Chapter 15
OFF WE GO
My heart stopped, or sped up, I couldn’t tell which. Couldn’t think properly as realizations collided. Jasher’s strong arms caged my head. His muscled weight pinned me, while his spread wings anchored us in our own little world. Here, now, only we existed.
His intoxicating scent filled my nose. My blood heated. Aches bloomed. One reaction blended into the other, rousing sensitive goose bumps that pulsed with wild things I had no business feeling. A ravenous hunger and frothing need older than my reeling mind could currently fathom.
Those same wild things churned inside him, like calling to like. I should pull away. I knew that. The warning flared, born from the same instinct that had kept me alive this long. He sought my destruction, and he was strong enough to succeed. And yet…
I conformed my body to his. “Jasher,” I groaned.
“Once again, you find yourself at my mercy, princess.” He brushed the tip of his nose against mine. “Whatever shall you do?”
This playful side of him, so like my Jasher, sent me spinning. “Oh, you have mercy now, do you?” The raspiness of my voice sparked a widespread blush. But back off? No. “You pretended to be in pain to lure me over. I call foul.”
“No, darling. There was no pretending. I merely unbottled the pain I feel every day, as I hold the monster at bay.” He smiled a little, smoldered a lot. “But yes, I did use it to lure you over.”
He didn’t lie about it. That mattered. If he had, I might have rallied the strength to walk away.
I stroked my fingertips over his cheek. “I hate that you hurt.”
“Kiss me and make it better.” He nuzzled into my touch. “You want to—you want me.”
I did want him. More than I could articulate. But… “You threatened to kill me. Repeatedly.”
“A misunderstanding.”
Ha. “Kissing you would be foolish.”
“Ah, but when given the chance to follow through with my threats, I protected you instead. Did I not?” he asked, the edge of each word frayed. “Actions trump words, always.”
Maybe. Warmth uncoiled in the center of my chest. “You think you deserve a reward, hmm?”
“Deserve? No. Crave?” His gaze dropped to my mouth. “Yes.”
Resist. But I traced his biceps, then his shoulders, then toyed with the ends of his silken hair.
Tracing him. Learning him again. “You won’t win me to Ian’s side, Jasher.
” Assurance seeped into my tone. “He arranged my mother’s assassination—I’m certain it was him—and he intends to kill my father. ”
“I know,” he admitted. The barest hint of vulnerability flickered over his expression. “Everything is a jumbled mess inside my head, but not that.” Gaze still on my lips, voice low and husky, he said, “I still want to kiss you.”
Scorching breath lodged in my throat. A throat he now held in his hands.
His eyes flashed. “All you must do is say yes, little beauty, I’ll remind you how good it can be between us.”
A reminder might not be a bad thing. Could be helpful. For decision making. In the future.
But I knew better.
And yet? “Yes,” I croaked, my will too weak. I wanted this moment. This escape. If only for a little while.
Delight lit his eyes, the sunset shifting to a sunrise.
I expected a rush of passion, but he didn’t even breathe at first. He simply leaned in, letting the space between us ache with possibility.
I waited, aching, more desperate by the second.
Then, just when I thought I could stand it no longer, he brushed his lips against mine in the faintest, trembling touch.
My breath caught. The kiss was soft, almost shy, a rediscovery rather than a claim.
When I parted my lips for him, he followed the action with exquisite caution, his tongue meeting mine in a slow, searching stroke, as though he were tracing the memory of who we’d been…
and the possibility of who we might be again.
He tasted like Jasher, my Jasher, but gentler, softer, like the first spark of dawn. A warm flutter cascaded over my skin, then sank deeper and danced beneath my ribs.
I cupped his firm jaw. Heat continued to gather and advance when his clawtipped fingers stroked my pulse. The reverence he displayed undid any lingering resistance. A breathy mewl left me as nerve endings awakened.
With one hand, he carefully threaded his fingers into my hair. The other he settled at my hip, a steadying and grounding force. I reveled in his barely leashed urgency and the quiet ache of a starving man doing his best to savor rather than consume.
Tracing from his jaw to his nape, I explored him as though the world had rewound just for us, rewriting the memory of every kiss that had come before. There was only here and now and this moment.
His breath shivered against my mouth, as if he fought to control a storm ready to unleash.
“Jasher,” I groaned, wanting and needing more.
