Amma’s shoulders shifted back as she fell still and looked up into his eyes. “I’m glad he’s dead, and I’m glad I’m the one who did it.”
Her gaze held him, eroding the last modicum of restraint that kept his hands clenched at his sides and not lifting her up against the wall and fucking her right there.
“Is that okay?” She had lost the slant of confidence that had just radiated from her like arcana, timid sweetness taking over as she shrank in on herself.
Damien chuckled. “I may not be a dependable source of morality, but I, for one, am extraordinarily jealous.”
Curiosity sparkled in her eyes.
“I would have liked to kill him, to slice off his head orhack him into a hundred useless pieces.” He took a careful step toward her. “I wish I could have done it for you—slit his throat and cut out his heart to lay at your feet—however you might have ordered it be done.”
“Oh,” Amma said, breath catching, stepping away from the wall. “Well, maybe now I do regret doing it. Just a little.”
“Is there anyone else?” Damien grinned, inching toward her still. “A life you would request I snuff out? I would gladly deliver you their head, simply give me a name, and—”
Amma took him by the tunic and jerked him down into a frantic kiss. Her lips and tongue worked at his like she was starved, and relief flooded Damien’s chest at having her mouth on his again. It hadn’t been an accident, inspired only because he had gone to her rescue, when she had previously kissed him, thank the dark gods.
She pressed herself against him, and he took her by the waist, skin bare and soft and hot. She had on so little it would take only the flick of his wrist to have her naked, and the way she clawed at his neck and tried to climb up him said she was keen on the very same idea. But then again, she had just asked him if he intended to trade her away, as if she were afraid she might have been brought to Yvlcon simply as some good to be sold when he was done with her.
“Amma,” he breathed into her mouth as she kept kissing him, “Ammalie, stop.” His words sounded like a plea though his hands roved over her bare flesh.
“You stop,” she taunted, gripping the back of his head and nipping at his lip.
Groaning as he pulled back, he hooked a finger into the collar to hold her in place. “I can’t.”
Blue eyes heavy with lust, she searched his face for the answer. “Why not?”
“The talisman,” he admitted, catching his own reflection inthe metal clasped about her neck. “We both know it means I can have you however I please. It was easier to ignore before, but now look at you, wearing the evidence around your throat that you belong to me.”
Amma’s fingers grasped at him, drawing herself as close as he would allow, lips brushing his. “What if that’s exactly what I want?”
CHAPTER 4
BEHAVING DECEITFULLY UNDER INESCAPABLE CIRCUMSTANCES
Damien’s hands were underneath her, and Amma was lifted from the ground. She wrapped her legs around his waist and devoured his mouth again. Hot on her thighs, his fingers dug in, crushing her to him, but when her back came up against the wall, she winced and cried out.
“What happened?” He pulled back. “Did I hurt you?”
Amma had her elbows on his shoulders, leaning into him, breathing hard. “Nothing, I just—” She sucked in a sharp breath as his hold on her shifted, a spasm shooting up her spine.
Carefully, Damien guided her to the ground, fingers light as they slid along her back, and he walked her toward the closest wall sconce. “Bloody Abyss,” he mumbled, touching her side. “How did I miss all this?”
Amma couldn’t see what it was his palms glanced over, but she could feel a tightness in her skin. His hands did not return to ardently grab at her, instead hovering carefully at her waist as he urged her across the room.
“Get on the bed.” He began to pull off his boots. “On your stomach.”
She watched him a moment then climbed up onto the decadent linens. Easing herself onto her belly, she glanced back as he removed his belt. “This feels like the opposite of what you just said we can’t do.”
Damien made a thoughtful noise in the back of his throat, but as he continued to undress, the fervor he’d had moments before was gone. He stripped off his tunic, breeches still on butleaving himself nearly as naked as she was, and when he knelt on the bed at her side, her face flashed with heat. He was studying her body laid out before him, hair falling into his eyes as he tipped his head down, and then the warmth of his hand covered her low back. “Does this hurt?”
“No,” she said, a soft sigh into the linens. It actually felt wonderful, the heat off his skin, the weight of his hand, the comfort of his presence so close, and then—yes, right there, that stung, and she jerked beneath his touch with a feeble cry.
“This bruising,”—he swallowed—“I can take care of this.” Damien shifted beside her, and both of his hands gently pressed to the most sensitive spot on her low back. There was a tickle under his palms and then that familiar arcana of his. As it seeped into her skin, her limbs loosened, and she rested her cheek on the bed.
Damien’s hands glided over places she didn’t even know hurt until they were touched, but with sibilant, Chthonic whispers, the ache faded. Fingers exploring her skin, he treated a spot below her shoulder, her elbow, a place on her calf, and soon the discomfort was banished by pleasant tingles.
“This one is persistent and largest,” he said when his hands returned to her low back. “One spell was not enough to heal it. What caused this?”
