He pivoted on his heel and pushed through the crowd, heading towards one of the open doors that lined the side of the long room and allowed cool air into it. He needed that air. He couldn’t breathe. He tugged at the collar of his ridiculously tight jacket, unhooking the two sides of it and then twisting the first two buttons on his chest free of their loops. He pulled at the damned thing as he strode out into the darkness.
Wanted to rip it right off his back and toss it to the ground.
He growled and stormed down one of the paths into the garden, not caring where he was going as long as it was away from the ball and the bastards attending it.
Gods.
It hit him hard that everything he had been through the past eight lunar cycles hadn’t been worth it because it had changed nothing, and nothing he did could change it either.
He could be crowned prince and he would still never have the approval of her family.
He couldn’t win.
Tradition dictated that he needed permission from her family even if she was his fated one.
It was how things were.
He couldn’t see that changing either.
The bastard nobles would fight to keep that tradition in place in order to protect their precious children from those they viewed as beneath them.
Lowly.
He snarled through his emerging fangs and twisted another button free, so cool air washed over his bare chest. His steps finally slowed as he reached a sea of roses, some of which grew over stone arches placed along the paths. Pale blue flowers laced between them, glowing in the darkness like stars.
Fuery stared at them and drew down a deep breath, pulling the mingled scents of the flowers into his lungs and feeling the comforting touch of nature as she reached out to him. He sank into it, needing her warmth tonight, because he felt as if he was breaking.
Liable to fall apart.
His beautiful Shaia would never be his.
How was he meant to cope with that?
How was he meant to go on with this burning in his chest, this blazing fire inside his heart and his soul that screamed she belonged to him? She had been made for him. She had started that fire in him and it had burned throughout the time they had been apart, consuming him and driving him, filling him with a need to see her again and be with her.
It was a fire that would never die.
Eternal.
He frowned.
It was a fire that was growing stronger by the second.
“Congratulations.” Her soft voice came from behind him, a breathless word followed by a pant for air, and then another.
She had followed him, quickly by the sounds of things, going against convention and the rules he despised so much now.
“Thank you,” he said gruffly, refusing to face her while he still seethed with anger over what her mother had said and done, and burned with hurt at the thought she would never be his.
She might have followed him, but it changed nothing.
She lingered behind him, the air between them thick and heavy, pressing down on him. Did it press down on her too?
He tried to resist, but the need to see her was too strong, overwhelming him, and he tilted his head to his right so he could look over his shoulder at her.
The slender blue light of the flowers bathed her skin, making it almost white, and darkened her eyes so they were near-black. It drained the colour from her lilac dress too.
Gods, it hurt to look at her and know she would never be his.
It hurt to look at her and know she was destined for someone else.
When she had been made for him.
“You must have worked very hard, as Commander Andon said, because you have only been gone a short time.”
A short time? It had felt like an eternity to him.
He finally turned to face her, and caught the sombre edge to her expression, one that told him that she felt that way too, but she was trying to be polite, behaving as society expected of her.
He shrugged. “It does not seem worth it now.”
Her face fell. “Why?”
He averted his gaze, settling it on the rose bushes that lined the path to his left. “Because I did it for my fated one.”
Her soft gasp shook him and he felt her anger flow through him, her belief that he spoke of another female and the hurt she felt because of it. Hurt that gave him courage.
He heaved a long sigh. “It turns out I am still not good enough for her… and I never will be. According to her mother, lowborn males will never be good enough for her daughter.”
She stilled.
Fuery glanced at her.
Shock shone in her eyes.
He couldn’t bear it any longer.
He was done playing around, through with society and convention and everything that stood in his way. He was done with it all.
He seized her left wrist and dragged her deeper into the garden, following the path that ran beneath the stone arches and the glowing blue flowers.
“It’s killing me,” he husked, voice thick and dark. “You are my ki’ara… so how can you not be mine?”
Her arm trembled in his grip. “Are you sure?”
He spun her in front of him as he reached a high stone wall and backed her into it. “As sure as there is blood in my veins and a soul in my chest that is tied to yours.”
She whispered, “Gods… I feel it too. I thought I was imagining it, but I feel it too, Fuery.”
He claimed her lips on a low growl, couldn’t stop himself as her words rang in his mind and his name spoken in her soft voice seared itself on his soul, marking him forever. She shook harder as she grasped his shoulders in trembling hands and for a crushing moment, he feared she would push him away, but then she was kissing him back, her lips clashing clumsily with his, her nerves racing through him to merge with his own.
His heart pounded, hands shaking as he pressed them to the wall and then found the courage to claim her hips. The feel of the soft curves of her waist beneath his palms, and the way her flesh gave beneath his fingers as he gripped her, tore a moan from his lips and he kissed her harder.
