by Plum Pascal
But... I will never be normal, will I? I’m more than just an exiled princess. I’m Chosen. I have a destiny and it isn’t to be a housewife.
Draven strokes my cheek, wiping away the tears that have spilled down them as we made love.
“I didn’t mean to make you cry,” he murmurs, lines slashing his brow as he frowns. He shifts almost at once from complacent to concerned.
“I’m crying because I’m happy,” I say with a slight hiccup. “That was so...”
Words fail me. There’s nothing in the common tongue that can encapsulate what this means to me. What he means to me.
Draven smiles, gently disentangling himself from me. He struggles with his shirt for a second before he removes it in a single rolling motion. He offers it to me. I’m too exhausted to put it on at the moment. After a moment of consideration, he folds it and tucks it beneath the pillow instead, before laying down next to me. I snuggle into his chest, pressing myself as close to him as I can manage.
“I know.”
My eyes flutter closed of their own accord, fatigue settling over me like a leaden blanket. I didn’t know fucking could possibly be so exhausting.
“Sleep, Carmine,” he whispers. “I’ll be right here, looking over you.”
Just like he always has.
THIRTEEN
SABRE
She smells so strongly of Draven when she ambles into camp, I wouldn’t be surprised if even mundane humans could scent her. And even if such escaped them, anyone could easily see the trail of purple love bites stretching from the hollow beneath one of her ears, along her neck, and down to the swell of her breasts. She’s mostly covered by Draven’s shirt, which doesn’t allow for more viewing, but I’m willing to bet there’s a trail right down to her female bits. The scent suggests he spent a great deal of time using just his mouth before finally taking her.
Her gait isn’t so sinuous as it once was. She’s not quite limping, but she’s moving slowly. I almost grin. Taken hard, then. Not usually Draven’s style, so he must have been following a decree from her royal highness to fuck her and do so hard.
Draven is nothing if not accommodating.
I have the briefest image of doing the same. Laying her out beneath me and taking her with enough force she would be limping. She’s beautiful. Capable. Sure of herself, at least in this respect. All things I like in a woman. The chorus of moans that Titus and I could make out were nothing short of impressive.
Speaking of, Titus is off somewhere, tugging his cock to thoughts of her, no doubt. Better than sporting a massive hard-on for Draven’s woman. It would be like waving a flag before a bull.
For myself, I won’t get between Draven and the small bits of pleasure he’s been able to claim, no matter how beautiful she is.
“Thank you,” she murmurs, glancing up at me from behind her thick lashes. Her coyness would strike me as false, if not for her eyes. The quicksilver eyes that reveal her night hag nature are incapable of conveying lies.
I adjust my perch on the boulder somewhat, frowning. I’m mostly healed, but still very stiff. The witch has beaten it into my head that I’m not to shift for at least another day. I don’t relish the thought of laying on the hard-packed earth, but I won’t monopolize one of the bedrolls when Draven is still weakened. The ambrosia will take care of most of my injuries whilst months or years must have been ground off Draven’s life in order to heal his mortal injuries.
I’m just being petulant, at this point. Being earthbound is annoying, but inconsequential in the grand scheme of things.
“For what?” I ask.
“For saving me,” she responds. She shuffles from foot to foot, tugs her lip between her teeth and fairly reeks of chagrin. “I’m sorry I didn’t say it the moment I woke. You could have died trying to protect me and I didn’t even thank you properly. For that, I apologize.”
She hesitates and then leans in to brush those soft petal lips across my cheek in a chaste kiss. I have the sudden urge to turn my head, and capture her lips instead. I’ll probably taste Draven on them, which will agitate my beast. It’s that thought that helps me to simply allow the kiss.
Draven’s woman. She’s Draven’s woman, you selfish old bird.
But it’s in a jay’s nature to steal. As is the raven’s. I wonder if we might be evenly matched if it came to a battle over which of us could give her the most pleasure? I still can’t fathom why I want her so badly. Is it some sort of witchery? Part of her allure as a Chosen One? Am I truly so hard-up that I’m willing to cause a rift between my brothers?
