Enough said. I balled my hands behind my back and squeezed until the tendons threatened to pop. “All right.”
Not all right. None of this was fucking all right.
Certainly not the ungentlemanly inclinations flitting through my mind.
Grab her again. Hoist her off the floor. Press her to the nearest tree. Tear off that nightgown. Wrap her around my bulk and take her until the sun rises.
Make her scream. Make her come. Make her yours.
Summoning the willpower of an immortal, I straightened. Cupping the woman’s hand, I brushed my lips to her knuckles. “Aspen.”
“Aire,” she breathed.
Other words passed between us. To meet at dawn. To dress inconspicuously. To bring our weapons. Then to infiltrate an enemy camp.
We’d plotted this while traveling through Autumn. Intending to diffuse what just happened and refocus, we recapped the particulars. Then by some merciful force of nature, I found the strength to let her go.
29
Aire
Belts of mist wove through the eaves. As a new dawn approached, the enclave’s vast network of suspensions intersected through the heights.
At the ground level, black spores germinated from the creepers, berries laced in poison hung like gems from the shrubs, and drafts of air hissed in passing. Magic and mayhem indeed.
The rustic scents of mulch and roasted acorns wafted through the northern border. There, I waited. Pacing like an agitated lion, I squashed dead leaves under my boots, the exercise achieving nothing.
I did not doubt Aspen’s prowess. Yet I could not say the same for mine.
What if the premonition came to pass? What if I neglected to keep her out of harm’s way?
Undergrowth crunched beneath my weight. By comparison, soil muffled the neat footfalls of an approaching figure.
My worries defused. I stalled, my lips twitching of their own volition. Though by the time I whipped around, my broadsword clanging with her axe, any trace of a grin flattened across my face.
Steel rang through the woods. Over our braced weapons, we regarded one another, combative amusement gleaming in her eyes.
Always be on guard. A valid rule for any warrior.
Reflexes adequately tested, we broke apart and sheathed our blades. Aspen had opted for the ancient harness, having rearranged the straps to her back. Impressive invention, that apparatus. Although from a previous generation, the ingenuity suited her.
As did the velvet corset hugging Aspen’s ribs. Like the rest of us, she had raided the enclave’s wardrobe archives. The garment boosted her breasts, and a linen undershirt fluttered over her skin.
I wrested my gaze from the sight. “Good morning.”
“Morning,” she murmured, hooking a tartan mantle over one arm instead of her customary cloak.
A wise choice, given Aspen favored the mantle at court. Because the woman had spent considerable time amid Autumn’s forces, any of these knights might recognize her signature vestment.
As she moved to unfold the textile, an unbound set of laces drew my attention. With the grommets situated at her back, she must have had difficulty cinching the corset.
Don’t do it.
Do. Not.
Shit. Motioning for her to turn, I grunted, “Here. Let me.”
Realization dawned on Aspen. “Oh. Right.”
