‘Sante,’ he rasped to the Domini of the Draquis Order. ‘We are in debt to you.’
Zavier’s mouth twitched. ‘Indeed, you are. You can count on us to collect, very soon, Son of Sacra. I await news of Sulfiqar’s final demise. Fare thee well.’
With that, the call terminated, as Idan pressed his lips to his woman’s hair.
Sheba slumped in his arms, sighing, the adrenaline fading, replaced by a crushing, bone-deep exhaustion.
He glanced down at her, his heart lurching as she surrendered to sleep.
Fokk, he adored her.
Idan gathered her into his clasp, her head tucked under his chin, and carried her through the ship’s corridors to the guest quarters.
He laid her in bed, placed a duvet over her, and crouched beside her, unable to shift his gaze from her as his spirit overflowed with a profound, aching awe.
Her courage was wildfire.
She’d faced off with Wights and raced into a god’s tomb to obliterate an ancient, potent king’s shackled soul, for a cause that was not even her own.
He reached out, his thumb tracing the line of her bruised temple, thanking the stars for the day she dropped out of the sky into his world.
All the while, swearing to the dark heavens that he would be her shield for eternity, now and forever more.
25
The Empyrean Call
Sheba emerged from the velvet depths of sleep to find the guest quarters bathed in the soft, cobalt glow of the ship’s idle-state lighting.
Beside her, Idan was deep asleep.
His massive frame hogged the center of the mattress while he breathed heavy, his muscled chest rising and falling steadily.
She tried to rise, then winced, a dull ache reminding her of the bruising on her temple.
At the same time, her consciousness bloomed, pulsing with signals caught in the cross-talk of a billion souls all the way to the rim.
Clenching her fists, she summoned the barriers Zavier placed in her mind, and the noise faded.
She remained motionless for several minutes, slowing her inhales to calm herself.
Needing to feel Idan’s hands on her, heat-seeking his healing touch, reassurance, and comfort, she leaned over him.
Sheba pressed her lips to the sinewed column of his throat, her mouth finding the pulse that beat beneath his bronzed skin.
Her tongue traced a vein all along his nape.
Her fingers glided over his forearm, her caress light as a feather, until she caught a subtle hitch in his breathing.
Idan turned his head, opening his eyes as they ignited with a molten amber luminosity, locking onto hers.
He reached out, his hand cupping the back of her neck.
‘Good morning, beautiful,’ he murmured, his voice a gravelly resonance that vibrated through, under her, and into her ribs. ‘Ko’Sawa?’
She took his hand and placed it on her bruised temple.
He got the memo, his fingers releasing a golden glow.
