His mouth trails over my jaw, and his teeth graze my thundering pulse before he nips my ear. “Come for me, Daphne,” he growls.
I’m helpless to resist as his words throw me over the cliff. I cry out his name. This time, he doesn’t swallow the sound; he lets it out for the realm and anyone who’s listening.
My hands thread through his hair, and I guide his mouth back to mine, ready to push this feeling higher. But he clamps a hand on my hip, stilling my body as his kiss turns soft.
“I think I’ve demonstrated I’m not the delicatelay me on rose petals and rock me slowlytype of maiden,” I mutter.
He chuckles, rolls off me, tilts me onto my side, and slides his body against mine. This could work. I wiggle against his hard length. Yes, this will work very well.
“I can’t. Stop, Daphne, please. I want to hold you while we sleep.”
I squeeze my eyes closed, and the burn in my cheeks almost brings tears to my eyes. It’s not the first time he’s rejected me.
“Don’t do that. I need someone strong enough to stop me if I go too far. Go get your dragon, then I promise you no rose petals in sight.”
I stop and let my body relax. “Can I have my panties back?”
I feel him grin against my cheek. “Not a chance.”
I huff and settle in for a night of pantieless and funless torment. I’ll never sleep.
His breathing slows, even and deep as sleep claims him, and I’m the only pulse left awake beside the dying fire.
The flames shrink to embers, casting a fragile glow over stone and steel, and somewhere in the distance, thunder rumbles low and insistent, demanding my surrender.
I hear you, Theo.
Now hear me.
Chapter Eighteen
Daphne
The mountains feel different at night. Colder. Older. Like they’re keeping secrets.
Malachi rolls over and mumbles something about the trees being late to the party. His hand rests on Excalibur as if he expects the dark to duel him. Hart curls toward the embers of the fire, his mouth set in a stubborn line even in sleep. Nash is the most fitful, with small twitches of his limbs as if he’s battling nightmares none of us can comprehend. One diurnal soon, I’m going to banish his fears which I think are rooted in hurting me. Our lives are forever intertwined with the wish he made underthe stars of the night sky. My heart beats for him. He would never hurt me. I have to get him to believe that.
His breathing deepens, and he settles as he bows to exhaustion.
The fire dims. The world holds its breath, and something tugs in my chest, low in my ribs behind my sternum. A thread drawn tight. This time, when I reach, it snaps its claws around me and drags me to my feet.
Theo.
I don’t dare speak. One of them will wake, and then they will insist on coming to protect me from something that was never meant for their hands. I know in my soul that I need to do this alone. Anything else, and we might lose him forever. He’s teetering on the edge of surrendering to the beast.
Not a chance in Blazes. He’s mine.
I ease from Nash’s grip inch by inch, then rise to my feet. I believe that’s the stealthiest thing I have ever done. I’d pat myself on the back, but I daren’t push my luck.
A shiver runs down my spine as I step away from the heat of the camp. I snatch Malachi’s let’s get freaky on the back of a horsecloak and wrap it around my shoulders.
Nash shifts, his hand reaching out to the ground where I was. My heart lodges in my throat, but he settles again, brow furrowing.
“Sleep. When I return, we will be whole once more,” I whisper before setting out on my quest.
The mountain path slopes downward, jagged and uneven. My boots cause rubble to slide down the steep side. “You couldn’t have gone wild in a nice flat meadow?” I grumble, throwing my arms out for balance. I descend, and by some miracle, manage to get to the bottom with only sixteen scratches and bumps. But nothing is broken, and I’m still breathing. I declare it a success.
The air down here is different. Thick. Warm. A metallic tang that settles on my tongue. Snow covers the branches of the thin trees. That’s strange; there wasn’t any snow on the mountain peaks. My fingers trail along a low-hanging branch. Instead of the icy kiss I was expecting, I find it to be grainy and warm to the touch. Ash.
