“Now, you may not touch,” I rumble, bracing one hand beside her head, letting my weight and heat crowd over her without quite settling.
“But not until I say so. Not until you’ve been properly punished for teasing me, little Oona.”
A shiver runs through her that has nothing to do with cold.
Outside the shelter, the Marches mutter and shift, still healing their wounds.
Inside, it is just us.
Stone and storm and the human woman who chose to walk my fault lines and stand in the cracks with me.
“And,” I murmur, lowering my mouth toward hers, “if you are very, very good for me. And keep your moans low. I will let you come, my sweet Oona. Do you want that?”
“Yes. God, yes. But why do I have to be quiet?” she whispers, already breathless.
“Because,” I growl, lips a breath from hers, “I do not share.”
Her answering smile is wicked and bright.
And as the earth rises to hold us and the roots above weave tight to keep the world out, I let myself stop thinking about Idris and SoulTakers and broken crowns.
For a little while, there is only this.
Her.
Me.
And the Marches, humming their fierce approval as I show my viyella exactly what it means to belong to the Lord of Earth.
First…
“Too many clothes,” I growl, dipping my head to taste the soft place where her neck meets her shoulder.
Her pulse kicks against my tongue.
I drag a slow, deliberate lick from the curve of her throat down to the edge of her cleavage, savoring salt and heat and the faint sweetness that is purely her.
“Oona,” I rasp, voice rough with want. “I need you.”
I sink to my knees between her thighs, palms braced on either side of her hips. The sight of her above me—cheeks flushed, chest rising and falling, eyes dark and trusting—nearly undoes me.
Air Lords fly.
Fire Lords burn.
Water Lords drown.
But Earth Lords?
We devour.
I lift my hands and call the magic that lives in my bones.
Power tingles through my fingers as I will every clasp, tie, and seam to loosen.
Fabric sighs and falls away from her body, from mine, dissolving into a soft shimmer of dust that the stone eagerly drinks in.
Alina gasps, arms instinctively pulling against the vines as if to cross over her chest.