“Yes, Moriah,” he rasped. But a second later, he tore away with a strangled sound. Between ragged breaths, he whispered, “The king approaches.”
Instant internal ice bath. I hadn’t worked up my plans against Ian!
With a single flap of his wings, Jasher launched off me and plastered himself against the far wall, coin twirling through his fingers like he’d been bored for hours.
Meanwhile, I attempted to sit up, only to realize my bones had the structural integrity of warm pudding.
I stayed there, breathless, lips definitely-kissed, willing myself to calm.
A knock hard enough to wrench a gasp from me.
I inhaled to ask for one minute—just one. Ahav opened the door as if boundaries, privacy, and emotional stability were optional.
He strode in, all power and authority. Fresh from a shower, he wore soft leathers and a white tunic.
His gaze swept the chamber, landed on me, jumped to Jasher, then returned to me and narrowed.
And there it was. The look. That deeply unhelpful, unnervingly perceptive countenance that said: I know what you were doing mixed with I’m trying very hard not to know what you were doing.
“Ah,” he said, his disapproval on vivid display. “I now understand why you protect him.”
Mortification detonated behind my eyes. Not only had I been caught in a compromising position—by my secret biological father—but he had apparently decided to practice his disappointed parent routine even before the birth of his little princess.
Jasher’s posture stiffened, his casual facade not quite as impenetrable as it had appeared. Kevin watched it all go down at his side, thankfully silent.
Kevin…kangaroos. Both started with a K. Any connection?
Okay, that was a ridiculous connection. I must be getting desperate.
“He isn’t like the others,” I said, strong in tone but internally dying.
My limbs remembered how to function. I stood and combed trembling fingers through my hair, then smoothed my clothing while pretending I did not look like someone who’d just experienced a life-altering kiss only to be surprise-audited by her father.
“Thank you for honoring me with your presence, Majesty,” I said, doing my absolute best impression of a serene, composed water maiden.
Inside, I whispered a prayer: Please, let him decide my face is red from… anything else. Literally anything.
“It is I who am honored, Oracle.”
“I’d prefer you call me Rye.”
He nodded his agreement. “You saved the life of my wife and child.” He bowed his head.
“From this day forward, I am your ally. Rye. If you have a need, and I have the supply, it is yours. But hear me. I won’t allow your relationship with the creature to endanger my family or my kingdom. The monstra is a threat.”
“I understand why you think so. Truly.” And really, he wasn’t wrong about Jasher being a threat.
But no wonder my mother had referred to me as ‘oracle’ in the barn.
How could I not continue to lean into the powerful persona?
There was no better way to reveal the truth about Ian.
“Tinman and I stick together. If you prefer, we can camp outside the castle.” I cast a longing glance at the center spring.
I hadn’t even gotten to soak in the water.
“But before we go, there’s something you should know. ”
He looked slightly bemused, as if I’d surprised him. “I wasn’t banishing him from royal grounds. I was explaining what’s soon to transpire. My trusted commanders and guardians will examine the monstra.”
Jasher went rigid.
“No,” I snapped. Dissection-level curiosity and total disregard for his dignity? “No,” I repeated.
“I do not seek your permission.” Oh, the power the king radiated in this moment. “I merely explained what will happen for the good of my people.”
I almost shook in my boots. Twenty years from now, the people of Hakeldama would despise him.
When they spoke of him, they would evince only disdain, as if he was a stain upon their history.
A development I still didn’t understand.
He embodied everything a king should be.
Protective. Determined. Confident. Strong. Even caring and courteous.
An equal measure of protectiveness rose in me. “I won’t allow anyone to harm Tinman or examine him like he’s some kind of lab experiment.” Something Jasher would have every right to protest. “But I will tell you what I know about the monstra, and how they’re being controlled.”
I realized then: I had one weapon against Ian. The truth. It was plan A, B, C and D. “What I share can tip the scales in your favor,” I added, “and give you the advantage in this war.”
Rather than rebuke me for my attempted bargaining, the king nodded—with respect. “I give you my word. Your Tinman won’t be harmed unless he attacks. But those I trust will examine him.”
Okay, we could revisit the examination after the king learned the potency of my information. “The monstra are clones. Fashioned in the image of their maker.” My gaze slid to Jasher. His posture said casual unconcern, but his eyes seethed with irritation.
He didn’t like being discussed like an object. Noted.
“How are they made?” the king asked.