Chapter 39
Chapter
Thirty-Nine
He caught her at the top of the stairs, pinning her against the door before she could bolt again.
She gasped, her body soft against his, and for a breathless moment she was all he could see.
Flushed cheeks. Bright silver eyes. That brilliant smile meant only for him.
His mouth found the flutter of her pulse at her throat, laving the delicate skin there.
He could devour her right here and die a happy male—
“Get this door open,” she ordered, her hands working at his doublet.
Loren fumbled with the key, swearing as it scraped against the lock. Was this even their door? He couldn’t think—not when she was pulling his shirt from his pants, pressing wet, needy kisses along his throat.
“Hold still,” he growled, and her breathy laugh going straight to his aching cock. He crowded her against the door, turning the key hard enough to nearly snap the damn thing. The lock gave, and they stumbled through in a tangle of limbs and heat and breathless laughter.
Her gown fell first, pooling at her feet in a whisper of plum silk. His shirt hit the floor next, her hands on his skin stealing every last thread of restraint he had left. He reached for her—but Araya caught his wrist before he could guide her back to the bed.
“No,” she said.“You had your turn on the stairs.”
“That was hardly a turn,” he rasped. “More of a teaser.”
Her smile turned wicked—full of a promise that stole the breath from his lungs. She sank to her knees, her fingernails dragging over each ridge of his abdomen as they slid down to the laces of his pants.
Loren braced one hand against the door, the other curling into a fist at his side. Goddess help him, the sight of her—his mate, his queen—kneeling in front of him…
“Araya—” her name tore from his throat, raw and strangled.
“Lorendrael,” she said sweetly, looking up at him through her lashes as she fisted his length and leaned forward to press her lips against the head of his cock.
His head slammed against the door, stars burning across his vision. She took him into her mouth, her tongue tracing maddening patterns that shattered the last of his composure. His thighs shook, his nails biting into his palms as he pressed his fists against the door.
She was the one in control here.
Her hands slid to his hips, holding him steady as she took him again—deeper this time. The heat of her mouth. The pull of her lips. The soft, satisfied sound she made in the back of her throat as he twitched against her tongue—
“Araya, I’m—” he groaned, his voice breaking. “If you don’t stop I’m going to—”
She pulled back just enough to meet his eyes, her lips swollen and her breath coming in short, hot bursts against his skin as she looked up at him.
“But it’s my turn,” she said.
“Not anymore.” Loren hauled her to her feet, kissing her messily.
Araya moaned into his mouth, her fingers twisting his hair. She dragged him closer, chasing his lips as he pulled them both across the room until the backs of his legs hit the bed, spilling them both to the soft mattress.
Loren stared up at her, his throat tight as his hands settled on her thighs, stroking slow circles on her soft skin with his thumbs. Firelight gilded her skin, turning her hair into a cascade of molten flame and her eyes into liquid silver.
“Goddess,” he whispered, his voice ragged. “Look at you.”
She grinned, reaching between them without breaking eye contact. She rose just enough to guide him to her entrance, sliding his head through her slick heat. Loren bit back a curse, his grip on her thighs tightening as she sank down onto him in one agonizingly slow motion.
His head slammed back against the mattress, a ragged sound tearing from his throat as she seated herself fully. “You feel—Goddess. Araya.”
She leaned forward, her hair falling around them like a curtain of flame. She rolled her hips, tearing another groan from him. He clutched at her hips, helpless to do anything but hold on as she moved over him.
She rode him like she owned him—and Goddess, maybe she did.
Araya gasped, her rhythm faltering as he slid a hand between them.
“Lorendrael—” his name spilled from her lips like a prayer.
He stroked her, circling the tight bundle of nerves and tearing another gasp from her lips. Her hips bucked, grinding down on him in a frantic, stuttering rhythm. Her forehead dropped to his, and he swallowed her soft, broken cries with his kiss.
She was close—Loren gripped her hip with his free hand, guiding her as best he could while clinging to the last edge of control. Her body tensed around him, her cry shattering against his mouth as she came, shaking apart in his arms as he followed her over the edge with a hoarse shout.
They collapsed into each other, tangled and breathless.
Loren held her, tracing slow, reverent paths across her sweat-slick skin.
His lips brushed her temple, her cheek, the curve of her jaw—whatever he could reach.
Reminding her with every kiss that he was still here.
That they both were here—alive and together.
And then, someone knocked on the door.
“Ignore it,” Loren growled. He buried his face in the curve of her neck, tangling his fingers in her hair.
