Page 94 of The Fox Heir

“Gods, I want you inside me.” My words are achingly desperate.

His laugh rumbles against my sex and he pauses to ask, “Are you ready to beg now?”

I can barely make myself speak, but I do. “Never.”

My knees grow weak again as the Wolf presses me against the boulder. He continues to lose himself in my body. He reaches one hand up, under my wool shirt, and feels for my breast, but I’ve tied a linen wrap around my chest for support. He gives a grunt of displeasure and tears at the fabric, all the while licking and spreading me, until my breasts are free. The wrap unwinds and he throws it to the ground. He runs his thumb over my nipple as he works me like he knows my body better than I do.

When I scream with release, my voice echoes off the trees. This pleasure is the most powerful experience I have ever had in my life—and it’s come from the tongue of a Wolf.

I’m left with my legs trembling and my hand tangled in Tristan’s hair. He looks up at me with wicked gray eyes.

“Red,” he whispers. “Look.”

I blink down at him for several seconds before I realize what he means. Mist rises around us. No, not mist, I realize. Steam. All around us, the ice and snow have melted. And somehow I did this. My power is coursing through me, my skin radiating gold with light.

Slowly, Tristan stands, not taking his eyes off me for a second. “You don’t need more control.” His voice is hushed in awe. “You need less.”

I blink at him, still at a loss. Fractured starlight still flickers at the corners of my vision as I shake my head. “That’s not what everyone else thinks.”

He squeezes my hips, insistent. “Everyone else is wrong.” He meets my gaze. “Red … All your life, they’ve told you to be smaller. Weaker. Less dangerous. Less you.”

I’m still trying to catch my breath as I come back from that place of ecstasy. But even through the haze, some secret part of me aches with recognition. I draw in a slow breath as my head clears. “That’s because it was easier to survive when I stayed quiet. When I hid.”

“I know.” He grabs me by the waist, drawing me close. His thumbs trail over my glowing skin. “They made you believe power meant control. That you had to cage everything wild in you to survive.”

“My father told me I was too volatile, too unpredictable to inherit the Fox Throne.”

“Your father is a liar.”

When his lips brush mine, my eyes flutter closed. Tristan kisses me slowly, deeply, with the taste of me still on his tongue. The emotion in his touch makes my heart race again. I want to live in this moment with him, bathing in the strength of my power.

Tristan breaks the kiss slowly. My eyes flutter open to see his grin.

“He lied because he was afraid of you,” Tristan says. “And he should be.”

Those words are almost as intoxicating as the Wolf who says them. I sigh and lean my head back to look at the great northern sky.

Chapter 29

For the next week, when I do sleep, I’m haunted by nightmares. Where I used to dream of corpse beasts and Dead Queens, now my fear manifests in gleaming, copper armies marching into Annwyn. The surrounding mountains are still pounded by daily storms, but few make it past the fae barrier. It’s a hint of the spring to come. And with the end of winter approaching, so is my father.

I kick off my heavy blankets, tired of lying in bed, wide awake. What I really need is a cup of tea.

In the dark, I throw my red cloak over my shoulders before making my way through the halls, toward the kitchens. Surely, I can manage to heat water over the embers in the hearth to make one small cup of tea. It doesn’t seem like too much to ask.

The kitchen is predictably dark, so I ignite an orb of light to illuminate the space. Pots and pans hang from hooks over long countertops, casting shadows across towers of clay bowls for mixing and jars filled with cooking oils. It smells inviting, no doubt due to the spices that have been ground into the flagstones below my feet for centuries.

I turn my attention to the hearth and notice movement. The embers crackle as a familiar black fae creature rolls around in the soot.

Despite my gloom, I smile.

I’m not sure if it’s the same cinder fae from my room, but he’s similar with his mouse-like body, short fur, and beady black eyes. I’m afraid I’ll scare him away if I approach, so I lean against a table and watch him. He’s having such a joyful time, wiggling among the hot coals and rubbing soot into his fur with tiny hands. Or, are they paws? I’m not certain about fae anatomy.

After a few minutes, he makes a bed or nest of some sort. He wiggles into it and closes his eyes to sleep.

So much for boiling water for tea.

Behind me, the kitchen door creaks. I turn, sending my light to illuminate the source. The wooden door sways slightly. Then I notice a small, pale hand holding onto the doorframe.