“Is that a good thing?”
“Very much. You smell like strawberries and mint. Fresh, sweet, and delicious.”
Her pulse quickened. “You look nice too. Now you’ve shaved, I mean. Not that you didn’t look nice before, of course.”
“My nervous little cat.” He smiled. “You’ve gone shy now we have some privacy.”
“I’m not shy. You’re just awfully forthright, and I’m not used to it.”
“I understand.” He played with a lock of hair that had escaped her braid, tugging it playfully. “Tell me, Libby, how in the realm have you remained a maiden at twenty years of age?”
She shrugged, trying to hide the fact her heartbeat was reverberating through her body. “It’s the custom for my people. Girls tend to stay chaste until they’re wed, or at least, betrothed.”
The god shook his head in apparent disbelief. “Custom or not, the men in your village must be either blind or foolish.”
She huffed a laugh. “Karlo wasn’t.”
She regretted her spontaneous words when he narrowed his gaze.
“Didn’t you say your province’s aspirant was named Karlo? How did he indicate his interest? Certainly not offer himself up in your place, after you were selected as the sacrifice.”
She flinched at the callous reminder of her friend strolling away after the ceremony, escorting another woman out of the tent. “He kissed me.”
“Indeed?” Rhetahn said mildly, although she wasn’t fooled by his bland tone. “There was me assuming I was the first to claim your luscious lips.”
Karlo’s shy embrace was nothing compared to the passion she’d experienced in the god’s arms. She bit her lip against the urge to say as much. His ego was large enough already.
Unfortunately, he had other ideas. “Whose kisses did you prefer? Mine or his?”
“Oh, honestly. That would be a juvenile question from any man, and it’s totally unbecoming of a god.”
“So, mine?”
“I never said that.” She furnished him with a glare. “He was certainly more chivalrous than you.”
“Chivalrous?” He chuckled. “I’m many things, but I’ve never claimed to be chivalrous.” He curved his hand around the nape of her neck, and she shivered. “Even an innocent like you must see, that’s not who I am.” His voice deepened with intent. “I’m a dragon, Libby. Meaning if I want something, I take it.”
He bent his head, and she closed her eyes, anticipating the press of his lips.
“Tell me.”
She blinked open her eyes. “Tell you what?”
He brushed his lips against hers, and the barest hint of the kiss made her quiver. “Tell me how the chivalrous young man made his kisses better than mine.”
“I didn’t say he was better than you. Stop putting words in my mouth.”
The god caressed her cheek. “Did he whisper honeyed enticements in your ear? Did he tell you he couldn’t decide what reminds him more of gold, your beautiful hair or your incredible eyes?”
She quaked, as he continued in the same intimate tone.
“Did he say your sweet scent drives him wild? That every time you smile, tease him, scold him, or question him with the gusto of a master interrogator, all he wants to do is take you to bed and plunge inside you?”
Her desire rose with such speed, it took her breath away. She licked her lips and the crimson rims around his irises flared in response.
“I want you beneath me, my Lissabet,” he whispered. “I want to drown you in pleasure. I want to watch you shatter in my arms.”
“Rhetahn—”
His kiss took her breath away, spiraling into reckless heat. Her anger disappeared, enveloped by passion, lost beneath desire. She wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed her body against his, as if any space between them was forbidden. It had been too long since he kissed her. Far, far too long. She took a desperate breath against his mouth, her head spinning.
“I need to see you,” he said thickly. “I need you, Libby.”
Her heart swelled at his desperate tone, the longing in his voice. This was more than a rake’s practiced seduction, which would have sent her fleeing for the door. Something deeper blazed in his possessive stare, the way he touched her with such yearning, such urgency.
She dropped back from her tiptoes, releasing her hold on his neck. He tugged at her sleeves. The tunic gave enough to slither downward, helped by his eager hands, until it caught at the belt on her waist. The thin-strapped, cotton bandeau remained, a barrier between him and her naked upper body. She trembled as he traced the gentle curve of her bare stomach, his hungry expression tinged with wonder.
