I run my hands up and down her arms.Just keeping her warm,I tell myself. But when my fingers graze the side of her breast, we both make an anguished sound. We’re playing a game, but we both know the truth. I want her. She wants me.
“Please touch me,” she says, lightly, tentatively. Rosie’s been trying to show me how she feels for months. Her heart is right there for me to take.
The problem is: I know I won’t want to give it back.
I dip my head to the crook of her neck, my wet hair falling in a tangle as I let go of control. I brush my hand over the mounds of her chest. Slippery fabric slides beneath my fingers, and Rosie lets out a soft moan as I caress her pointed nipples, no doubt sensitive from the cold.
“I wish I could peel this off,” I whisper, “and lick every drop of rain from your body.”
“Farron.” Rosalina drops the reins, grasping each of my thighs.
Her hands caress has me wanting to strip her bare and take her on this elk. I move my lips to her neck.
“Are you sure you’re okay with this?” she murmurs. She knows my hesitations.
But I can’t find it in myself to care. “I’m just helping you get warm,” I say.
Slowly, I let my hands slip beneath the cloth. Her skin is so silky. She squirms as I knead the soft flesh. She arches her hips, and between the wet constraints of my pants, my cock is painfully hard.
I can’t help but imagine it, how heated and glorious it would be to sheathe myself inside her. Ezryn hasn’t touched her that way. I’m surprised even Dayton hasn’t. Her own fucking mate won’t claim her.
Her pussy is begging to be fucked, and the scent of her arousal near consumes me.
“Fare.” The word is a plea. “More, please. If you can.”
I would give her the whole world if I could. My hand drifts over her stomach to her equally wet leggings. Softly, I rub the slick fabric. A raw whimper escapes her lips, and I answer it with a growl as I squeeze her breast.She needs to be fucked.
“Yes,” she says. But she’s shaking against me, and not from pleasure.
“Rosie, you’re freezing.”
“No, I-I’m f-fine.” But she can’t keep the chatter out of her voice now. Sometimes I forget she’s human, that her needs differ from us fae.
I blink and try to find a landmark through the sheet of rain. I take Thrand’s reins and slightly alter our course to descend into a small valley.
“There’s a tavern,” I tell her. “We can wait out the worst of the storm before returning to Coppershire.”
Rosie nods. Thrand makes his way carefully down the hill, and I adjust Rosie’s shirt to properly cover her. The buttery orange glow of the tavern cuts through the mist, the light reminding me of the will-o’-wisps we once saw.
The wisps that showed me my mate bond is nothing but a tangled mess. Not surprising, really. I always knew there was something broken inside of me. Our research hasn’t turned up any answers for it yet, but I know Rosie won’t stop looking.
Wood smoke billowing from a chimney mixes with the smell of damp earth. At the side of the building, we board Rosalina’s horse in the stable, while Thrand trots off to the cover of the woods, preferring the freedom. He’ll return at a simple whistle when it’s time to depart.
The tavern is for travelers, situated between towns off the main road to Coppershire. It’s a sturdy wooden structure with a thatched roof and a large, welcoming door painted bright yellow. The windows glow with the light of candles, and I can hear raucous laughter and clinking tankards from within. A sign that reads “The Wandering Bard” above the entrance swings back and forth in the wind, creaking loudly.
A rush of warm air swirls around us as we enter. It’s busy and dimly lit, with rough wooden tables and benches strewn chaotically throughout the space. A fire crackles in the hearth, casting flickering shadows on the walls.
The tavern owner, a stout and stern woman, greets us. “Don’t have much space left. We’re crowded with so many people escaping the frost.” Her eyes narrow. “Prince Farron?”
I flush and feel the sudden direct attention of the tavern. I instinctively pull Rosie closer, though their gazes are more curious, not hostile. “We don’t need a room, just a place to dry off and wait out the storm.”
The owner scowls, determination crossing her features. Within a moment, she ushers us up the stairs with arms full of dry clothes we tried to insist we didn’t need. But she wouldn’t take no for an answer.
“Got some hot water ready,” she says, stopping in front of a simple brown door. “Stay as long as you need.”
“We only intend to wait out the storm,” Rosalina says. “We have to return to Coppershire before nightfall.”
My heart sinks. Of course we do. And it’s not to hide my beast. It’s a full moon tonight, the one night a month the wolf doesn’t have dominion over me. But someone else does. I unconsciously tug the chain of thorns around my neck. Tonight, we all fulfill my bargain with Caspian.