“It could be important.” Araya said. But she didn’t move, pressing a kiss to his lips, the corner of his mouth, his jaw—
“Loren!” Thorne pounded on the door again, rattling it on its hinges. “I know you’re in there. Open the damned door!”
Loren froze, his forehead falling against hers. A low growl rumbled in his chest, equal parts frustration and resignation.
“I could kill him,” he groaned against her lips. “He’s my best friend, but I swear—”
He dragged himself away with a curse, yanking his breeches on.
“Don’t move,” he said, the words landing somewhere between a command and a desperate plea. “I’ll get rid of him.”
“Hurry,” Araya whispered, her lips brushing against his before she nipped at his bottom lip.
Loren hissed, the sting of the playful bite threatening to break his fragile grasp on his restraint. He pulled away slowly, staring like he could memorize the sight of her spread out beneath him—flushed and radiant in the firelight.
His. His mate. His queen. His.
He tugged one of the soft blankets over her, his hand smoothing down her side in a silent promise before he stalked across the room and yanked the door open just enough to peer out the crack at Thorne.
“What?” Loren hissed.
“Goddess, Loren.” Thorne shoved the door wide, barging into the room without a care for the furious king he shoulder-checked out of the way. “At least button your breeches properly before you yell at me.”
Araya yelped, clutching the blanket tighter around herself as Thorne glanced at her, his eyes widening for a heartbeat before jerking away.
“Apologies, Araya,” he said quickly, grinning at the air somewhere above her head. “Hate to intrude.”
A low, dangerous growl rumbled from Loren’s chest. He stepped between Thorne and the bed, blocking her from view. “What the hell do you want, Thorne?”
“Scouts spotted New Dominion ships on the Shadowed Sea.” Thorne’s smirk slipped, the humor draining from his expression as he met Loren’s gaze. “They’re headed straight for us.”
Loren swore under his breath. “How many?”
“Six,” Thorne replied, his voice grim. “No idea how they were making it through the shadows—but we never would have seen them in time if the mists hadn’t lifted when they did. Now, with nothing in their way... they’ll be here by morning.”
“Jaxon is with them,” Araya whispered behind him, all the passion that had suffused their bond just moments ago gone cold.
Loren closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. One night—that’s all he’d wanted. One night with her, to spend without fear and war. And the world couldn’t even give them that.
“Gather whoever isn’t too drunk to advise in the council hall,” he ordered Thorne. “Sober up anyone who needs it. Make sure Eloria and Galen are there—and the scouts who spotted the ships. I want a full report.”
Thorne hesitated. His sharp eyes flicked between them, something unspoken tightening in his expression. “Are you—”
“I’ll be down shortly.” Loren said.
For a moment, it seemed like Thorne might push—but then he nodded and turned, his footfalls echoing as he disappeared back down the stairs.
Loren stayed where he was, his back against the door, his hands curled into fists at his sides. He closed his eyes. Just for a breath.
Six ships full of New Dominion soldiers. And Jaxon, coming straight for them. Coming for her. Because the Shaws never stopped until they got what they wanted.
“He’s using an amplifier,” Araya whispered.
She’d sat up, wrapping the blanket around her shoulders.
“He had one working tester when we escaped—I’m better at inscribing, but he has three vials of your blood and six of mine…
I gave him everything he needed.” She swallowed hard. “This is my fault, Loren.”
“No.” Loren crossed the room, cupping her face in his hands. “No, ael’sura. You thought you were helping the fae. You didn’t know.”
But she just shook her head, tears spilling freely now. “That’s not what you said in Aetheris,” she said. “You weren’t wrong. I gave up. I chose Jaxon over my people.”
Loren flinched. Goddess save him, if he could take those words back, he would. A thousand times.
“I was cruel, ael’sura.” He pulled her into his arms, holding her as sobs shook her shoulders. “I wanted to drive you away. To keep you safe. I’m sorry.”
He held her until her sobs dwindled to hiccuping breaths, her body sagging in his arms. Loren pressed a kiss to her temple, selfishly letting himself linger there for one final breath before he forced himself to pull back.
“This isn’t how tonight was supposed to end,” he said, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “I’ll be with the Small Council all night. You should stay here. Rest—”
“No.” Araya shoved off the the blanket, scrubbing at her tear-streaked cheeks. “If Jaxon is with them, I’m your best resource.”
“Ael’sura—” Loren hesitated, his brows drawing together as she stood, grabbing her wrinkled dress from the floor. Every instinct he had demanded that he keep her here, shield her for as long as he could for what waited for them beyond that door.
But she was more than his mate. She was his queen.
“Together, then,” he said, holding out his hand.