I closed my eyes. With my heart beating its way into my throat, I pushed into him, just as I did when I used my ability to heal. I heard him hiss out a low breath as I surrendered willingly.
Giving in, I leaned forward, pressing my forehead to his chest, running my hands up from his wrist to skim along his arms. I rubbed my lips against the rough material of his shirt, feeling his heartbeat throb against them.
“That’s it,” I heard him say above me, his deep voice sending a flood of warmth rushing through my limbs. He groaned,clutching me to him, like he was afraid I’d pull away. “You feel so good,mariss.”
It felt like I was floating. On an endless sea, water rushing in my ears, drowning everything out. But Alaryk was there, holding me up. There was no pain, though the threads of his magic felt sharper. The edge of it skimmed across my skin like a dulled blade. The threat of danger was present, but there was a part of me that recognized it like…his scent. Unchangeable. That was just how his magic felt, perhaps honed and sharpened through pain and experience, as he’d admitted. It didn’t mean he would wield it against me.
But where he was sharp, I was soft, encasing his magic until he was forced to sink into me. To give in.
I felt him stiffen.
He’d called this seduction. A push and a pull. And so I dragged him deeper, envisioning pulling him down beneath the water. I could feel his heart thundering against my lips. I heard a breath in his throat catch. It sent my own pulse soaring.
He was right. There was no pain. Only pleasure. Sublime pleasure. It was alarming how good it felt.
But where there was a push, there should be a pull.
And so, when I felt myself getting too wrapped in him, when I began to feel his magic press harder into my own, I surfaced, imagining a blade cutting the threads of our magic.
“Fuck,” came his anguished groan as I stumbled back. Only this time, my foot went flying over the edge of the stone walkway. I still felt wrapped up in our connection, confused about what was real and what wasn’t. When I felt the water rush over my head, I felt…calm. Tranquil, even. The water was deeper than I expected. It was icy cold, too, shocking me back to reality. The reminder I desperately needed.
When I surfaced, I looked up at the stone walkway, only a few feet above my head. Alaryk was sprawled on the ground, as if the broken connection had taken him by surprise. He stareddown at me, breathing hard, expression unreadable though the intensity in his gaze made my nipples pebble tight beneath my thin tunic, the reverberations of heat still weaving between my thighs. His cock was hard, eye-catching and distracting, pressed against the laces of his trews, straining them so tight that I thought they might break. My hand curled beneath the water inwant.
That had been…entirely unexpected.
As we regarded one another, neither moving, I thought that might’ve been the case forbothof us.
And the way he was looking at me?
He was looking at me like he’d never seen me before.
My tongue felt glued to the roof of my mouth as I stood in the water. The surface came up to my shoulders, and I waded closer to the walkway. By then, Alaryk had regained some of his control, crouching at the edge, reaching a hand down toward me.
That was when I realized…the cut on his hand had healed. Unblemished skin met my gaze. I felt more energized than I had in years. I flicked a curious, puzzled glance up at him before taking it, and he effortlessly pulled me up.
I stood, dripping wet, before him. His hand came to my hip, his thumb nestled against the bone there. His jaw tightened. His lips opened, like he was about to speak, before he stopped himself. And I didn’t know why that brought awareness crawling over my skin.
“Let’s head back so you can get warm,” he finally said, his voice guttural, like he hadn’t spoken in days.
All I could do was nod as he moved to the hidden stairwell through the archway.
I was flushed, aroused, reeling as I followed.
The most alarming thing, however, was that I wanted to feel him—his body, his magic, his touch—again. I thought that if I wasn’t careful, I could come to crave it.
Chapter 18
ALARYK
As the desire curled tighter and tighter around me, I lashed out at the sand-filled sack harder and harder. Which only made the former all the worse.
It was before dawn. I’d lain in bed, sleep only coming to me in fragments, teasing me with moments of relief before my mind had pulled me into reality. So I’d stalked to the training grounds near the landing field, the desolate little building that only a few ever used. Dusty and forgotten, but I preferred it that way.
The punching bag never toppled. The leather was worn, but the inside was lined with hatchling scales. Even if the leather failed, the scales never would against my fists.
The pain felt centering. I felt relief the longer I worked on the upright bag, until my knuckles were bleeding, my bones aching, the skin feeling raw and stretched too tight.
I didn’t stop until after the first rays of morning sun peeked through the glass window near the door, gleaming off dusty practice blades and bows, hung haphazardly on hooks along the far wall. I didn’t stop until my hair was damp from sweat, until every flex of my hand felt like a searing burn.
