Then Ryland followed, telling me I was a good girl, making me swallow every last drop.
Never had I imagined anything like this.
Never had I felt so content and wrung out and satisfied in my entire life.
We ended up in a twisted mess of sweaty limbs and slippery flesh, lips still hungrily tasting, fingers still exploring, and hours later, only after we were utterly spent, did we fall asleep in each other’s arms.
“Well, I’m glad I kept my promise, at least,” Ryland murmured, tucking me against him. “Next time, we’ll go for six.”
“I think you’re both going to kill me,” was the last thing I remembered saying before darkness swooped in and carried me away.
30
LYRAE
Awinter wind howled outside Frostveil when I rapped on Rooke’s door the next morning, a meager tray of food balanced in one hand, wiping my other, very sweaty palm against my thigh.
I was…nervous.
Gods knew why, but I was nervous, seeing Kaden Rooke after yesterday.
Which was ridiculous.
Rooke was a pompous, privileged elitist, the exact sort of highbrow male I despised on principle, after decades spent watching the royal court fawn at the Shadow King’s feet like a bunch of social climbing sycophants. Hearing them scream for blood every time I executed one of their own, like death was a sport.
“Come in.”
I shoved through the door, suddenly pissed at myself for getting emotionally sucked in deeper than I should have, intending to set down the food, make some smart-ass comment about how he still looked like dogmeat, and leave.
My feet froze in place, holding the tray in a white-knuckled grip.
Holy fucking shit.
Thick, black hair was tousled around his perfect face,that very muscled, verynakedtorso disappearing beneath a sea of silken black sheets that—just barely—covered the trail of dark hair that started beneath those unfairly defined ab muscles and led straight to…
My traitorous eyes snagged on the enormous bulge thatcouldbe fabric…or was more likely a very impressive morning erection. Definitely not something I should be thinking about, especially when I was still deliciously sore from last night.
Especially when this was Kaden Rooke we were talking about, asshole extraordinaire, who I’d vowed to kill only a few short days ago.
Who I still wanted to kill, most of the time.
But my heart twisted painfully when my eyes drifted back up his body, where barely healed cuts and gashes were layered over the silvered scars from past visits by the Butcher. In the gray light of morning, there were so many.
A staggering number.
I was looking at decades of torture and pain, and my heart felt like it was being squeezed by a merciless fist, something hot pricking at my eyes.
Every inch of him was ruined.
The worst of last night’s wounds were still tightly wrapped, the dressings blotchy with dried blood, but in the muddy dawn, I saw with stunning clarity the Butcher’s cruel precision—the careful placement of all that crosshatched damage, razor-thin slashes meant to cause maximum pain, while spilling as much blood as possible.
The only thing untouched were the thin silver cuffs glinting like frozen moonlight at his wrists, and the skin just beneath, the only part of his body that wasn’t marked.
Something dark and feral burned a hole through the center of me, a rawness almost dangerous in its intensity.
“Come in and set the tray down, commander.”
Whatever Rooke saw in my face made him tug the blanket higher, those hooded eyes sharpening when he spotted the food.
