Chapter 36
Chapter Thirty-Six
Antony
Her lips taste like roses.
Her skin smells like an endless field of flowers, a place without boundaries.
And her sighs…they sound like warmth and certainty. A life without lies or treachery or spilled blood.
Impossible things, all of them.
I don’t deserve them, but I drink them up anyway.
As I press my mouth to hers, I fight my impulses to go so much further.
There’s barely a shred of material between us. I could easily rip off her bloomers, dispense with my pants, push her up against the wall, and take her, and damn, I want to.
I spent the last few hours hunting in the forest outside this cabin, and as a consequence, right now, all of my worst instincts are blunted.
This might be the only time I could fuck her without killing her…
But she’s still trembling, and I can’t be sure if it’s with need or with shock, and even if I ask her permission, I can’t be certain if she’ll interpret my question as a command.
I don’t want uncertainty. I want her to scream at me to fuck her. Loud and clear.
I’d rather leave her panting for release than doubt she wants it.
Even if it means I might not get this chance again.
Slowly, I reach behind me and wrap one hand around her outer thigh, kneading her tense muscles, easing the strain she must have placed on her leg. Both legs, but I can’t reach the other one while I’m supporting her back.
Still slowly, I push her leg away from my hips, urging her to unfurl from around my hips.
I can’t stop my satisfied smile when she fights me, pressing harder, clinging tighter.
“I want your feet on the ground.” I give her my full attention, claiming her gaze as my hand continues to work along the length of her upper leg, even as she insists on keeping it where it is, stroking toward the spot where she presses most closely to my hip, slipping my hand between us to clench around her inner thigh.
She gasps, nearly inhaling the water trickling down her face. The spray is hitting her back now, and she hasn’t mentioned the cold once. She might not realize it, but my body heat is keeping her warm. Just as I promised her.
She finally eases her leg away from my body, giving me better access, and my smile grows.
I peel both of her legs away from me, one by one, taking my time stroking her inner thighs while she holds on to my shoulders, keeping herself from falling now.
Her legs finally slide to the floor, and her downward momentum grazes her chest against mine, her body close enough that her hard nipples grind against me. When she comes to a standstill, still pressed up against me, she can’t be under any illusions about the hardness of my cock.
I don’t let her feel it for long, moving as if I’m taking a knee before I grasp the bottom of her tunic and stand again, even more slowly, bringing the tunic with me, peeling it up and up inch by inch.
She seems to remember herself, stiffening before I can raise the material high enough to expose her breasts.
It’s the hesitation I was alert for.
I let the material drop back into place, making no comment about her reaction, feigning indifference as I leave her where she stands, now outside of the spray, and I step fully into the falling water.
Immersing myself in the cold stream, I focus on scrubbing at my hair and skin, washing away the final traces of blood before I purposefully turn away from her and drop my pants, waiting for the water to run completely clear.
The light is dim, but that doesn’t bother me. If only it were colder in here. Maybe I could set aside my heady thoughts and reduce the intensity of my arousal.
Just as I plant my palms against the wall, bracing against the cold porcelain for the moment it takes me to steel myself to turn off the water, the slap of wet material against the floor draws my attention back to Thyra.
Keeping myself facing away from her, I make sure to only turn my head, my focus flying from the discarded tunic on the floor up to her face.
She holds one arm across her breasts, covering them, but the tilt of her head is defiant. “There was still blood on it.”
I assume she means her tunic, but I’m not sure what to make of her defiance. Her voice continues to rasp. It looks as if her neck won’t heal quickly. Highborn typically heal faster than lowborn, but we’re all susceptible to illness, injury, and death.
My forehead pinches as I try to decipher what she wants, and then I decide it’s simplest to ask her. “Do you want me to keep my distance or come to you?”
She takes a step toward me. Just one. Her face flushing. Her bloomers cling to the apex between her legs, and the material is so waterlogged it’s barely more than a transparent veil.
“If…” She stops. Starts again. “If I can quench this need, then I can prove the blade vision was wrong.”
So it’s about the blade.
I haven’t thought about the damn thing since I left her chained to my bed. I’ve barely noticed its shape on her arm. Since I rushed back to the cabin, since I heard her terrified scream, all I cared about was her.
But I’ve already dismissed the idea of breaking the curse by fucking her. “That’s a bad reason.”
As I speak, I turn around, giving her a full view of my body.
She takes a sharp breath.
I’m not certain if it’s because of my arousal or the ropey scar running across my lower stomach.
I prowl toward her, studying her for any hint of retreat, any backward flinch, but she stays where she is, letting me approach.