“So soft,” he murmured. “So fucking perfect.”
Her nervous laugh became a giggling squirm when his fingers drifted across her ribs. He quirked his lips as he traced her bandeau. She shivered with anticipation. He didn’t linger on her breasts, instead moving up to the angry red outline of his godly symbol.
His lips downturned. “Did it hurt?”
Pain-filled memories overrode her temptation to be flippant. “You know it did.” At his wince, boldness overtook her. “I hope you intend to make it up to me, my lord?”
He gave her an approving glance. “I’ll do my poor best.”
She snickered, and he swung her into his arms with such fervor, she feared his wound would start bleeding again. Carrying her to the wide armchair next to the wardrobe, he settled her sideways on his lap. She glanced at the bed, rather surprised he hadn’t headed for it. He followed her gaze.
“If we get in there,” he said, a hint of a growl in his voice, “you have no chance getting out with your virginity intact, my little cat. And as we have two keen-eared shifters downstairs, not to mention my irascible lieutenant due to join us any minute, it wouldn’t be the lengthy experience I want for you.”
She stared in silence, torn between relief and disappointment.
“Having said that,” he continued, “I don’t mind admitting my control is not robust enough to leave this room without some satisfaction...”
He lifted her so she straddled his lap, then claimed her lips in a powerful kiss so insistent it took her breath away. Her legs were spread wide apart with his hips in between, she couldn’t have closed them even if she’d wanted to. If she were naked, she’d be bared to him in this position. Warmth tingled between her legs at that scandalous idea, as he drew her lower lip between his teeth.
Struck by daring, she broke away from his kiss to trail her lips across his jaw. He stilled, as if surprised. She did it again on the other side, enjoying the texture of his light stubble against her skin. Kissing her way to his neck, she inhaled his familiar alpine scent, mixed with mint and sedge from a water shifter soap. She brushed a hand along his muscled chest at the same time, admiring his hard body underneath the clothes.
He stroked her back, his calloused hands soothing as she drifted her lips across his throat. His pulse belied his calmness though, pounding at the side of his neck, just like hers. Such a heady sensation, knowing she had the same breathless effect on him that he had on her. She flicked out her tongue, nipping him lightly.
He grunted, grasping her braid and tugging her away. She stopped, crestfallen, then spotted the raging heat in his eyes.
“I can’t cope with any more of that.” His voice was croaky as he pulled at the bandeau. “Not without reneging on everything I just said.”
Not bothering to hide her smug grin, she allowed him to maneuver her arms from the straps, her breasts holding the material in place. He raised her on her knees, his hand brushing against the amulets. They fizzled under his touch; it didn’t exactly hurt, but still made her squirm. He looked pained for a moment, as if he’d felt the pulse of their power too, then he pushed them aside like they weren’t important and kissed the wound he’d carved on her upper chest.
She closed her eyes in pleasure. The pain and terror she’d endured under his blade seemed distant, like it had taken place in another l
ife. Cool air hit her breasts as the bandeau slipped to her stomach, baring her to his gaze. Her heart somersaulted in her chest. She returned to his lips, her virgin side needing to distract him from what he revealed. He kissed her in return, slower this time, by all accounts distracted by other things.
He cupped one breast in his palm, making her gasp against his mouth, and brushed his thumb across her nipple like on the barge. This time there were no clothes in between them, nothing to lessen the incredible sensation. Breaking their kiss, she moaned as he rolled the nub between his thumb and forefinger, sending more warmth to the growing wetness between her legs. He turned his attention to her other breast, cupping and squeezing with his practiced hands until she whimpered in pleasure.
“You like that, don’t you?” He kissed the scars on her chest again. “You’ll like this too, I reckon.”
His mouth closed around her nipple.