She moaned as he fisted her dress in both hands and clung to her, pinning her to the wall with his body as it ached for her, stirred by the feel of her kiss and the taste of her. Her little fangs scratched at his lower lip as she gave herself over to her passion and need, and he tried to keep his from her, afraid he would cut her with them and hurt her.
“Gods, Fuery,” she breathed against his lips and he groaned and shuddered, held her tighter as he pressed his body against hers, the need to feel every inch of her too fierce to deny.
She skimmed her hands down his shoulders, a desperate jerky movement that spoke of the need he could feel in her, told him that her passion was stealing control of her just as his stole control of him.
He kissed her deeper, his tongue breaching the barrier of her teeth as he grew more confident, and less clumsy, becoming accustomed to kissing.
She rattled his confidence by meeting his tongue with her own, and the softness and warmth of it almost undid him. He trembled, electricity arcing through him as he absorbed the pleasure of her caress. It stoked the need in him, had him pressing harder against her, near-mindless with the urges running rampant through him.
Her hands reached his chest.
Her fingers dipped into the open V of his jacket.
The first brush of her fingertips across his bare skin seared him, had him growling into her mouth and clutching her tighter, dragging her against him. She moaned, a breathless little sound that made him burn hotter for her, and touched him again. It was more confident this time, accompanied by a light raking of her long nails that had him grunting and kissing her harder again.
He lowered his left hand to her hip, palmed it through her dress and shook at the supple feel of her thigh. She moved into his touch and surprised him by lifting her leg. He groaned as his hand slipped beneath her thigh, close to her buttocks, and her knee pressed aga
inst his hip, caging him against her.
His cock ached, painfully hard in his trousers, and he couldn’t stop himself from pressing it against her belly.
Rather than being disgusted and shoving him away, she moaned and slid one hand around the back of his neck, pulling him closer.
He rubbed against her, the pleasure that rolled through him with each stroke of his hips stealing control of him piece by piece, driving him to do more.
Fuery dropped her leg and fought his nerves as he eased his hips back. He pressed a trembling hand against her mound, and swallowed her gasp and the following moan as she arched towards his touch, her eagerness flooding him with need.
She surprised him again by dropping her hands to her dress and pulling her skirts up, her actions rough and swift, speaking of the desperation he could feel flowing through her.
He groaned as she revealed her thighs, and shuddered and growled as she caught his hand and pressed it back against her, over her undergarments.
She was damp against his fingers.
Hot and moist.
He kissed her again, caging her against the wall with his body as he fumbled with her delicate mound and fought the urge to rip at her clothes and seat himself inside her.
Fought the urge to claim her.
She tensed when he slipped his hand inside her undergarments and moaned at the same time as he did when he found her centre and slipped his fingers into her moist folds.
Sweet gods.
He pressed his forehead to hers, panting against her lips in time with her as he touched her.
Explored her.
She was so soft, far more so than he had imagined, but her tiny bead was tight and hard, begging for his touch as he swept the pads of his fingers over her, taking in all of her. When he dipped his hand lower and found the entrance of her sheath, she quaked in his arms and moaned.
“Fuery.” She clutched his shoulders, nails pressing in hard, and rose on her toes.
Her breath washed over his lips as she panted in response to his touch.
He pressed his forehead harder against hers and lifted his hand higher again, to her tight bundle of nerves. He fondled it, using her breathless little moans as his guide together with the pleasure he could feel building inside her. He wanted to be inside her slick heat, wanted to know all of her, but he wanted to savour her and this shared first experience too, wanted to draw it out and make it last forever.
“Oh, gods,” she whispered and rolled her hips, her actions desperate and wild, as if she had lost control.
He claimed her lips again, swallowing her murmured words as he touched her, stroked and teased her, rubbing his fingers back and forth over her quivering nub, determined to bring her to a shattering first release.
She rose higher on her toes, seeking his touch, urging him on.
Fuery dropped his mouth from her lips to her throat, and she wrapped her arms around his shoulders and head and held him to her as he kissed and licked it, and teased it with his teeth.
She was close.
It drummed in him.
He lowered his hand again and groaned against her skin as he found her entrance, discovering it was wetter now, slick with arousal. He fought the urge but it was too strong, the need to feel her easily overpowering him. He hesitated for only a second before pressing the tip of a finger inside.
Sweet gods, she was tight and hot around them.
He barely reached his first knuckle when she jerked against him, crying softly into his ear. The feel of her body flexing around his finger and the hot wetness that flowed down it drew a startling, and humiliating, reaction from him.
A blinding release of his own crashed over him before he could do anything to stop it, had his cock pulsing in his trousers, throbbing madly as he spilled.
He withdrew his finger from her and settled against her, feeling her frantic heart hammering against his chest as she held him, beating discordantly to his own. He wanted to growl as he wrapped his arms around her, needed to roar in victory as he held her close to him and felt the bliss rolling through her, pleasure he had given her.
She was his now.
