As she’d hoped, his words destroyed the last of his restraint. His gripped her hips, his big body trembling beneath her. His thrusts became more urgent, meeting her downward slides with powerful upward surges of his own. The slapping sound of their bodies meeting filled the chamber with a raw, animal rhythm.
The pressure inside her built, a coil winding tighter and tighter. She could feel his orgasm approaching, a gathering storm in the bond, in the way his knot began to swell significantly against her entrance, a thick, insistent pressure when it slid in and out.
“Now,” he ground out, his voice raw. “Idabel, now!”
He drove up into her one final, brutal time, and his knot swelled inside her, stretching her wider than she thought possible, and lodged deep inside. His roar echoed off the stone walls as his release poured into her, hot and endless, the swollen knot ensuring not a single drop escaped. Her own climax tore through her, a silent, shattering wave that left her blind and shuddering, collapsed on his chest.
For a long time, there was only the sound of their ragged breathing. She could feel the faint pulse of him still releasing inside her. His arms came around her, holding her close as they waited for his knot to subside.
“Thank you,” he said roughly.
“I think I got as much as I gave,” she murmured, tongue thick with satisfaction. “That was thanks enough.”
“You’re wrong, little rabbit. You give me equal pleasure, but you’ve done so much more for me than that. Your hands healed my body,” he said, voice rough with emotion. “Your mind healed my mind. Your heart healed my heart.” He cupped her face, thumb tracing her cheekbone. “And I can never repay you for the gift of my son.”
“There’s no price to be paid.” She pressed her forehead to his. “We have already settled our debts to each other.”
Chapter 36
Idabel
She slept very little that night. Before he turned to stone, Brandt made her promise to rest during the day, under threat of punishment if she ignored him. Part of her was tempted to ignore his edict to see what punishment he might have in store for her, but the other part was just tired.
Despite her exhaustion, she rose just after dawn to collect Loïc from next door. He needed breakfast and fresh clothing and an escort to school. She found him watching the palegreen caterpillars feed on fresh leaves inside Ghantal’s ornate terrarium.
“Come along,” Idabel urged as she collected his things that Ghantal had thoughtfully left in a basket by the door. “We need to get you home and fed. You don’t want to be late.”
Loïc peeled himself away from the glass, leaving a small nose print behind on the terrarium glass. “One of the chrysalises is opening. Ghantmère says I can name the moth when it comes out.”
“That’s nice. What name are you thinking?” She held the door open for him and they walked the few yards to their eyrie, where toast and preserved plums were already laid out on the table. They could afford a better breakfast now, but they both preferred their old favorite.
“I’m not sure yet.” Loïc plopped down and scooped an overlarge helping of plums onto his plate. Idabel bit her tongue as she watched him messily spread it over the toast. “I couldn’t think of any good ones.”
“I’m sure you will.” How had he managed to get plums on his horns? She yawned as she went looking for a cloth to wipe them off.
“The moths told me something else,” he announced to her back. “Something about Papa.”
Her stomach tightened. Of course they had. Moths loved nothing more than spreading news, especially to small boys who listened to all their tales with rapt attention. “Oh?”
“They said Papa sent away a bad gargoyle. One who hurt a lot of people.” He looked up at her, his gray eyes serious. “They said the bad gargoyle was really mad, and they had a big fight.”
Idabel found the cloth she was looking for, but she kept her head in the cupboard for an extra beat. She had hoped to shield Loïc from most of this. He didn’t need to know about the atrocities of war at his age. But moths had no sense of whatchildren should or shouldn’t hear—as she’d found out the hard way in the rookery when Loïc once reported on the marital habits of their neighbors.
“Some of that is true,” she said, keeping her voice carefully neutral as she turned back to him. “Your father didnotget in a fight, though. He controlled himself when the other gargoyle was trying to make him upset.” She winced internally at the half-truth. Hehadcontrolled himself, just not immediately.
Loïc’s wings rattled with excitement. “Was it dangerous?”
“No. The Zenith was there with his guards, and he made sure everyone was safe.”
His face fell. “Oh. I thought maybe Papa did something brave.”
She squeezed his shoulder gently, then used it to steady him so she could scrub the sticky plums from his horns. “Your father was very brave. It took a lot of courage to remember the terrible things that happened during the war and talk about them. He did that so people would know the truth, even though it was hard for everyone to hear about it.”
“What terrible things?” His eyes were round and riveted.
She sighed and kissed his forehead. “Things I hope you never have to see. Go on now, change your pants. You got plums on them, too.”
“That’s not a good answer, Mama,” he grumbled as he went to find clothes to wear to school. He returned with clean breeches and a stubborn set to his jaw. “Why won’t you tell me?”