A part of me is inclined to take her as a mate, which scares the piss out of me. I do not form attachments for a reason, damn it.
Only Titus’ beast doesn’t seem inclined to claim her as a mate. It’s his purely human inclination to put his cock where it shouldn’t be. And that alone drives him.
“I know it’s not enough,” she says with a wispy laugh. “But I hope that someday I can make it up to you.”
I make a noncommittal noise that makes her chew that lip still more firmly. It’s damn distracting. If she doesn’t stop that soon, I’ll be tempted to bite it for her. I can’t ask her for what I truly want in this instant. Besides, I think I may be too stiff to manage a rutting to rival what Draven gave her earlier. Perhaps later... no. I can’t.
She’s Draven’s woman, for fuck’s sake!
The Princess hesitates before climbing onto the boulder beside me. She swings her legs over the side when seated, mimicking me, directing her gaze toward the forest around us. I doubt she’s scanning for threats, as I am.
“Are you still in pain?”
I shrug. “It’s nothing I can’t handle. I’ve received worse during the war and the sack of…”
I cut off before I can utter the name. I don’t like thinking about Eastmore. The nightmares were bad enough without dwelling on the memories during my waking hours.
“Eastmore?” she finishes.
“I should have known Draven would tell you,” I grouse. “He doesn’t seem capable of denying you anything.”
“He didn’t tell me much,” she says defensively.
“And what did he tell you?”
She shrugs. “Just that your village was destroyed by Bacchus and you three were the only survivors.”
It’s still more than I want the average mortal woman to know about my past. It’s incredibly demeaning to be pitied, and I avoid it wherever possible. I lapse into silence again, hoping she’ll take the hint to leave me alone. She’s said her apologies. She ought to go back to Draven.
She doesn’t, of course. She’s unlike most women I’ve ever met, in terms of her sexual confidence and willingness to explore, but this? In this instance, she’s like almost all the women I’ve been with. She pecks and pecks at a problem until it either frays to nothing or bursts open at the seams. The tale is ugly and I don’t want to tell it.
“I know you don’t trust Ia,” she says slowly. “But you’re following her anyway, just for a chance to kill Bacchus, right?”
“Yes,” I say, tone short and clipped. Adding, Leave it alone, girl, silently.
She either doesn’t hear me or doesn’t acknowledge the warning in my voice because she just scoots closer to me. Her warmth is intoxicating and the scent of her release is more potent at this proximity. My beast strains eagerly toward her. She’s a fertile, sexually available female. I know what she sounds like when she climaxes. I can make her feel it again.
“Fuck no,” I grumble under my breath, batting my impetuous cock down as I have for many years now.
“What?” Carmine asks.
“Nothing.” I take in a big breath and sigh it back out again. “It’s late, Princess. You ought to go to bed now. We’ll be traveling along the Wonderland border tomorrow, and there’s no telling what madness we’ll encounter there.”
It’s a clear dismissal, which Carmine, once again, ignores in favor of scooting closer. We’re now sitting shoulder to shoulder and conflicting des
ires do fierce battle in my head.
Pull her closer, so she’s half in your lap.
Scent her hair, her swan-like neck, the musky arousal that clings to her skin, even now.
Or push her away, order her in no uncertain terms to return to Draven’s side and stay there, where she belongs.
Carmine’s fingers play gently along my wrist for a second before she slides her hand into mine, twining our fingers gently. I jerk my gaze away from the surrounding forest to confirm I’m not hallucinating.
No, her soft little hand really is twined with mine. She’s fucking holding hands with me? After all she and Draven have done tonight? After she’s still aching from the claiming of her maidenhead?
“I can’t,” she murmurs.
“Can’t what?”
“Can’t go,” she says, tilting her head up so I can see the naked, vulnerable concern on her face. “Not while you look so sad, Sabre. I’m a wicked girl, but not that wicked.”
