Doing my best not to cry, I turn, curl my fingers into Griffin’s hair, and then pull his head down to mine. Our mouths meet in an undemanding way, but when I touch my tongue to the seam of his lips, he parts them, offering a deeper kiss. The embrace quickly heats up, and soon our bodies are as tangled as our tongues. I straddle him, desire coiling through me again.
I grip his jaw with both hands and hold his face to mine, our lips still brushing and his breath feeding my lungs. Our eyes meet.
“I claimyou, Griffin Thalyria.” I remember every word he spoke to me. I’ll remember them until I cease to exist. “I claim you for my very own. With my blood. With my bone. With my heart. With my soul. You are mine. Forever. In this world, and in the next.”
His eyes squeeze shut. He clutches me to him and buries his face in my hair. His hands splay over my back, holding me from neck to waist.
“I live for you,” he says into the curve of my neck. “I love you.”
Tears flood my eyes, and I wrap my arms around him, holding him tight. After a moment, we tip over with Griffin on top. I cradle his hips between my thighs, and he slides into me again, slowly this time. He makes love to me, his hands in my hair and his lips on mine. Braced on his forearms and rocking gently, he kisses me like he needs me in order to survive.
Tension and pleasure build, break, and then whip through me again. Griffin shudders above me, stiffening and then relaxing in turn. He rolls onto his back, taking me with him, and then murmurs the words that were forming inside me, expanding in my chest, but still smoky and without discernible form.
He tells me that we’re one. That together, we’re stronger, better, and something different than what we were before.
With lazy fingertips, I stroke his collarbone, my head on his shoulder. And as I drift off to sleep, half draped across my husband’s warm, strong body, I decide that the Gods can say whatever they want. I wasn’t made for Griffin, and he wasn’t made for me. We were made for each other.
CHAPTER 8
Nearly a week later, I wake from a decent sleep—something that’s rare for everyone these days. Lying on my side, I open my eyes. Griffin is facing me. He’s still sleeping, but as if he senses me watching him, his lids slowly slide open to reveal storm-gray eyes framed by thick black lashes.
I reach out and lightly trace the bridge of his nose. “Good morning.”
“Good morning,” he rumbles back in a sleep-thick rasp.
Sighing, I start to get up, but he hooks his arm around my waist and drags me back. There’s nothing sleepy or lazy about how fast he moves, or how hard he pulls, and I land flush against his solid chest with an unqueenly “Oomph.”
“Where do you think you’re going?” Griffin’s leg pushes between mine, his crisp hair tickling the insides of my thighs. He slides a warm hand up my naked back and then cradles my head in his palm.
I wrap the hand that’s not pinned between us around his shoulder, wiggle closer, and then inhale deeply against his neck. He smells so good to me, like man and mine. I want to lick him. Kiss him. Maybe bite.
I nuzzle the underside of his scruffy jaw, feeling his already impressive erection grow even harder against my lower belly. Griffin groans softly, shifting against me, and desire sparks inside me like flint on steel.
But it’s late. I already woke up once and ignored the light—and all the things we need to do today.
Reluctantly, I stop nestling into Griffin’s big, tempting body and tilt my head back to look at him. “It’s time to get up. We’re leaving this morning.”
His eyes turn shadowed, and he grips me just a little tighter. The tensing of his muscles only lasts an instant. Even quicker is the pain that flashes across his features. He banishes it, exiling it to the place where he’s been keeping the hurt of Piers’s betrayal ruthlessly boxed up. Except when absolutely necessary, he hasn’t spoken his brother’s name out loud once.
“No one said we had to leave at the crack of dawn,” Griffin mutters. His arm relaxes around me, but he doesn’t let go. His callused thumb draws a slow, arching pattern through the hair behind my ear, making me shiver.
Fighting temptation, I twist around and glance out the window. “Dawn cracked a while ago.”
And six days have passed since Piers disappeared with Athena. Five days ago, we started preparing Jocasta and Kaia to hold down the proverbial fort. Two days after that, we heard back from Castle Sinta. Devastation. And worse—understanding. Anatole, Nerissa, and Egeria don’t seem to blame me for the loss of Piers any more than Griffin or the others do.
“Why the sudden frown?” Griffin asks. He untangles his hand from my hair and then gently trails a fingertip along each of my lowered eyebrows. “Is Little Bean bothering you?”
I shake my head. “No. She’s settled. I’m fine.” She didn’t even make me throw up yesterday. Maybe we’re moving out of that phase and into the next, whatever that is. Backaches? Constantly looking for a chamber pot? Waddling?
My frown deepens. Surely not waddling? Not yet.
“Then what’s wrong?”
“You,” I answer honestly. “I’m worried you’re repressing your feelings.”
Griffin grunts. It’s kind of a laugh, but kind of not. “That’s your area of expertise. Or it used to be. I don’t repress anything.”
“You’re not talking about Pier—”