“Fuery,” she whispered, and he lifted his head to look at her, sensing her need to see him.
Voices in the distance had her tensing.
He quickly helped her cover herself, heat scalding his cheeks as he thought about how he had brought her to climax. She was his first, and he swore she would be his only.
If she would have him.
“I will meet you again.”
Five words that offered the sweetest balm to his heart as they rang in his ears, her soft voice laced with heat and tenderness, and determination. He nodded and she pulled him to her for a quick kiss that seared his soul before hurrying away towards the grand house.
Fuery sighed, twisted and sagged against the wall.
He looked down at his hand, the one that had touched her intimately.
Saw bloodstained black claws.
He stared at them, watching the blood drip from them and spill to the ground, a constant flow, as if he was bleeding.
He was inside.
He had killed her.
His beloved Shaia.
His ki’ara.
He squeezed his eyes shut and pushed away from the memories that tried to surge to the surface, refusing to let them sweep over him, and clung to this happier moment, when everything had been bright and beautiful, exactly as he had wanted it to be forever.
But he had ruined it, and he couldn’t escape that, not in reality and definitely not here in his dreams.
He looked at the house, and her retreating figure.
He didn’t kill her now. He didn’t kill her yet.
But it would happen soon.
CHAPTER 13
Shaia had tried to be patient, as Hartt had asked, but it had been difficult. After securing a room at the front of the inn, she had passed most of her days sitting at the sash window of the small, grim room, watching the entrance of the guild.
All manner of people had come and gone in that time. Some had been easy to spot as either a client or an assassin, while others had left her guessing.
Not once had she seen Fuery.
Hartt had come and gone a few times, and each time she had seen him he had looked brighter, with more colour in his cheeks and light in his eyes, telling her that Fuery was recovering.
Males weren’t the only people to come and go from the imposing black building though.
She had seen females dressed in provocative clothing enter on several occasions, staying no more than an hour at most. When they left, they were looking in their coin purse, seeming satisfied with what they saw.
Shaia had tried not to think about Fuery with those females.
Tried and failed.
He had promised himself to her, but when he had looked at her, it had been as if he had seen a ghost, as if he didn’t know her.
What if he had been with other females in their time apart?
She didn’t want to entertain the idea, because it hurt, but she also refused to be foolish enough to think that he had been faithful to her, because it would only cause her deeper pain if she made herself believe that only to discover she had been wrong.
She sighed and looked back into her room, wriggling on the hard wooden window seat as she glanced around it. It was hardly luxurious. The double bed was worn and dipped badly in the centre of the mattress, as if some of the supports were broken, and the sheets and covers had been so frayed and filthy that she had teleported her own pale blue ones to her from her home in the elf kingdom. She had never been so thankful that her powers allowed her to teleport anything she owned regardless of distance.
The only other items of furniture were a dresser with woodworm that stood against the wall near the door opposite her, beyond the bed, and a small round table to her right, tucked into the corner there together with two wooden chairs.
Neither of which had seat cushions.
The firep
lace smoked so badly she didn’t dare to light it to provide some illumination in the dark room, and the candles on the mantelpiece were so dusty she feared they might go up entirely if she brought a flame near them.
When the innkeeper, a round male of questionable fae origin, had shown her to the room, he had promised to get the fire working for her and had then offered to bring her meals.
Shaia had politely refused.
If the room was this bad, she didn’t want to see what the food was like.
She looked back out of the window.
Froze.
Fuery stood on the threshold of the guild, dressed in a black knee-length jacket, riding boots and trousers that were a poor echo of the ones he had worn as an officer in the legions. He looked brighter, the dark arcs beneath his eyes paler now and his face less gaunt, and infinitely less bloodstained.
When he spoke, she glanced at the person with him.
And saw red.
A beautiful female with burgundy hair dressed in a long deep gold robe that was secured at her waist with a tall band of gold filigree that cinched in her curves and accentuated them stood close to him, talking animatedly with him.
Had he come out with the female, or had he met her there?
Her heart pounded, stomach squirming as a hiss sounded in her ears and in her heart.
She didn’t look like a whore, wore far too much clothing compared with the others Shaia had seen, but looks could be deceiving.
The hiss grew louder, setting her blood aflame, when Fuery handed the female a small leather pouch that looked an awful lot like the coin purses the whores had touted on leaving the guild.
Shaia was out of the door before she could stop herself, her anger sweeping her down the hall and then the stairs, and straight past the innkeeper as he greeted her. She slammed the flat of her palm against the heavy wooden arched door and growled low in her throat as she stormed out onto the street.
The female was gone.
And so was Fuery.
She growled louder now and felt her pointed ears flaring as her anger burned hotter. No damned way he was going to escape her.
She crossed the distance to the guild in the blink of an eye as she teleported, and landed just on the other side of the tall arched doors.
Unchained by a Forbidden Love Page 13