I bark a laugh that startles me. The sound sputters and comes out in disjointed spurts, like a spigot left too long unpumped. How long has it been that I’ve laughed for anything besides a cover? I’m skilled at blending, becoming a man who can charm wicked women. I’ve never seen anyone who is less wicked than Carmine Resia.
“You’re most assuredly not a wicked girl.”
A muscle in her chin tenses, her lip wobbles alarmingly. Gods no. I will not make her cry.
“I am, though,” she mumbles. “I ought to be happy. Draven is... and we...but...”
“You’re not wicked,” I insist.
I can’t help myself, and I reach out to run my thumb along her lower lip to still the trembling. They part invitingly and then the little minx actually closes her lips around my finger and delicately licks the tip.
My cock swells, hard almost instantaneously from just that suggestive little motion.
“I am,” she insists, lips moving against my skin in a move that’s sensual and distracting. I need to be on watch, damn it. Titus is out tugging his cock to thoughts of her and if she keeps this up, I’ll be doing the same before the night is through.
“How do you figure, Princess?”
“Because this really ought to be the happiest night of my life but...” she sucks in a shivering breath. “But I want more.”
“More than Draven?”
She nods. “I… it’s hard to explain.” Then she looks up at me. “I love him, Sabre. It feels like I’ve loved him my entire life, but I want more.”
“What more do you want?”
She looks at me imploringly. “I want Titus and... you. How can I possibly be so selfish?”
My stomach lurches when she murmurs the admission. Maybe it should offend me that she’s put us on a lower tier than Draven but honestly? There’s a small part of me that wants to preen. She wants me.
And Titus, too, which makes me question her taste somewhat. But still.
I say nothing, not trusting my voice. It’s apparently the wrong thing to do, because the tears spill over. With a sigh, I wrap an arm around her waist and lift her onto my lap. She lets out a soft little cry of surprise but settles easily enough once I’ve arranged her so her crimson hair tickles my shoulder and the column of my throat. Her scent swirls around me, potent and distracting. At this rate, I won’t scent any oncoming soldiers until it’s too late. Scarier still, I can’t bring myself to care.
My fingers find their way to her hair, stroking it idly. It’s incredibly soft and smells faintly floral. It’s very... her. I can’t find words to describe it precisely, because encapsulating the princess is a feat suited to a more verbose man than I.
She shivers and draws herself closer to me. Does she feel the press of my cock, I wonder? Does it worry her or arouse her more?
“Wanting a thing isn’t selfish, Princess. It’s what you do with desire that counts.”
She’s silent for so long, I think she might have drifted off. Her body is soft and pliant against mine, a welcome weight on my lap. Then she turns her head just enough to brush her lips across my throat.
“You’re still so somber,” she says quietly. “So unhappy. I want to do something to help you. You saved my life. I owe you that.”
“Unless you can drag Arcadius before me for gutting, there’s not much you can do.”
“Arcadius?”
Damn it. What is with my loose, wagging tongue around this woman? I haven’t spoken his name aloud in years. None of us speak of that span of days that had made us brothers unless we can help it.
“Who is he?”
I sigh. “A monster.” I don’t use the word lightly. To some, my brothers and I are monsters, simply for the fact we change shape and live for the hunt.
She seems to be waiting for more, so I elaborate. It seems I’m not going to get the flirtatious woman to sleep unless I tell the tale in full.
“Eastmore tried to stay out of the first war, not unlike the werebears. And we may have gotten away with it if we were a single, unified nation the way they were and are.”
“But the Order of Aves has five houses, right?” She asks. “Accipitrine, Corvid, Cathartidae, Strigiform, and Gryphus.”
“Draven taught you well.”
“The histories taught me well, too,” she points out. “Huntsmen have been authorized to kill monarchs before, when they’ve grown particularly wicked. My Uncle Spyros lived in fear of being assassinated by one of your brethren.”
