It was probably a good thing he didn’t have access to his magic because he would’ve flooded the entire camp in that moment, leaving only the two of them.
She was a goddess of war when she had ridden into view on Helle. He’d been so struck by her presence he hadn’t been able to form words. He could only stare, his magic urging him to get closer to her.
It was a constant ache, the need to have her pressed up against him. His body knew hers, even clothed, and his cock filled at the memory. She wasn’t soft or supple, but she fit perfectly against him.
The image came unbidden, of peeling off each layer of her armour, exploring every exposed inch of her as she came undone in front of him. Underneath him. On top of him. He hadn’t heard a single thing Latham had said, and eventually, it had been too much for him, needing to go to her.
Westley didn’t want to examine why it had felt so right, but his magic eased when he was by her side.
Solveig caught him staring, bringing him back to the present. Her copper eyes were like twin flames, the black kohl surrounding them making them shine brightly in the dying darkness of the moon.
“What do you think?” Solveig asked him.
“Think about what?” he asked slowly. Had she been speaking and he had zoned out so completely that he hadn’t heard her?
Solveig gestured around her and understanding washed through him. He swallowed the lump formed in his throat and tried to shift in his saddle to ease some of the discomfort.
“I’m not sure. The forest is too quiet. Are we almost to the mortal village?” It was nearly morning, the moon giving way to the earliest of the sun’s rays, the inky-black sky fading to an eerie grey dawn.
“Soon.” She stared ahead, and when Westley followed her line of sight, she was focused on Latham.
“Are you worried about him?”
“We’ve been friends and partners for centuries. I’ll never not worry about him.”
“Do you ... Do you regret saving him from the fate you suffered?” he asked carefully. He didn’t know why he was bringing it up now of all times—the question just slipped out.
Solveig’s face hardened and she tilted her head as she studied him. “No,” was all she said. Hint taken. He wouldn’t mention it again.
They rode on in silence, and Westley finally heard noises in the distance. It was a relief after the deadly quiet of the forest. The mortal village was not far off, and they’d made good time—many would not be awake yet.
His Fae hearing picked up the rhythmic sounds of guards marching from post to post. Mortals were so loud. He and Solveig exchanged a look as the whole group surged forward with renewed energy.
Latham made hand signals from the front of the caravan, and just like that, it was time.
Groups split off to take their positions as quietly as possible as the village gates came into view. Westley focused his attention back to Solveig who had slowed, allowing soldiers to march ahead of her. He gave her a questioning look, but she shook her head.
Her hand was on the hammer again, her leg trembling in her stirrups. He was about to go to her when Noren rode up beside him, cutting him off.
“Ready?”
“Always.”
They heard the sharp whistle of a bird and launched themselves forward at the signal, picking up their pace as they neared the south entrance of the village.
The Fae at the head of the group silenced two guards with one swipe of her sword before the mortals could ring the alarm.
A bell rang out from the east, meaning another group hadn’t been swift enough to enter undetected. The bell sounded once before it was cut short. But it was too late.
All Hel broke loose.
Solveig brought up the rear as their group charged into the south side of the mortal village.
She tried to keep her heart rate steady as she immersed herself in the last place she’d seen before she was captured. Memories of that night flashed through her vision, making past and present hard to differentiate.
Sten’s face before she’d charged into the fray. Gerrie’s voice called to her, instead of Conalle’s.
She clamped her eyes closed and pushed down every bit of panic that had started to bubble up. The mortals responded quickly to their onslaught, and on instinct Solveig drew her weapons, moving forward.
