Shadow's End

by Thea Harrison

  The golden firelight gilded her rosy skin. Her lips were slightly swollen from his kisses, and the long, graceful arch of her throat as she bent her head back in willing acquiescence of his grip in her hair was utterly perfect.

  With a quick glance, he committed the sight to memory, and then he focused on the expression in her gaze. She gazed at him with a combination of such pleasure and pain, conflicting impulses threatened to tear him apart.

  He whispered, “I shouldn’t want you so desperately, but I do.”

  “I shouldn’t delight so much in hearing you admit it,” she whispered in reply. “But I do, and I want you too.”

  He tightened his fist in her hair. “Tell me we shouldn’t be together, just once.”

  He watched as her trembling mouth shaped a stunning reply. She whispered, “I can’t think of a single reason why we shouldn’t be together, just once.”

  “We can steal this hour for ourselves,” he said slowly, watching every telltale, tiny shift in her expression for any sign of refusal. He couldn’t bear the thought she might think of him with regret. If she showed a single hint of remorse or reluctance, he would stop.

  There was none.

  Stroking her fingers through his hair, she murmured, “There’s no reason why we can’t. No harm will be done.”

  There was something wrong in what they said to each other, but his fevered brain couldn’t quite puzzle it out. His growing hunger for her was louder than any other instinct or doubt.

  “No harm,” he agreed hoarsely. “We can take this time together. Just until dawn, just you and me.”

  “And we don’t tell anybody about this,” she whispered, searching his gaze. “Afterward, we go on living our lives, just like before? You’ll go back to your demesne, and I’ll return to mine?”

  “Yes.”

  Loosening his grip on her hair, he pulled her braid apart. The long, dark strands cascaded over his fingers. Against his callused skin, it felt incredibly soft, like water or silk. Obeying an impulse, he buried his face in a handful of her hair.

  That was when he began to realize where they had gone wrong. There was no way he could make love to this incredible woman and go back to his life as if nothing had ever happened. The very fact of her threatened to change him at a fundamental level.

  He was beginning to think she might be everything he could ever want or need. She certainly embodied far more than he had ever thought he might find in a woman.

  And she was nothing he could ever have for himself.

  Not truly, not past dawn.

  Just as he couldn’t turn away from her earlier at the masque, he couldn’t turn away from her now. It would be a terrible thing to close the door on spring and never venture forth to experience all the wonder that living his life to the fullest could bring, even if he could only have an hour with her.

  Easing out of his arms, she undid the fastenings of her leather vest, pulled it off and set it aside. The jacket was heavy, he noted, and stitched with a thick lining, a good solid understated piece of armor. Underneath, she wore a white silk shirt, embroidered along the neckline and wrists with a curling green vine.

  Touching the vine with one forefinger, he murmured, “Pretty.”

  She gave him a luminous smile. “I stitched it last month. I like to remind myself that winter is temporary, and spring always comes.”

  “You’re not too cold?” he asked her again, stroking her cheek. She shook her head, leaning into his touch. “We can spread my coat on the ground.”

  “And we can use my cloak as a blanket,” she murmured.

  “You deserve a much finer bed than this.” Unable to resist, he leaned forward to caress her lips with his.

  She said against his mouth, “This is the best bed I could hope for.”

  He shrugged out of his coat and laid it out on the ground. The fire was beginning to die down, so he took a moment to add the last of the wood to the blaze. As it flared up, he turned back in time to see her pull off her leather boots and pants.

  Her long, bare legs were flawless. Muscles flexed over narrow, graceful bones as she bent to scoop up her pants and drape them over the log. Her hair fell longer than her shirt, the feathery ends brushing against her thighs. As she bent her head, the tip of one pointed, elegant ear peeked out of the dark, shining strands.

  Transfixed, he stared at her.

  Sex, for him, had always been rowdy and affectionate, and an altogether temporary condition. It was damn fine physical exercise, and an excellent way to release tension and get a comfy cuddle or two.

