need, pressing into her. She felt his size through his pants and fought with her heart for a little more of him, wanting so much to have him inside her, to claim him.
But she couldn’t.
“West,” she said as she pushed him back a little. He removed his weight from her immediately. If only she could grab him and bring him back down, sink into his warmth.
“We have unfinished business, you and I. And adding sex, not to mention a mating bond, will just bury our problems.”
She continued to push him until he lay on his back, his eyes wild and his muscles strained, as if resisting the urge to take control. But he allowed her to lead as she pressed him into the bed. When he reached for her, she slipped off the wide mattress, readjusting her robe, closing it.
“So it’s not because you can’t stand to have me as a mate?” he asked, vulnerability shining in his eyes.
Her heart wavered in her decision, but she steeled her spine and placed herself between his legs, leaning down to kiss him. “I am honoured to be your mate, but I wish to wait until things are more settled between us.”
He nodded, a crease forming between his brows. A lock of hair fell over his face and Solveig reached up to brush it away. When she made to pull her hand back, he stopped her, pressing her palm against his cheek. He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply.
“You already smell like mine,” he said. He opened his eyes and stared directly into her soul with those deep green irises. “Whatever you need, whatever I can do to make this right, I’ll do it.”
“I know you will. As will I. I will not let the actions of others dictate my life, and I will not turn my back on you, bond or not.”
That seemed to surprise him.
“What?” she asked, his reaction not what she’d expected.
“I just . . . I guess I didn’t know if you were accepting me because I was your mate. If the bond was the only reason you were giving me a chance.”
Solveig swiped her thumb across his cheekbone.
“I would have married Steffen”—she ignored the way he stiffened under her—“but I would have been miserable. He is a fine male, and I quite like him—oh, do not give me that look.” Here she was, trying to explain her feelings and his fucking male pride was getting in the way.
He was going to be a nightmare to deal with while they remained unmated.
“Can you not speak of other males right now?” he said through clenched teeth.
“I’ll damn well speak of what I want to, and this is important. Without knowing about our bond, I would have married him, as was my duty. Our life would have been pleasant, and I’m sure our younglings . . .”
Alright, she had to accept that she probably shouldn’t talk about having babies with someone else. The rage in his eyes, the need to claim her, had her thighs wet. His nostrils flared.
“Solveig . . .” he warned. He closed his eyes again but this time held his breath, as if that would stop her scent from permeating his senses.
His own scent was overwhelming, suffocating her with need. Why couldn’t they mate? They could solidify their bond and still work on their issues. Maybe it would even help. Fuck, she couldn’t think.
Solveig clung to the last scrap of common sense she had. “There is more to this than you know.”
His head flopped against the mattress, hand dragging down his face. “Seems like the story of my life lately,” he muttered.
“Yes, mine as well.”
“So tell me,” he ordered, and she balked at his tone.
“Of course, Your Highness,” she hissed.
His smile was wicked. “I no longer hate it when you call me that, General,” he teased, lifting himself up on his elbows.
She threw a pillow at him and sat on the edge of the bed. When he moved to sit closer to her, it was a surprise that her body relaxed into him without hesitation. The ease with which they moved together, communicated, it was all new, and yet it was already second nature.
Mates. She was still in shock at the revelation. Still in shock she had been so blind.
He hooked an arm around her waist, and she allowed him to drag them across the bed so they were propped up against the headboard. Like he needed more contact, he entwined their hands and placed a soft kiss on her shoulder.
“Whatever it is, Solveig, whatever you face, you are not alone. I am with you.”
Solveig took a deep breath and explained as best she could. When she got to the part about his parents and their knowledge of his mate’s whereabouts, he leapt out of bed, intent on exacting justice on their behalf.
She silenced his rage with her mouth, gripping his still-bare shoulders and pulling him down. He immediately fell into her, lifting her up so he didn’t have to bend. She wrapped her legs around his waist as he devoured her mouth, his hands unable to find purchase as they moved across her body.
