“You’re my light,” he whispers into my hair, the words a raw confession. “If I lose you, the darkness will be absolute.”
“You won’t lose me,” I promise, my own voice thick with tears as I wrap my arms around his waist, holding on just as tightly. “You will never lose me.”
He pulls back just enough to look at me, his hands coming up to cup my face. His eyes are full of love and fear and a desperate, burning longing. He kisses me, and it is a kiss of profound, heartbreaking intimacy. It is a kiss that speaks of forevers and goodbyes, of silent vows and desperate hopes. It is a promise to survive, a prayer to the gods we will have a life beyond this one, bloody dawn.
He lifts me into his arms as if I weigh nothing and carries me from the cold battlements, back to the warmth and safety of our quarters. He lays me down on the furs before the fire, and in the soft, flickering light, we make our own silent vows.
“Dina,” he growls against my lips, his hands sliding from my face, down my neck, over my shoulders. “I cannot be gentle. Not tonight. I need… I need to feel you. I need to mark you, so that even if the world ends tomorrow, the gods themselves will know you are mine.”
“Yes,” I gasp as his mouth leaves mine and finds the sensitive skin of my throat. He laves at it with his tongue before sucking deeply, branding me with a sensation that is both pleasure and a sharp, sweet pain. “Xylon…”
“I want you to feel me for days,” he vows, his voice guttural. His hands are under my tunic, calloused palms scraping over my ribs, cupping my breasts. His thumbs circle my nipples,making me cry out. “I want you to remember this touch on the battlefield. Remember who you belong to.”
“And you belong to me,” I insist, my own hands tearing at the laces of his tunic. I need to feel his skin. I push the leather aside, and my mouth finds the solid plane of his chest. I bite down on the corded muscle of his pectoral, not enough to truly hurt, but enough to leave my mark. A possessive growl rumbles in his chest, and I feel a fierce satisfaction. “Let everyone see that you are mine.”
He spins me around, pressing my back against the furs, his body a furnace against me. He kisses me again, one hand tangling in my hair, the other sliding down, over the curve of my backside.
“I need you now,” he breathes, his fingers finding the wet, aching heat between my legs. I moan, my head falling back as he strokes me, his touch knowing and relentless. “So ready for me. Always so ready.”
He turns me back to face him, his eyes burning with a possessive fire. In one swift, powerful motion, he unties my breeches and pushes them down, just enough. He lifts me, and I wrap my legs around his waist, my arms around his neck. The hard length of him presses against my core, and I shudder with anticipation.
“Look at me,” he commands, his voice strained. I open my eyes, locking with his. “I am not going to lose you. We are going to have a future. A long, happy future. I will build you a house. I will fill it with children. I will love you until I am nothing but dust.”
Tears stream down my face, hot against my cold skin. “Promise me.”
“I promise,” he swears. And with that, he enters me in one deep, claiming thrust that steals the air from my lungs.
He fills me completely, stretching me, joining us together in the most intimate way possible. He holds himself there for a moment, our foreheads pressed together, our breaths mingling. Then he begins to move, a slow, powerful rhythm that is both a punishment and a worship.
“You are my heart, Dina,” he whispers, each thrust punctuating his words. “My life. My future.”
I cling to him, my nails digging into the skin of his back, surely leaving half-moon scars of my own. I meet each of his thrusts, my hips rocking against his. The pleasure builds, a coiling, desperate tension that is inextricably linked to the emotion tearing through us—the fear, the love, the desperate hope.
“Xylon, I’m… I can’t…” I sob, the sensations overwhelming me.
“Let go,” he urges, his pace becoming frantic, desperate. “Come for me. Let me feel you.”
His command, spoken against my lips, shatters my control. My climax rips through me, a silent scream tearing from my throat as my body convulses around his. The intensity of it is blinding, a wave of pure, white-hot pleasure that leaves me trembling and boneless in his arms.
“Xylon… Xylon…” I call out over and over, wanting to brand his name in my soul.
The feeling of me coming undone sends him over the edge. “Dina!” With a guttural cry, he drives into me one last, deep time, spilling himself inside me with a shudder that racks his entire powerful frame. He holds me tightly, his face buried in my neck, as we both tremble in the aftermath.
For a long time, we stay like that, joined together, our breathing slowly returning to normal. The world, with its war and its fears, ceases to exist. There is only us, and the promise we have just sealed with our bodies and souls.
He gently withdraws and pulls me into the curve of his body, grabbing a soft fur to drape over us. With a tenderness that contrasts sharply with his earlier fierceness, he uses a damp cloth from a nearby basin to clean me, his touch slow and reverent. He holds me close, his arms a safe harbor.
As the first, pale hint of dawn bleeds over the mountain peaks, we stand together on the battlement once more. I am dressed in leathers, and he is clad in the black, formidable armor of a war leader. But beneath my armor, I carry the marks of his love, and on his skin, he carries the marks of my claim.
He takes my hand, his gauntlet-clad fingers lacing through my own. We stand together, a united front against the coming darkness, our bond forged in fire and sealed in love, ready to face whatever the dawn will bring.
36
XYLON
The dawn is cold and grey. From my position on the high battlements, I watch the army of Lord Jildred spill into the valley below like a river of black, venomous ink. They are everything the scout promised: a disciplined force of Dark Elf soldiers in gleaming obsidian armor, a rough, brutal contingent of human mercenaries, and worse—great, lumbering beasts of shadow and bone, abominations conjured from Jildred’s darkest sorceries. They are better equipped, and they outnumber us two to one.
A grim silence falls over my warriors. I can smell their fear, a sharp, metallic tang beneath the scent of leather and steel. But I do not feel fear. I feel a cold, clear certainty. I know this enemy. I know their leader. And I know his arrogance will be his undoing.