  The next morning, he would feel fit as a fiddle. With a whistle and a spring in his step, he was ready to get on with his day. He honestly didn’t mind paying someone generously for a good time, as long as she wanted to do it, was happy to be paid and enjoyed her work.

  In contrast, he was stricken by the depth of emotion he felt when he looked at Beluviel.

  With a silent roar, hunger banished his soul to live inside his skin. It became the raw, feral force that drove the beat of his heart, the pulse of his blood. In all the countless ages in which the gryphon had taken flight, this was the first time he left himself behind.

  Tearing off his shirt, he rolled it into a bundle, so she would have a pillow on which to rest her head. As she took note of what he did, she gave him a smile that softened and lit her beautiful features.

  Rising swiftly to his feet, he pulled her against his bare chest and took her mouth again. Kissing her drove the hunger to a fever pitch. He felt more than a little mad from it, as he dug his fingers into her hair and plundered the soft, secret recesses of her mouth.

  A shudder rippled through her body. Protectively, he nestled her closer and murmured against her lips, “You are cold.”

  She shook her head. “Not when I’m near you. You throw off heat like a furnace.” She ran her hands over the bare expanse of his chest. He had a deep suntan, and his pectorals were liberally sprinkled with hair that was a darker shade than the hair on his head. It narrowed to a sleek arrow that shot down his abdomen.

  Pleasure washed over him at her caress, along with a hint of self-consciousness. He muttered, “I’m a lot hairier than most Elves.”

  “I love it,” she breathed, looking down his length. She leaned forward to rub her face against his chest, a gesture not only affectionate but so sensual and animal-like, it touched a deep, atavistic part of him.

  His hunger sharpened to an uncontrollable spike of need. Bending, he scooped her into his arms and laid her on the ground. As she settled back onto his coat, she flung out a hand, snagged a corner of her cloak and dragged it close.

  He wasn’t cold either. The heat from the fire and the chill night air felt invigorating to him, but still he allowed her to shake out the cloak and drape it over his back. She was taking care of him, and he loved that.

  He needed to see all of her. With shaking fingers, he unbuttoned the front of her shirt, until the edges fell to either side, and she lay exposed to his scrutiny.

  Absolutely, without a doubt, the most important and lovely part of her was her spirit. Feminine and quietly strong at the same time, she drew him in like a lodestone. Even knowing and believing that, the physical sight of her overwhelmed him.

  She was exquisitely shaped everywhere, with the same narrow, long bone structure. Her flat stomach was punctuated by the graceful arch of hipbones, and her pelvis, which was sprinkled with a small tuft of dark, silken hair. In contrast to her slim rib cage, her breasts swelled in generous curves, tipped by jutting, pale pink nipples. As he watched, they crinkled and stiffened in the night air.

  At the sight, a guttural croon broke out of him. Bending down, he took one nipple in his mouth ravenously and sucked.

  Arching, she cried out, the silvery sound spearing through the quiet predawn. Astonishment overcame him at the intense pleasure he found at flicking
the delicate, plump morsel of flesh with his tongue.

  While he suckled, he ran a greedy hand all over her body. His hunger for her had become a driving need, and he was fast losing any sense of finesse he might otherwise have had.

  While he stroked and petted her, he was vaguely aware of her hands working at the fastening of his pants at his waist. She yanked his clothes open, and, once freed, his erection spilled into her hands. Her fingers closed somewhat clumsily over his cock, and he felt as massive and hard as an oak tree in her grip.

  He was losing control, losing it. Arching his back, he pushed his cock into her hands, while he suckled at her breast and thrust one hand between her legs.

  As he discovered the satiny, soft petals of her private flesh, he found her deliciously wet. Caressing her deeply, stroking into the entrance of her passage, he drew more of her moisture out, until her arousal coated his fingers.

