Her eyes were closed, teeth sunk deep into her lower lip. She gave herself over to the punishing rhythm I set. But I could not tear my eyes away from her. She was so fucking beautiful. Tangles of white hair splayed out across the deep burgundy bedsheets that highlighted the flush rising over her pale skin; her breasts rose and fell with each breath, each thrust, a magnificent display just for me. I couldn’t last.
I drove into Veyka again and again, my cock already pulsing. I released her hands, reaching down between us to touch her clit. There was no way I could take my pleasure without giving her release.
But she swatted my hand away, eyes flying open. She arched her hips against mine, and I understood. Her pussy tightened around me, her climax ripping from her in a scream loud enough to shake Eilean Gayl to its ancient foundations.
She took me right over that edge with her. My cock spasmed inside of her, spurting rope after rope of searing hot come against the pulsing walls of her cunt. Veyka’s legs held me tight through each one, her hips milking me for every drop of pleasure.
When I collapsed against her, she was ready. Eyes closed again, she buried her face in the curve of my throat. I thought I heard a sob. But if she’d chosen to hide it against my skin, I would not force her to expose herself. I braced myself on one elbow, sinking the rest of my weight down on top of her, hoping she knew—here, she was safe. In my arms, with my body as a shield, no one could get to her. She could be as broken as she needed. I would always be there.
I lingered there on top of her, cock still buried deep inside, our bodies joined as one. My mind wrapped itself around the golden thread of our mating bond, more vibrant and strong than it had ever been, despite the horrors of the last few hours.
But the strength of the bond also gave me clearer access to her mind. As the euphoria of climax ebbed away, it left agony in its wake.
Once, more than a hundred years past, I’d been caught in a storm at sea. The terrestrials in Wolf Bay, largely ignored by Uther Pendragon, had sent me forward to raid the dredges of a once great kingdom across the ocean. It had taken less than five hundred terrestrials to sack the capital city. But on our return, ships heavy with gold and other treasures, we’d been caught in a storm.
Three of the five ships were swallowed by the waves. I stood on the bow, watching as solider after solider died. I was the most powerful fae alive, and there was nothing I could do. I possessed no elemental magic to calm the stormy sea or sky; nor did any of my soldiers. The storm raged from above and below, and there was nothing I could do but watch.
I felt every bit as helpless as I saw the grief and despair and anger crashing together in tumultuous waves within my mate’s soul.
I could not change the past any more than I could calm those waves. But I would be the shore that they crashed against. I would be her safe harbor, always.
I rolled to my side, tugging Veyka against me. My legs tangled with hers, one arm cradling her head and the other claiming her waist. She was no longer cold. Still, I pulled her tighter, until not even the cleverest wisp of wind could slip between us.
Sleep, my beast growled. This time, she did not challenge my command.
9
VEYKA
We awoke just as the sun began its descent.
Arran was wrapped around me, holding me as if he could personally chase away every threat that came my way. But Parys was still dead, and Arran could not protect me from that.
We ate in near-silence. Then dressed in it as well. What was there to say?
The only sound was the near constant rumble of Arran’s beast at the back of my consciousness. He was on high alert. Perhaps he always would be now that the Second Great War had truly begun.
Voices began to filter in through the door that connected our bedroom to the shared sitting room.
I stared into the mirror above my dressing table. When a servant had brought us our meal, I’d asked them to send word to Cyara that I would tend to myself this evening. I brushed my hair, managed a serviceable plait, and washed my face. Thick lines framed my eyes, their blue duller than usual.
The ache inside of me was different than when Arran lost his memories, but still so cruelly sharp. If Arran was my soul, then Parys was my smile. As I stared at my reflection, I wondered ifI would ever feel my lips curve in genuine happiness again. Or would every smile, from now until eternity, be forced?
I did not have eternity, I reminded myself.
My life was the cost of banishing the succubus. I only had to fake the smiles until then. Somehow, that made it easier.
Arran appeared over my shoulder, his gleaming dark hair still wet from his bath, brushed back and tied at the nape of his neck. There hadn’t been time for him to shave, and the shadow on his jaw was more beard than stubble now. It suited him, made him even rougher and more brutally handsome.
“Are you ready?” he asked.
No.
A dramatically melancholy sigh slipped from my chest. “I will never be ready for war.”
Arran’s jaw ticked. “Ironic, for someone who loves bloodshed.”
Ancestors, he knew me so well. A few sarcastic comments and he already knew that was the armor I’d wear to protect me from the weight of my mourning.