“If my signet ring had sanctioned it, I would have killed him. I don’t often relish the responsibility, but I take personal exception to familicide. Family is too precious. Anyone who willingly slaughters their own, forfeits the right to their own life.”
“Draven said your families were killed. Why?”
“Because the huntsman houses sided with the Guild. It didn’t matter that Eastmore was almost entirely filled with untrained women, the elderly, and the sick. It didn’t matter that there were only four huntsmen and one huntress in over six hundred living there. Bacchus’ revelry swarmed our home anyway, just because they could.”
The story has cooled my ardor more effectively than a dip in cold water. Just thoughts of that night. Of Arcadius, pinning my mother’s half form to the ground with his hooves, snapping the bones of her semi-formed wings like matchsticks.
She’d secured us in the subbasement with a ward, with only a small sliver of light coming in through a gap between the house and our location. We’d taken turns peering out as the revelry trampled our home and our people into nothing.
“Sabre?”
Carmine’s voice jerks me violently back to the present and I become aware of my heaving chest. My grip on her has tightened, crushing her to me like some sort of child’s toy, like she can somehow ward off the nightmares.
“Princess?”
“What happened?”
The graphic details would horrify her. They horrify me, and I’ve taken more lives now than I can easily count. The true number will be in a ledger somewhere in House Corvid’s record room.
“My mother was assaulted and killed by Arcadius. Anyone who couldn’t hide or defend themselves were victimized and ultimately pulped into so much meat under the feet of the revelry. This was all I was able to retrieve of her.”
I raise a hand to absently stroke the sleek feather. I’ve been careful with it all these years, even through the bloodiest of hunts.
The princess takes note of the action and lifts a hand to stroke the length of my braid gently, hovering her soft little hands just above it. I still her questing fingers at once, clenching them tighter than I mean to. She lets out a soft yelp and immediately jerks her body away from mine. She almost topples off my lap and onto the ground. I catch her before she can fall, still faster than she is even while stiff and sore.
“S-sorry!” she mutters. “I didn’t mean…”
“Hush, Princess. It’s my fault. I overreacted. The shaft contains hydra venom. It’s absolutely fucking lethal, even to someone like you. If you b
roke it, you could kill yourself and everyone else in the clearing.”
“But why would you…”
“I have it to use on him, if I ever come face to face with the equine prick again. I want him to die by her hand, in so far as that’s possible. I want his death to be painful. I want him to suffer for what he did.”
Carmine tries to draw her hand back and, when I refuse to release it completely, smiles softly and places it against my cheek instead. Gods, I need to find a woman. Her fingers are warm and soft and I can’t help but press my lips very gently to the bandages on her palm. Much like my mother’s last feather, she looks too small and delicate to be as deadly as she is.
Her breath shivers across my face and then she leans in, pressing delicate petal lips to mine. The kiss is short, almost painfully chaste, and perhaps the sweetest anyone has ever given me. I want to drag her back after she pulls away, just to get a fresh taste.
“Why did you kiss me?” I mumble, examining her critically.
The woman’s a paradox I don’t have the time or patience to solve, but it doesn’t stop her from being incredibly intriguing regardless.
“Because you looked so sad,” she explains, touching her lips briefly, a small smile ghosting across them. “My father used to say love chases monsters away and that kisses cure ills. I’m not sure I believe it. Still, no harm in trying, though?”
She turns away from me in a sway of narrow though comely hips and begins the short jaunt to the clearing’s edge and the river beyond.
“Carmine?” I call after her, for once forgoing the damn courtesy title. Her name feels good on my tongue. She feels good in my arms.
She turns to face me with a speculative, half-smile. “Yes?”
“Sweet dreams.”
Her hint of a smile blossoms into the real thing, so dazzling and sweet, it knocks the breath from me.
“Sweet dreams, Sabre. See you in the morning.”
FOURTEEN
CARMINE
“If they don’t shut up soon, I’m going to prune the whole fucking lot of them,” Titus seethes, shooting a poisonous glare at the stone wall we’re skirting.