  She groaned, or he did. They might be eternally separate but they moved as one. His lungs worked like a bellows, the breath sawing in his throat as he switched from suckling on one nipple to the other, drawing on her deeply while he rubbed and explored her, until he encountered a tiny, precious nubbin of stiffened flesh.

  Sharing this kind of raw, carnal intimacy with her was incredible. He would be more awed if he wasn’t so immersed in her.

  As his fingers connected with her clitoris, she cried out and lifted her head off the ground. Enchanted, he rubbed her rhythmically, while her hands roamed his body with a frantic urgency. With one hand, she cupped his balls and stroked his erection, while with the other, she stroked and caressed his chest, plucking at his nipples.

  Then she stiffened, her lips parting on a gasp, and her wide, dark gaze flew to his. He looked deeply into her eyes as he stroked her, transfixed by the way she shivered and groaned as she climaxed.

  Events cascaded, and suddenly, they were moving too fast. The urge to be inside her was too strong. Growling, he moved between her legs, covering her body with his, and she guided the broad, thick head of his cock into place.

  Gazing into her eyes, he entered her, and she was so hot, so wet.

  Her inner muscles tightened on him as she wrapped both legs around his waist, and he couldn’t help but move. He couldn’t stop. He pinned her down, hips flexing, and she cradled his entire body as she tilted up for every thrust.

  Making love vanished into animal rut. He needed to get deeper, to dominate. Fire overtook his body. Gripping her by the hip, he increased his tempo until he was pistoning into her. She cried out, winding an arm around his neck.

  His own climax slammed up the base of his spine, and it was all too fast. It came on too strong, sank invisible teeth into him, and it wouldn’t let go. Groaning, he spurted into her. He was so blinded by the extreme pleasure, he was only vaguely aware of how she rocked with him, encouraging every last ripple.

  It wasn’t enough. It couldn’t ever be nearly enough.

  He needed to continue, to go deeper, spill more of himself into her, until there was nothing left of him to give. Until there was no turning back.

  A shock of realization slapped him.

  What he needed to do—it was absolutely the one thing he shouldn’t.

  Gasping, he withdrew. It was the hardest thing he had ever done. His cock was still so stiff and aching, he couldn’t bear to touch himself, while he buried his face in the extravagant dark pool of her hair.

  I can’t fall in love with you, he thought.

  But it was too late for that. He was already in love with her.

  It had been too late from that moment at the masque when he took her hand and tucked it gently into the crook of his arm.

  He had always been a little in love with her. How could he not be? Falling the rest of the way had felt so effortless, so right. All it had taken was spending a little time with her, talking to her, holding her in his arms.

  I can’t mate with you and leave you. And I can’t stay with you either. There’s too much distance lying between us, too many impossible barriers.

  She cupped his cheek and tried to meet his eyes.

  “It’s not you,” he said. He sounded too harsh, and concern darkened her expression. “It’s not this. It’s me.”

  “What can I do?” she whispered.

  “Nothing. I just want this too much.” He yanked her cloak off his back and shoved it into her hands. Everything he did was too rough, but he couldn’t control himself. He realized he had been so on fire to get inside her, he hadn’t even gotten fully undressed.

  Tearing off his clothes, he stood when he was entirely nude. His cock ached fiercely. So did his soul.

  He realized he could see more of the clearing than he could earlier, and he looked up at the eastern sky. The pale gray of predawn crowned the neighboring trees. It was almost dawn. They had run out of time.

  Striding away, he headed for the river. When he reached the bank, he dove in. Icy water closed over his head.

  It was the only way he could think to quench the fire that ran in his veins.

  I can’t mate with you and hope to live.

  EIGHT

  Left alone by the fire, Bel curled on her side and drew her knees to her chest. She stared sightlessly at the dying flames.

  Making love with Graydon had been more raw and elemental than she could have imagined. It had also been over much too quickly. Sharing that sense of closeness and pleasure, the urgent need for each other. His body was so powerful, and he used it so gently. She fingered one of her nipples, still sensitized and swollen from his mouth.