She jerked in shock, instinctively trying to pull away. He held her immobile, swirling his tongue and sucking with gentle insistence. Pleasure burst over her, and she arched toward him, submitting to his hot, knowing mouth as he teased the hard point with his teeth until she panted. Clutching at his thick hair, she held him in place, wordlessly begging him to continue. Her lower body moved of its own accord and his rigid manhood slipped into the hollow between her thighs.
Gods, yes.
She rubbed herself against his hardness, resenting the clothing between them with every fiber of her soul. His mouth at her breast became more intense, more purposeful, and his hands tightened around her backside as if trying to contain her passion.
A cry escaped her as she arched her back, her legs shamelessly wide, offering herself to him. Her body vibrated with desire, sparks pulsed inside her and there was more, he’d told her there was more. She wanted to know it all; wanted everything he could give her. There was no stopping now.
Barely suppressing a growl, she yanked at her clothes, needing them gone, needing to be naked in his arms. She was his. He’d told her that himself. In that moment, she wanted to belong to him in every way. His hands joined hers and she waited for him to help her, to tear her clothes away.
Instead, he grasped the straps of her bandeau.
She faltered.
Was he stopping? He couldn’t be stopping?
He tucked the material back up and she hissed when the cotton touched her tender nipples, the fabric as harsh as granite compared to his warm mouth. Confused and dejected, she allowed him to pull her dress into place and lift her back into a sideways position on his lap. She said nothing, trying to calm her pounding heart. Deep down, she was grateful to have stopped before things progressed too far, but her thankfulness was combined with disappointment, maidenly embarrassment, and a strange emptiness between her legs.
The sensible principal’s daughter didn’t want to lose her virginity like this, yet her wanton adventurer side longed to become his in the most primal of ways. Was it because she’d been given to him as the sacrifice? Would she have felt this way if they’d met under different circumstances? If he had been a regular man, rather than a god? She didn’t voice her feelings, staring at the rattan rug until it blurred in front of her eyes.
He broke the awkward silence. “I had to stop. You’re so ready, Libby, so responsive, but if we’d gone much farther, I wouldn’t have been able to. And you deserve more than a hasty morning fumble.”
She crossed her arms. “Fine.”
He gave a pained half-chuckle. “Have I angered you?”
Shaking her head, she climbed off his lap and smoothed her clothes, unable to meet his gaze. As she headed toward the door, he clutched her arm. For the first time, he seemed...apprehensive. Uncertain.
“Come to Trivium,” he blurted out.
“What? When?”
“After we’ve finished with Thassa.” He fidgeted. “Once I’ve regained my powers, exterminated most of the demons and sent the rest scurrying back under their rock”—she hid her amusement at him describing the monsters as nothing more than a small ant infestation—“don’t return to Paskyll straight away. Come stay in Trivium for a time.”
Her treacherous heart skipped a beat. “You mean with you?”
“Yes, I could give you a tour of the Shifterlands. There are some beautiful places beyond the valley. Waterfalls, forests, hot springs; the northern coastline is magnificent also.”
Interest replaced her former despondency. “It sounds amazing.”
“You can meet other resident races, too, in addition to my dragons. Perhaps I could even introduce you to my misanthropic kin in the North Sleets. You’d win over the antisocial bastards.”
“The North Sleets? Are you referring to the ice dragon shifters?”
“Correct.”
She stared. “They’re your kin?”
“The ruling family are related to us, yes. My mother was one. You didn’t know?”
She shook her head, fascinated. “Our knowledge of your history prior to Kalid’har’s defeat is scant at best. How did your father meet her?”
“It was an arranged union. Arranged by him, I should add. His life’s purpose was to rescue his people from subjugation by defeating Kalid’har, but he didn’t possess enough magic. Neither did the ice dragons. He combined the two bloodlines, hoping to produce more powerful children.”
“You and your brothers were truly created to be gods.”