The back of his knees hit the bed and they tumbled down together, her robe coming open again. He kissed down her body, lingering at her breasts as he took one peaked tip into his mouth and then the other.
Solveig groaned and used all her remaining willpower to shove him off. She left the bed so she wouldn’t do anything she’d regret. He growled low and lunged, tackling her into the mattress, only stopping when her dagger found his throat.
“Do it,” he teased, leaning down to kiss her, a drop of blood trickling down her hand. Resisting the urge to lick it off was more difficult than she expected. She’d never craved blood before—even with her Fae lovers, she’d never had the urge. Then again, she’d never had a mate before.
The dagger fell to the side, and he wrapped himself around her. “You’re making it very difficult for me to respect your wishes,” he mumbled into her ear, sending shivers down her spine.
Her head was foggy with the mating bond insisting they complete the coupling. But she couldn’t.
“Westley,” she urged. His head dropped to the crook of her neck as he groaned.
“You’ll be the death of me,” he muttered into her skin.
She laughed. “I keep telling you that.”
His green eyes came up to meet hers, devouring her, staring so hard she almost broke her resolve.
“What else?” he gritted out, flopping onto his back and bringing her into his side. She draped her leg over his waist like it was the most natural thing in the world as he pulled her in tighter.
Like the dam had finally broken between them, conversation flowed as naturally as a river from the sea. She continued to tell him of Koa’s visions and the realms’ involvement in the scheme to bring them together, until she came upon the last prophecy—the one she had feared her entire life.
“Before you’re dead set on mating with me, you have to know something,” she said cautiously.
“Too late,” he whispered, placing a kiss on her head. His fingers traced patterns on her skin, disrupting her thoughts. She smiled into his bare chest, letting her magic intertwine with his.
Safe. Home. Fear.
“There’s a prophecy. One that foretells of my mate, and how formidable he would be.”
Westley puffed out his chest proudly, and Solveig gently sank her teeth into the sensitive skin at his side.
“Ow.” Lightly squeezing her, he chuckled. Goddess, that sound.
“What else did it say?” he asked. And because he was already so attuned to her, he added, “Can you tell me the whole thing?”
“No, but I can tell you a part of it,” she said carefully.
“A soul of formidable power joins one cloaked in light and shadow.
A war primed and ready to wage. A battle of blood may turn the tide.
A heart’s promise lost, sacrificed to the sea, where fogs and mists surround.
The suns shall fall, ne’er to rise again, if the spell remains unbound.”
Silence filled their room as Solveig completed the prophecy, the words hanging in the air. She propped herself up to look at his face. His brows were furrowed, eyes far away. She wished she could tell him more, wished she could give him the rest, nonsense though it still seemed to her.
His lips moved silently, as if tracing the lines of the prophecy, testing them out on his tongue.
That tongue. She’d been so close to finding out what that tongue could do.
An ache grew between her legs, and Westley’s attention snapped back to her. Her abrupt shift in thought yanked him from the seriousness of their conversation.
“And just what are you thinking about?”
“Nothing really,” she said slyly, prepared to lay her next trap.
“Nothing?”
Westley’s hand, which had been lazily drawing circles on the skin at her side, moved to stroke down her leg. He gripped her thigh, sinking his fingers into the muscles, and hitched her leg higher, pressing her sensitive centre against him.
“Was it something like this?” He dragged his broad hand up her back as he brought her closer. They shared the same breath, and she inhaled his scent of rain and salty seas.
Her core throbbed, and their arousal filled the air as it became charged with need, crackling with the force of it. Westley groaned, and in a swift movement, flipped her onto her back.
“I have to be inside you,” he begged, kissing down her chest, lingering on her breasts. “We can sort everything out later, and I don’t care what a fucking nonsense prophecy says—nothing and no one could take me from you.”
Goddess, she wanted that too. Despite her reservations, despite her logic, she almost gave in.
“Spread those pretty legs for me, witch,” he hissed as he dragged his hands up the insides of her thighs. “Be my mate.”
Before Solveig could lose her resolve, she clamped her legs tight.
“Not yet.”