Page 63

21

Lyra

“Thane wouldn’t…he wouldn’t allow Kael to be harmed even if he believes I am the killer of the king, would he?”

Roark’s hands stilled on his belt, half unbuckled. He faced me, allowing the belt with the dagger sheathed across his lower back to fall to the floor. He’d practically forced me to sit and eat when we returned. Half the boiled roots and seasoned fish were gone, but the unease toiling inside would not allow for more.

With slow strides, Roark crossed the room to me, lowering to one knee. He took my palms in his hands, a discomfiting grimace on his features.

Thane the Bold was a subject we had not broached much since fleeing Stonegate. Roark told me in the forest that he deserved Thane’s hatred, and perhaps it came from knowing the man to his soul, but the thought of it pained him more than anything.

Doubtless, Thane would believe me to be responsible for the death of Damir. The dead Jorvan king had planned to force me to use my craft in melding every Stav Guard of his army. Motive for me to be rid of Damir was there. Queen Ingir would never confess her role, nor give up her accomplice, Fadey.

To Thane’s knowledge, I was the only melder alive.

He had witnessed Roark’s dark soul emerge, knew he was Skul Drek, the assassin who nearly sent him to Salur.

Part of me avoided talking of the Jorvan prince to spare Roark even the slightest bit of pain; another part was too focused on what moves to make to end Fadey and Ingir and free Kael.

But Roark knew Thane better than anyone here.

“Do you think he would?” I asked again, softer than before.

Roark flipped my palm toward the rafters overhead and spoke gently over my skin, Loyalty is everything to Thane. He will hate me, but he is not Damir. Any betrayal he feels will not be leveled at anyone but me.

“And me.”

Thane will likely be more inclined to believe I bespelled your soul somehow before he hates you.

A timid grin spread over my lips. “You did, in a way.”

Roark traced a finger over my bottom lip. It is the other way around.

He kissed me, slow and sweet. I fell into his touch, the unrelenting pull he had on my heart.

Everything.

Even before the soul sealing, Roark had become my safety. Warmth from the fury of a storm, a haven from the darkness in the lands. To not only accept the bond, but nourish it, crave it, he became a beacon in the shadows. He was vicious, cruel, and deadly, but he was my home.

I kissed him harder.

Pain, frustration, fear, joy—all of it pressed against the heat of his mouth. The balance between my love and happiness with this man and the rage against those still out there, lost and at risk, was a narrow line.

For a moment I gave in to the peace of his scent, the pleasure of his touch.

And Roark took it all. He welcomed it.

His palm curled around the back of my head. His teeth scraped over my bottom lip when he ripped his mouth away. I leaned in, chasing his taste, but he pressed his brow against mine for a long, raspy breath.

I let out a small shriek when he lifted me from the chair, urging my legs to wrap around his waist, and crashed his mouth back to mine.

Roark walked us across the room, toward our bed, and tossed me back onto the mattress. A frenzy lived in his eyes, one that hinted that he might need to forget the chaos for a moment as fiercely as me.

Without pause, Roark tore at my gown. I nearly shredded his tunic, ripping it over his head. Clothes were cast aside until our bare skin collided, heated, damp, and flushed.

Roark took his kiss to the lobe of my ear, tugging the skin between his teeth. Next, at my jaw, the tip of his tongue ran across my pulse point.

He dragged the knuckles of one hand down the cleft of my breasts until he covered my heart, and the gentle whirls of his fingers whispered his words. To see you in pain destroys every piece of me. Let me take it away, even for a moment.