  She loved sensuality, and she enjoyed making love. She’d had other lovers besides Calondir, both before marrying him and after they had decided to reunite for the sake of the baby.

  But the community they had established in South Carolina was a close-knit one, and she hadn’t taken a lover since they had created the Elven demesne, so long ago. She had set that part of herself aside and focused on the many other aspects of her life.

  She felt as if she had drifted into a state where she had been only half-alive, partially awake, but now her sexuality had flared to life again, opening all her senses.

  The ground felt harder, the air cooler, the fire warmer. Her skin was hypersensitive to the weight of her cloak and the uneven folds of his coats underneath. Unaccustomed to being with a man, the private place between her legs throbbed.

  The look on his face as he left her. Her emotions felt heightened too, and the pleasure she had felt turned to ashes. Her eyes filled.

  Blinking back the wetness, she searched for the handkerchief from the parcel of food. When she found it, she used it to clean the inside of her thighs. Then, as the clearing lightened with dawn, she dressed.

  Funny. She had been so warm before, she had felt like she was burning up. Now she felt so cold, her bones ached.

  She kicked apart the dying fire and began to toss dirt onto the most stubborn of the embers. As she worked, Graydon returned in silence.

  He was naked, of course, and dripping wet, and completely unself-conscious about his nudity. He moved fluidly, without affectation or hesitation, like an animal.

  Staring at him, she forgot what she was doing. They had coupled together in such an uncontrolled, heated rush, this was the first time she had truly seen all of him.

  Unclothed, his masculine body was lethal in its perfection. He was the same golden tan all over, his tall broad bone structure wrapped with heavy, powerful muscles. The sprinkle of dark brown hair on his chest arrowed down his long, rippling abdomen to his groin.

  No longer erect, his penis was still large and heavy. It lay in a thick arc over round, tight testicles. She swallowed as she looked at him. No wonder she was so sore.

  She dragged her eyes up to his closed expression. His jaw was tight, and he held the firm lines of his mouth in an uncharacteristically stern line.

 
“I’m sorry,” she told him. “If I had been thinking more clearly, I wouldn’t have started dousing the fire before you’d had a chance to dry off and dress.”

  With the back of one hand, he swiped at a droplet of water on the end of his nose. “It’s all right. I needed the cold.”

  He wasn’t deliberately being mean or cruel. She didn’t believe he could ever be that with her. He had simply closed himself off emotionally, in a way that he hadn’t been since he had stepped into her path at the masque.

  Ducking her head, she went back to her task, not stopping until she was certain the fire had been extinguished. Out of the corner of her eye, she watched as he dragged on his clothes. It couldn’t be pleasant to dress while still wet, but he didn’t complain.

  She couldn’t blame him for erecting an emotional wall. In fact, the wisest thing she could do was follow suit, but she missed that magical sense of connection they had shared. She missed it desperately.

  As she looked at the strong lines of his throat where his shirt lay open, she had to swallow again. And oh gods, the desire she felt for him was stronger than ever.

  I want this too much.

  The quiet force behind his words ripped through her memory. She should respect the closed wall she saw in his face and leave him alone. She had to let go of him. Their brief time was over. The sun would be up in a matter of minutes, and she needed to find her son.

  Her feet didn’t understand any of that reasoning. Acquiring a will of their own, they carried her over to him. He watched her approach with a dark, brooding gaze. She thought of half a dozen things she might say, but everything seemed to run the gamut between needy and banal.

  In the end, she simply shook her head at him. Her mouth twisting, she walked forward and put her arms around his waist, hugging him tightly. He stood rigid, neither denying her embrace nor responding to it.

  The sweetness had left her heart, until all that remained was pain. She buried her face in his chest, muffling a sob.

  Finally he moved. His arms closing around her, he bowed his head over hers.