While Lore calls out to my uncle through the mind link he shares with all his people, my father touches my shoulder. “If we leave at dawn, we’ll reach Vladimir’s continent by morning.”
In other words:we can be on our way back before night even sweeps across the land.
The apple in his throat rolls with a deep swallow as he waits for my decision.
After all he’s endured, I don’t have the heart to turn him down. “Fine, but please, don’t let me kill any princesses.”
Sixty-Five
As we reach Lorcan’s door, my nerves have become so frayed that they’ve begun to erode what little confidence I have. Yes, I can slip through walls, but I haven’t practiced the sigil in days. What if I’ve forgotten how to draw it? Not to mention that I dread bleeding anywhere near my mate. Near any Crows.
What if a Glacin spots my rune and slicks his weapon in it before it can absorb into the wall? That suddenly becomes my focal point of worry, which is a pleasant change from picturing myself plunging a blade through Alyona’s chest.
We’ll be with you, Fallon.
My eyebrows bend because that doesn’t reassure me. Not with my blood in the mix.
You worry about your runes getting discovered. We will wipe them off the walls.Lore reaches around me to open his door.
I stride ahead of him into his bedroom. “What if I fail to draw the correct rune?”What if I murder a princess?
“Rossi and Bronwen will be there. They’ll make sure you draw the right ones.”
Relief crackles some of my tension. “Won’t a theft cost you your alliance with Glace?”
I try to keep Alyona’s murder at bay, but it hovers on the edge of my mind.
Lore sweeps his door closed. “If it can collapse the wards, then it’ll be worth it.”
I whirl, finding myself nose to nose with my mate. Well, nose to chin thanks to my tall heels. The thought of them drags my mate’s attention to the floor. He grips my skirt and hoists it up to reveal the satin beauties Sybille insisted would harden the limpest of cocks.
“Perspicacious woman that Sybille.”
I push my foot out to give him an unobstructed view of my shoe. “Is it hardening your cock, Mórrgaht?”
He takes my hand and carries it between his legs. I smile and give the bulge in his leather pants a slow rub, which causes a deep rumble to roll through his chest. I do it again, and this time, his lids fall to half-mast and his neck begins to tip back.
I press a kiss to his throat, loving the jerk of his Adam’s apple against my lips. While I keep massaging him through the leather, I grip the ties of my corset and pull. The knot slips easily. I kiss him again, stroke him again, all the while plucking at the ribbon.
As soon as I’ve loosened it enough, I unbind my mouth from my mate’s bobbing throat and lower my hand from his pulsating cock. My sudden halt earns me a frustrated growl that quickly transforms into a delighted groan when I hook my hands into my corset to pass it over my hips and shimmy out of it.
“Fuck me,” he murmurs.
Your wish is my command.
His eyes flash off my bare breasts long enough to touch my face and crinkle with a mischievous smile. And then the man is on me, his mouth dropping hungry kisses along my neck, over the swells of my breasts. He breathes hard against my nipples but doesn’t touch them, instead he straightens, curls one hand around my neck, and drags my face toward his to crush our mouths together.
I must’ve unleashed his inner beast because he isn’t gentle tonight. His grip is bruising, his kiss demanding.
I drop my hands to his pants in search of those ties that hold them up. As soon as I find them, I pull, and his trousers loosen. Sighing with contentment, I wrap my fingers around his hot, silken length.
Lore shudders at the contact, then shudders again when I give him a slow pump. And then he mutters an incoherent sequence of words that are half in Lucin, half in Crow. He morphs into shadows, unhooking my hand from that beautiful, throbbing part of him, before reappearing a heartbeat later without shoes or trousers. He still wears his top. I seize the hem and roll it off him. I don’t even get a second to admire that broad chest of his before he palms my ass and lifts me off the ground.
With a little squeal, I lock my arms around his neck and my legs around his waist. He begins to walk us toward the bed, but then veers direction. I think he may carry me into his bathing chamber, but I’m wrong.
He flicks the doorknob of his library, then kicks open the door. Moonlight edges the dark wood and makes every gilt spine glitter like stars. As I gaze around in wonder, he walks me over to the enormous table covered in that yellowed map of his kingdom and lays me out on it. My shoulder bumps into a little glass pot, knocking it sideways. Ink spills, splashing both my skin and the ochre paper.
When I reach over to right it, Lore seizes my wrists and transfers them over my head, where he pins them to the paper before bending over me and scraping one of my nipples with his teeth.
