Closing his eyes, Rey clenched his teeth as she sagged against him. He tried to distract himself from the fact that he was painfully hard by focusing on the thundering of her heart.
At last, she drew back, a sated smile curving her lips. But his errant cock twitched against her, and Silla’s smile vanished.
“You needn’t—” But he hissed as her hand slipped beneath his breeches, wrapping around him. She paused, her brows drawing together.
“What are you hiding down here?” she asked, scooting back on his thighs. Her eyes met his. “They feed you something special in the north?” And with that, she pushed his breeches down to free him.
“Silla,” he warned. “You do not?—”
“Oh, but Ido,” she insisted. “Gods, Rey, you’re—” One small, hot hand encircled him, and it was too much. Gods, he’d imagined this a thousand times, but the touch of her was more than he could have dreamed. Her other hand joined the first, working him up and down with torturous slowness. “Rey, I don’t know if you’ll—if I can—if we’ll?—”
“I didn’t take you for a coward,” he grunted, shoving into the tight clutch of her hands, trying to urge her on. Silla scoffed, and he caught the competitive gleam in her eye. And in that moment, he could see how it would be with her. The teasing. The games they’d play.
It wasn’t long before he found his own pleasure, showers of sparks racing across his vision and down his spine as he thrust into her hand. He groaned into her hair, clutching her close as heat burst from him. He could smell and feel her everywhere, and in that moment, he felt so much it hurt.
Resting his head on her shoulder, he labored for breath. It had been better than his wildest carnal imaginings. Better than any woman who’d come before. Because it washer.
Silla pushed him onto his back. Cleaned them up with her tunic. Curled her body around his with a soft sigh. Rey’s heart seemed to beat in time with hers.
“That was…” She let out a shaky exhale.
Right,he wanted to tell her.As though it was fated by the gods.But instead he said, “Aye.”
Rey tipped her chin up and pressed a soft kiss to her lips. A disorienting blast of warmth radiated through his body, leaving him feeling off balance. She felt like she belonged there, curled up against him.
His heart gave a panicked squeeze.Kristjan, he tried to remind himself, but even the memory of that loss did little to rebuild his defenses. This woman—who was soft and so lovely yet would defend his life with the fierceness of a grimwolf—had pulled them down, piece by piece. But rather than exposed andvulnerable, he felt relief. He’d fought so long and hard. Surrendering to her was the easiest thing he’d ever done.
“Why a dragon?” she asked, tracing a tattooed wing spur.
“A dream I once had,” he replied, thankful for the diversion from his muddled thoughts. “It is my halda.”
“Halda?” Silla asked, looking up at him. “Why do I know that word?”
Rey found himself rambling. “Harpa, most likely. The tale goes that Sunnvald’s ash fell upon the stones, creating halda deposits. Some say they have their own source of galdur, but as they are stone, they lack the mind to control it. When ground into a fine powder and tattooed upon one’s skin, they serve as a…reserve of sorts. A place to store galdur outside one’s own source. It is handy when you need a great supply.”
“In battle,” Silla mused, her nails scraping along a wing spur. Her fingertips found the bite mark on his shoulder, and she pressed a soft kiss to it. “I’m sorry. I’ve marked you.”
Should he tell her he would wear it like a badge?Hers, it seemed to say. “Thank you,” he said instead.
She blinked.
“Thank you, Silla, for saving my life.Again.”
Silla burst into laughter. “That was painful, wasn’t it?”
He frowned affectionately. “Horrible. But you summoned a sword of light and turned yourself into an ice goddess to protect me. Thanking you is the least I can do.”
Her fingers slid into his beard, stroking gently. “I’d do it a thousand times over, Galtung.”
He pressed a soft kiss to her temple, then jerked back with a frown. Rey had been so diverted, he’d forgotten the absence of his galdur. Now, as he probed inwardly, a hot, restless feeling filled him. It was unnatural, an empty space where the heart of his magic should lie. It felt as though a part of him had been wrenched free.
“What is it?” asked Silla.
His lips parted, but he forced them shut. Yanking on his breeches, he searched for his tunic. “We must get to Harpa’s,” he said brusquely.
And before she could answer, he was out the door.
Chapter Fifty
