She slowly, deliberately, unlaces the front of her tunic. I watch, my hands frozen in the water, as she shrugs it from her shoulders, letting it fall to the ground. Her leggings follow, pooling in a dark circle at her ankles. She stands naked in the dim light, her skin pale and perfect, a stark, beautiful contrast to the black trees and dark water.
She steps to the water's edge and slides into the pool. The cold makes her gasp, a small, sharp sound that makes my gut tighten. She wades toward me, the water lapping at her waist, her gaze never leaving mine, her intention a tangible, unspoken thing in the cold night air.
She reaches me and the water parts around her hips like black silk. The moonlight catches on the droplets clinging to her skin, turning her into something carved from starlight and hunger. She does not speak. She does not need to. The scent of her arousal is already thick in the cold air, sweet and sharp, cutting through the pine like a blade.
I stay still, letting her come to me. She stops when her breasts brush my chest, the chill of the water making her nipples hard as river stones. Her hands settle on my shoulders, small and trembling with need, not fear.
“I’m cold,” she whispers, voice husky, “but I burn for you.”
That is all the warning I give her.
My hands clamp around her waist and I lift her clean out of the water. She gasps, legs wrapping my hips on instinct, ankles locking at the small of my back. My cock is already iron-hard,jutting up between us, trapped against the slick heat of her cunt. She rolls her hips once (just once) and the head slips through her folds, coating me in her wetness.
“Take me,” I snarl against her throat. “Take what is yours.”
She does not wait.
With a broken, desperate cry she sinks down, impaling herself in one brutal drop. The cold water, the hot clutch of her body (the contrast rips a roar from my chest). She is impossibly tight, stretched wide around my thickness, and still she forces herself lower, thighs shaking, until I am buried to the root and her ass rests on my forearms.
For one heartbeat she just breathes (shallow, frantic), adjusting to the impossible fullness. Then the heat wins. She starts to move.
She rides me like a thing possessed (hips rolling, grinding, rising and slamming back down with wet, filthy sounds that echo off the rocks). Water sloshes around us in frantic waves. Her nails rake my shoulders, scoring the skin, and I welcome the sting. I want her marks on me the same way I leave mine on her.
“Harder,” I growl, teeth scraping the tender spot beneath her ear. “Fuck me like you mean it, little mate. Show me how a bitch in heat claims her male.”
She sobs (rage and lust and triumph) and obeys. Her pace turns savage, thighs burning, cunt fluttering around me with every brutal drop. Each time she bottoms out the head of my cock kisses the mouth of her womb and she keens, high and broken. I feel her slick coating my balls, dripping down my thighs, mixing with the cold water.
I shift my grip, fingers digging into the soft flesh of her ass, spreading her wider, angling her so every thrust drags across that secret spot inside her. Her head falls back, throat bared to the moonlight, and I strike (teeth sinking into the tendon whereneck meets shoulder, hard enough to bruise, to mark). She screams, walls clamping down so tight my vision whites out.
“Mine,” I snarl into her skin, tasting copper and salt. “This cunt, this body, this soul (mine).”
“Yes—yours—always—” The words break on a wail as her climax hits. Her whole body seizes, cunt spasming in violent waves, milking me with greedy, rhythmic pulses. I slam her down one final time and let go.
I come with a guttural roar that scatters night birds from the trees. My seed erupts in thick, endless ropes, flooding her so full I feel it pulse around my cock, feel the heat of it seep out around where we are joined. She keeps rocking, riding the aftershocks, drawing every drop from me until I am wrung dry and shaking.
Only when the last shudder leaves us both do I lower her slowly, letting her legs slide down my hips until her feet touch the sandy bottom. She clings to me, boneless, face buried in my neck, breath hitching with soft, overwhelmed sobs.
The water closes over us again, cool and cleansing, washing away blood and filth and doubt. I hold her close, one massive hand cradling the back of her head, the other splayed possessively over the small of her back.
We are still joined. I have no intention of leaving her body tonight.
I carry her out of the pool like that (impaled, dripping, claimed), and lay her down on the bed of pine needles and moonlight. She whimpers when I finally slip free, a thick rush of my seed following, painting her thighs white in the silver light.
I lean over her, tusks grazing her swollen lips.
“Sleep, little mate,” I rumble, voice rough with satisfaction. “Tomorrow we hunt my brothers. Tonight you are full of me, and that is enough.”
30
AURORA
Ifollow Othic. We have been walking for days, heading north, deeper into the harsh, cold land of Rach. The naga’s dying words, "monsters of your visage," are the only thing we have. The land is all rock, stunted pine, and a wind that stings my face, a wind that feels personal.
I am so cold, huddled in the furs we took from the Scildborg, my hand on my dagger. I am a warrior now, or so he tells me. But I am so very tired. This land feels empty, and the hope that burned so bright at the farmstead is guttering like a cheap candle.
I watch Othic. He is a silent, grim mountain, his eyes scanning every ridge, his shoulders set against the wind. I can feel the doubt rolling off him. He thinks this is a fool's errand, a trap set by a dying snake. He has been quieter these last two days, his movements heavier, the primal alertness replaced by a grim, joyless march. I see him stop, his shoulders slumping. He is about to tell me he has failed us. He is about to tell me to turn back, and I do not know if I have the strength to.
He freezes.
