He seemed to fill the entire doorway, his massive frame blocking the light from the corridor beyond. His gaze found Delia immediately, sweeping over her with an intensity that made her breath catch. She saw his nostrils flare slightly—scentingher, she realized, the way he always did—and hunger moved through his expression.
Then his gaze shifted to Thessaly, and impatience flickered across his features.
"Healer." His voice was low, rough. "You've finished?"
It wasn't really a question.
Thessaly's smile didn't waver. "Just now, Captain. Yourkrenna'sankle will heal well with rest." She moved toward the door, slipping past him with the ease of long familiarity. "I've left instructions for the poultice changes. Changed every six hours. I trust you can manage without disturbing her too much."
The emphasis on the last words was unmistakable.
Ralvar made a sound low in his chest, and the door swung shut behind Thessaly, though Delia could still hear her laughter echoing down the corridor.
Chapter 19
Neither of them moved. Ralvar just stood in the threshold, his gaze moving over her, drinking her in.
"Hours," he said, his voice a low rasp. "I have been thinking about you for hours."
Delia's pulse jumped. "Thessaly said you were handling your duties."
"Duties." He made the word sound like a curse. "I sat in that room and answered questions about patrol routes and guard movements, and all I could think about was you."
"Your wound—" she started.
"Is fine." Another step closer. He was in front of her now, towering over the chair where she sat, and the hunger in his face made her breath catch. "Unless you don't want—"
"I want."
The words came out before she could think better of them. Before the old familiar voice could whisper that she was too much, too eager, too desperate. She watched his nostrils flare,scenting her response, and a dark satisfaction moved through his expression.
"Good," he said roughly. "Because I have been patient. I have been restrained. I have been everything a decent male should be." He reached down and cupped her face, tilting her head back to meet his eyes. "But right now, mykrenna, I need to be inside you. I need to feel you around me. I need—"
She kissed him.
It wasn't graceful. She grabbed fistfuls of his shirt and pulled, and he came down to her with a groan that vibrated through her chest. His mouth opened against hers, hot and hungry, and she felt his tusks press against the corners of her lips as he deepened the kiss, his tongue sliding against hers with an urgency that made her whimper.
"Bed," he growled against her mouth.
He pulled back just enough to scoop her up, and she gasped at the sudden motion, her arms wrapping around his neck. His wound. His side. But he was already moving, carrying her through a doorway, into a chamber beyond the main room.
The bed was massive.
Of course it was. Everything about him was massive. But this—a frame carved from dark wood, piled with furs so thick they looked like clouds, large enough to hold three of him—this was something else entirely. He set her down on the edge and she sank into softness, surrounded by his scent and the evidence of his life here.
"I should have brought you here first," he said, already reaching for the ties of his tunic. "Should have laid you down in my bed the moment we arrived. But there were duties, obligations—" The shirt fell away, revealing the bandage wrapped around his ribs. White cloth spotted with the faintest hint of red. "—and I thought if I came to you before I handled them, I would never leave."
Delia reached for him. "Come here."
He made a sound low in his throat, quickly removed his trousers, and then he was on the bed with her, over her, his weight braced on his arms as he looked down at her.
"Your ankle," he said.
"I'll be careful."
"Your body is still learning mine."
"Then teach it more."
