Alora’s throat tightened and her tears fell.
Before she could argue, Rune lifted his head and crushed his mouth to hers.
It was a distraction, desperation in his kiss. But she allowed it, clutching him close as shadows wrapped them both in a vow too fragile to speak aloud. Because she needed him as much as he needed her.
Heat threaded the air between them, a charge like lightning before a storm. Magic flicking over their skin. Shadows wrapping around them, and in the next breath she was no longer in that dark cold chamber, but in Rune’s throne room. Standing before his grand obsidian chair.
“Sit,” he commanded, velvet and smoke.
Alora obeyed, the cool stone biting beneath her. Her eyes widened when Rune knelt before her feet like a sinner at the altar, shadows bowing low like a thousand silken courtiers at her feet. His hands gripped her thighs, spreading them with deliberate ease.
“You will sit where only I have ruled,” Rune murmured, she shivered at the prophecy in his tone. His hands trailed up her thighs as he lifted her leg, kissing her ankle. “It’s your rightful place and I find myself bowing.”
There was something in his words, something he was trying to tell her.
Rune tugged at the laces of her robe, letting it fall open, exposing her chest. Her body warmed as he kissed the curve of her hips, licking and nipping at her skin.
“My gorgeous, you are more than a queen,” he murmured, trailing fire up her skin, “much more than a goddess. Thedivinity in your veins is tied to your purpose, while mine is to serve you.”
The heat in his tone made clear what service he intended to give. The great hall was empty, but anyone could enter at any moment.
“Wait,” she gasped faintly as shadows brushed teasingly over her breasts. “Do we mean to do this here?”
He smiled against her skin. “Still so shy? My queen, you have brought a king to his knees. Any who dare to interrupt would not leave this chamber breathing.”
She whimpered as his forked tongue circled her nipple. Each press of his mouth down her stomach trailed fire on her skin.
“Now be a good girl,” Rune murmured, crimson eyes flaming with something far more dangerous. “Sit back and let me worship you.”
Her pulse thrummed wild as his hands spread her open, his fangs grazing tenderly against her skin. When he parted her robe fully, her pink core was already wet and glistening.
A low growl rumbled in his throat and his glamor fell away.
The last of her protests melted with it. Alora laid back as he placed her legs onto the armrests, spreading her open like a blooming flower. Then his mouth pressed against her, stroking a path of fire through her core.
She gasped, clutching the back of the throne, her head falling back. He moved in slow, deliberate strokes at first, savoring her, tasting her like she was sweet honey meant only for him. The vibration of his groans rumbled against her core, making her hips jerk.
Every caress of his tongue spoke of devotion. Every touch spoke of obsession. Untamed. Worshipful. And utterlyunholy.
Shadows coiled up her arms and thighs, pinning her in place, holding her open for his feast.
You are my source of life, goddess.He rumbled in her thoughts.Give me what I need.
Her body obeyed. The chamber echoed with her shrill cry as she came, waves of pleasure tore through her, her thighs trembling against his shoulders. Rune groaned into her release, drinking it down as though it were the fountain of divinity itself.
When she finally sagged into the throne, boneless and panting, Rune lifted his head. His lips glistening with her lust, his crimson eyes burning.
“I have walked through wrath and destruction for the melody of your voice,” he said softly. “Should I have a soul, it is branded with your name. I would set the stars aflame for you.”
Alora’s heart clenched.
She was his. And he was hers.
Damn everything else that came between them.
Magic stirred at her will, and in a breath the shadows plated Rune in the throne, yielding to her command. He smiled slyly as Alora stepped between his knees, her robe puddling at her feet.
Magic hummed low as she reached for the straining bulge in his trousers and freed him. She stroked each thick length slowly, tracing the glowing paths.