He shrugged. “We were created to destroy Kalid’har. We were more powerful than our father and he trained us to be skilled warriors, yet we still didn’t have the strength, much to his disgust. He died in a battle, after directing the ice dragons to increase our power by any means necessary. They conceived the idea of the Rondure and the amulets and involved the human sorcerers to help complete it. I’m not sure at what point we became god-like to your people, and the realm as a whole. I suppose the council encouraged it in Paskyll, to cement their own power as our representatives and ensure no dissent about providing sacrifices.”
"What happened to your mother?”
“She was killed by demons, soon after giving birth to Storren. I was very young when it happened. I only have fleeting memories of her.” He stared into space for a moment, a faraway expression on his face, then shook himself like a bird ruffling its feathers. “Well? Will you come to Trivium with me? Your presence could foster better relations between the Shifterlands and Paskyll.”
She cocked her head. “Like an ambassadorial visit?”
“If you like.” He gave her a wicked grin. “Although much of your diplomatic mediation may take place in my bed.”
She hid her anticipation with an eye roll and huff of laughter.
“Is that a yes?”
She hesitated. “What about Lord Mhaljett? I can’t imagine he’ll approve.”
His broad shoulders sagged. “I’m not even sure if he’ll recognize me when next we meet. I have no idea what Jahda will tell me, whether he’s fine, in chains in the dungeon, or even dead. What if Brand had to kill him to protect everyone else?” His pleading expression struck her deep. “Storren is gone. Maybe Mhaljett, too. I need you, Libby. I don’t know why, I just do.”
She took his hand. “I’ll come.”
Guarded relief replaced the nervousness in his eyes. “You will?”
“But I’ll go home to Firstocket first.” At his frown, she continued with haste. “To tell my parents I’m safe and no longer the sacrifice. They must be heartbroken. They either believe I’m dead or running for my life across the Shifterlands.”
“Yes. I should have thought of that myself. We’ll go to Paskyll and show your kin you’re unharmed.”
“We? You’ll come with me?”
A rap on the door was followed by Fen’s teasing voice. “Breakfast is ready, you two. I can serve it in bed, if you prefer?”
“No need, we’re coming down now,” she called.
Too late, she realized she’d made it sound like they were just getting out of bed. Her cheeks burned, made worse by
Fen’s chuckle as his footsteps faded away. Rhetahn’s eyes sparkled with amusement. She tried to put her hands on her hips, but he held on to one.
“If you’re quite finished laughing at me,” she groused, “we’d better get down there.”
He smirked. “As you wish, my lady.”
“You can drop my hand now.”
He studied their entwined fingers. “I don’t want to.”
Her pulse sped up. “Why not?”
“Because I suspect you’re going to slap me.”
She couldn’t help her giggle, yet when they opened the bedroom door, they were still holding hands.
Chapter Thirty-One
The kitchen overlooked the river frontage on one side and the trees on the other. Entering from the interior door at the bottom of the stairs, Libby settled next to Rhetahn at the table, inhaling the fresh bread scent with alacrity. Dax was already in place opposite them, freshly washed in dark pants and a spotless gray tunic. He inclined his head politely when they joined him.
Dawn had transformed into full morning, amber sunrays streaming through the windows. Wooden beams ran across the cream ceiling, intensifying the coziness. A huge wood burning stove lined the back wall, with a rectangular pine table in the center of the room. Dirty pots, pans and crockery soaked in a basin in the corner. Fen, holding court at the head of the table, had been busy while his guests freshened up.
“An authentic water shifter breakfast.” He swept his hand across the spread grandly. “Enjoy.”
She studied the offerings with interest. Three types of fish were laid on oval platters. Trout fillets smothered in melted butter and sprinkled with dill; tangy smoked bream flakes with hard-boiled eggs and wild rocket; another smoked fish mixed with creamed horseradish to create a terrine, which was delicious smeared on warm sourdough bread. Peppermint tea was available too, along with a sweeter brew, which Fen explained was reed lily tea, a water shifter favorite. She sampled everything, finding the bream her favorite. The god ate with vigor too, declaring the terrine the best he’d ever tried.
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