A better man would have kept his eyes on hers, but Kass had never been known for his self-control. His eyes dipped to her knees, hugged to her chest. She held them with a white-knuckled grip that made him frown, and a shred of his wits returned to him.
“We need not—”
“Iwantto,” she interjected.
Kassandr hardly dared breathe for fear he’d frighten this beautiful creature away—this lovely woman who would soon be his wife. He trained his gaze on the fluttering pulse in her throat, longing to scrape his teeth along it, to sink into her flesh with his claiming bite—
Instead, he leaned forward, bracing his forearms on the edge of the tub, and took her mouth in a rough kiss. Saga, to her credit, only faltered for a moment before her lips moved against his. Fire blazed through him, burning up all his plans for caution. Kassandr leaned farther forward, but Saga did not slink back. Instead, she melted against him, filled all the broken places inside him.
A whimper came from Saga’s throat, and it spurred him on. Kassandr leaned farther forward and cupped her face as he showed her with his lips just how good they could be—she his queen, and he her protector. Herhusband.His elbows had dipped below the waterline in the tub, but he couldn’t care, because Saga’s fingers clutched at his wrists, holding him in place. She was barely keeping up with the strokes of his eager tongue, and Kassandr had to remind himself that she was unused to this—that he should go slowly. But this was his Saga, and he’d yearned for her for so very long.
Kassandr was painfully hard, his cock straining against his breeches. And gods, but he longed to pull her from the tub. To splay her legs wide on the furs before the hearth and bury his face between them. What sounds would she make when he made her come? He had to find out.
But not yet.
As Kassandr broke the kiss, he felt he deserved an award, for it had taken every last shred of his will. He eased back just a touch, though he was still leaning over the tub. Saga’s blue eyes were glazed, her cheeks and lips flushed, and for a moment they stared at each other, breaths mingling in the steam.
“More,” whispered Saga, pulling on his hands—trying to bring his lips back to hers.
“Soon,” he said, his voice rough as broken stone. “We must save something for our wedding night.”
It gave him immense pleasure to watch her eyes darken—to give the maddening woman a taste of her own ale. After all, she’d been driving him mad with want since the day he’d met her. Now she, too, would suffer.
His beast was livid, railing against the sudden appearance of Kassandr’s self-control, and resisting its call to claim was the hardest thing Kassandr Rurik had ever done.
“I will care for you, Winterwing,” he promised her in a low voice. “I will cherish you. I will protect you and stay by your side. Each day I will work to earn back your trust.” He studied her face in exquisite detail, noting the droplet of water clinging to long, black lashes; the tiny freckle just beside her ear.
He pressed one last, lingering kiss to her lips, and then he forced himself to stand. His beast pounded against the cage of his chest, urging him to go back, but Kassandr forced himself to take one step toward the exit, then another. He wasn’t sure if he breathed until there was a closed door between him and the naked form of Saga Volsik.
Kass sagged against the wall, bracing himself against his beast’s tantrum. Gods, but he was in trouble.
Chapter 52
Kopa, Íseldur
Silla smoothed the leather-like scales of her lébrynja jacket as Hild held up a round of polished metal for her to examine her reflection. Her curls were woven into a thick braid that fell down her back, and her eyes were free from kohl. Gone were the fine garments and ornate jewels, exchanged in favor of an armored jacket and functional breeches. The woman staring back at her was no longer Eisa. Today, she would introduce the jarls to Silla.
Yet the dark circles beneath her eyes and her pallid complexion spoke of Myrkur’s ever-tightening grip. And as she stared at her reflection, darkness flashed in her eyes—so brief, she might think she’d imagined it.
Together we will make them bow,hissed the dark god.Once you are on the throne, Eisa, we will rule it together.
Silla frowned.What makes you think I would ever want that?
She sensed the dark god’s satisfaction.You cannot hide it from me,He taunted.I hear it in your thoughts. Taste it in your blood.Hunger surged through her. A desperate want.Where is Saga? Would you work so hard to gain the fealty of these nobles only to have her claim it? It is you who should be on the throne.
She tried to shake off Myrkur’s odious presence. Tried to ignore His provoking words. But it was impossible to do so when there was a kernel of truth to what He said. Silla was forced to admit that shedid want the throne, though not to rule as He would have it. She wanted to make choices that would help Frida and her shelter home; Eilif and her ailing sister; the refugees unsettled in the north.
Let me in, Eisa, purred the god, her yearning growing more potent,and we will have the throne.
“No,” she said aloud, ignoring Hild’s perplexed look as she snatched the heart-shaped rock from her dressing table. Immediately, memories of her foster father surged forth and her ears rang with the remembered sound of Matthias’s voice, calling herMoonflower. Myrkur recoiled, filling Silla with satisfaction.
She stared at her reflection, smiling as she slid the heart-shaped rock into her pocket. Silla drew a deep breath. Tonight was their final chance—to gain the warriors they needed in the heartwood and to earn the jarls’ trust. Armed with a plan and a few small defences against the dark god, Silla knew there was a chance, even if slim.
“Ready?” asked Rey, appearing by her side.
“Not truly,” sighed Silla, finding one last errant lébrynja scale and smoothing it flat, “but let us get on with it all the same.”
Rey’s large hand slid into hers, and when he looked at her, she was both warmed and strengthened by his presence. “Together,” he whispered.