Before I reach for her, she asks, “What happened?”
I draw to a stop. “Nothing exciting. I took on a stag that was stronger than me. In my defense, I was only eleven at the time.”
She tilts her head slightly. “A stag?”
She sounds so confused that I find myself explaining. “The creatures with antlers. They live in the forest. You would have seen herds of them when we flew here.”
Her lips purse. “Antlers?”
My lips stretch into a grin, because it’s clear to me she must never have seen them before. “The bony protrusions on their heads.”
Her face pales. “Is that what that bone is called?”
I’m instantly regretful, an unwanted emotion I’ve experienced too many times today, but I tell myself to feel it this time, because I’ve reminded her of the antler I used to kill her would-be assassin.
All the water in the world can’t erase what happened to her tonight or the fact that the body remains outside this room, but I refuse to let her slip back into shock.
My right hand snakes around the back of her head. My other hand falls lightly to the top of her arm, which she’s using to cover her breasts. She’s been standing outside the water and away from my body heat for long enough that goosebumps are rising across her skin.
I lower my head to hers, but I don’t kiss her, keeping my lips apart from hers, daring her to close the gap.
Her focus immediately returns to me, the faraway look in her eyes disappearing, and her defiance returning.
“You’re cold,” I say, keeping my eyes raised to hers as I lower my mouth to her arm, watching her closely while I nudge kisses along her forearm, applying downward pressure at the same time.
It’s the lightest urging. Still easy for her to keep her arm where it is, covering her breasts.
But then, she lowers it.
Just a little.
Just enough for me to dip my head to the top of her left breast and drag my lips across it.
The rise and fall of her chest becomes more rapid, pushing her skin against my mouth, an arch forming in her back, and, once again, I fight the desire to sweep her up against the wall and fuck her. Slowly. Not fast. Drawing it out. Making her cry for release.
It’s only the middle of the night. We’ve got hours until dawn. Hours I could spend exploring every part of her body, discovering what she likes.
Her arm slips low enough that I can lick my tongue across the top of her nipple, gratified when the soft flick I give it makes her moan.
But I’ve continued to watch her, check her reactions, and now the corners of her mouth turn down, and she’s trembling again.
I lift my head away from her, trying to understand her body language, uncertain how to interpret it.
Then it comes to me like an icy blast.
I’ve seen that look on my own face in the mirror. Just as I’ve seen her fury reflected back at me.
She fucking hates herself right now.
If she wants to fuck me… Well. She hates herself for it.
Of course she would. Her father died today. The way she speaks about him, she loved him as much as I love Cassia, Victor, and even Hadrian. If Cassia had died today, I’d be tearing down the world.
I don’t regret my actions just now. I wanted to draw Thyra out of her shock, and I did that, but it’s just as well that this heat between us ends now.
After all, my monstrous instincts will begin rising again soon enough, and the chances of losing control and killing her will increase with them.
“A need that can’t be quenched,” I murmur, unable to keep the hollow from my voice. “For either of us.”
It takes all of my willpower to step away from her, letting go of my wild thoughts and putting a final stop to them. Or rather, I try. My body is infuriatingly slow to respond.
I focus determinedly on the wall to the right, pressing a panel in it that clicks and slides out of the way, revealing two shelves embedded in the wall cavity. One shelf contains large, soft drying cloths. The other stores clothing.
I don’t have any bloomers, let alone a woman’s size, so I can’t help her there, but I can offer her a clean tunic. One of my smaller ones from when I was younger. Luckily, I didn’t throw them all out.
Quickly, I wrap a cloth around my waist, covering myself and much of my legs, before I hand her a drying cloth too. “I’ll turn my back until you’re dry. Then I’ll hand you a tunic.”
I don’t wait for her acknowledgment before I face the shelves again, grab another cloth and dry myself off, hastily pulling on a fresh pair of long pants, studiously ignoring the next slap of wet material that indicates she’s removed her wet bloomers before the next quiet swishes indicate she’s also drying herself off.
I’m startled when, a moment later, she presses herself to my back, her naked chest connecting with my spine, her arms wrapping around me from behind.
“Thank you,” she whispers.
I freeze, my arms lifted away from my sides, struck still by the sudden contact. “What the fuck for?”
I anticipate she’s about to say for ending her attacker. Or maybe for helping her wash off the blood.
“For not taking advantage.”
I inhale a ragged breath, fighting the flood of emotion filling my chest. I can’t separate and quantify these feelings. Rage? Fear? Regret? Warmth? Fuck it, I don’t know.
All I know for certain is that she shouldn’t thank me. Not ever.
Not with what’s ahead of her.