Well, it was more “witnessing” of modern human civilization, wasn’t it?
Either way… It was something he had to do. For himself. For Hana, Takumi, and Yuki. For every mage out there.
He extended an arm to Jon, who clasped it. “I’ll do it.”
Chapter 9
It was almost dusk when Brennan pulled Rielle up behind him on his black destrier. She sneaked open a saddlebag, but he clapped it closed.
She pouted audibly. “Just a peek?”
“Not yet.” He took her hand as she sighed and curled it around his waist. She interlaced it with her other, holding tightly to him.
“All right… My hands are happy to wait right here.” She moaned softly, happily, as she pressed her palms against his abdomen.
He shook his head, fighting a smile. Touch all you want, snarling little she-wolf.
She was in a good mood, at least. All day, she’d been a tangled knot of nerves and worry, ruminating over the trials when they knew nothing of them, but when he’d come to her with a surprise, she’d perked up. If he could keep her from worrying, even for an evening, it was worth the effort.
“But at least tell me where we’re going,” she whispered in his ear.
“Not a chance,” he said over his shoulder as he urged his horse on. They’d spent the afternoon arranging travel, writing correspondence, and preparing. At her urging, he’d written Kehani again, asking if she’d successfully purchased Samara from House Hazael to free her. He’d even included their travel plans so Kehani could contact them as soon as she’d succeeded. They’d sent their regrets about the coronation to Jon, and she’d sent a message to Liam in Gazgan about the trials. “It’s a surprise, since we’re leaving tomorrow morning and we’re missing Ignis.”
No place celebrated Ignis like Maerleth Tainn, which was where he’d planned to celebrate with her before they’d gotten word of the pirate attacks. With such a wealth of land there, the fertility rituals to ensure a bountiful crop each season were critical. The bonfires, the music, the decorations, the food—and the dazzling maypoles. But what he’d most looked forward to was the maying, the maidens all running out into the forest with their chosen suitors in pursuit. The thought of Rielle running into the woods, wishing for his pursuit, waiting to be caught—
Heat rippled through him. “Before we get on a cramped ship and walk into a death trap, I want us to have at least one evening together, alone, quiet.”
She rested her cheek against his back. “No messengers.”
“No visitors.” He urged his horse faster. There was a spot nearby, a place he used to visit whenever his moonlit runs brought him near Laurentine, and he’d finally share it with her and hear those three words. Tonight.
He would surprise her, impress her, reassure her. A quiet night together. Perfect. Just the two of them. And she’d love only him. She’d say it. Finally.
He shook off a shiver.
When they reached the edge of the woods, he slowed, picking their way through the white-barked aspens to the small hilltop glade, where the clear waters of the Aes River rushed nearby.
He dismounted and helped her down, then tied the horse to a tree.
“Where are we?” she asked, looking around.
He took her hand and led her to the center. “I used to come here on my runs, sometimes to watch the sunrise or the sunset, or just for the quiet.” He paused, and the river’s hum claimed the moment. “That’s the Aes River just below.” He took her to the edge of the hill that overlooked the water.
Clear, clean, and only about eight feet at its deepest, it was perfect for drinking, bathing, swimming. The aspens framed it with their happy white trunks, shaded it with feathery canopies. The golden rays of the setting sun poured in, dappling the river water with a dancing shimmer.
“It’s beautiful,” she whispered, covering her mouth.
All the more with her here. She’d braided her long golden waves over her shoulder, and wore her usual outfit of crisp white shirt, vest, fitted trousers, and riding boots, although today the vest was gray brocade and she’d donned an elegant deep-pink velvet riding coat over it all. Well tailored, it hugged her curves, showing off her round breasts and the swell of her hips and ample bottom; since returning to Emaurria, she’d regained some of the weight she’d lost and was beginning to look like herself again.
“You used to go on runs near Laurentine?” she asked, squeezing his hand.
All the time. “Even when I was being a bastard to you, I think a part of me still wanted to feel close to you in some way.”
She laid her head against his bicep and eyed the flowing river pensively. “We wasted so many good years fighting.”
“That’s why we won’t waste even a single day more.” He kissed her head, then gently urged her back toward the horse.
No, he’d enjoy every moment they’d have together until the day he died. Although that—that was a problem in and of itself. As a werewolf, he was an Immortal, wasn’t he? There would be no dying for him unless she broke the curse. Unless she agreed to have his child, something he wanted very much, for different reasons.
If she didn’t… If she didn’t, someday he’d have to watch her die, watch his life breathe its last breath, and yet keep walking this earth for all time.
He sighed. That was an issue for another night. Nothing had to be resolved now. Tonight was about… far more pleasant things. After he’d hear her say it.
He built a small campfire that she spelled alight. Grinning, he pulled out a blanket from the saddlebags, spread it near a tree, then removed a large wedge of soft Milun cheese in its white rind, a sliced boule loaf, sausages, oatcakes, green almond compote, quince marmalade, and custard tarts—her favorite. And the all-important bottle of Melletoire red, along with a pair of goblets.
“Brennan, you…”
As he laid it all out, he could feel her eyes on him, hear her pulse quicken. All as intended. A smile curled up the corners of his mouth as he finished. When he finally turned to her, arms spread, she jumped into them.
“All of this,” she whispered, her awed voice quivering. “You did all of this for me?”
Tightening his hold, he breathed her in. “Sit before we miss the sunset.”
She giggled and did as he bade, a little grin teasing her mouth. “Humble.”
“Charming,” he replied.
“And devastatingly handsome.” She arched a brow and held out her goblet.
“I can’t argue with the truth, can I?” he replied as he poured the red. He sat against the tree and spread his arms and knees.
She wriggled into his embrace, resting her back against his chest, and watched the sky change with him.
Golds became pinks and pinks became reds as the daylight began to slumber. They ate and drank, watching the sky’s dazzling show of color, letting the quiet’s serenity flow into their bones.
As the last rays of sun bid them goodbye, he tightened his hold around her, rested his chin on her shoulder, and breathed her in.
Great Wolf, she smelled like rapture. Her earthy scent, subtle sweetness, that rose note—he wanted to inhale her, drown in that rapture, live in it.
She leaned into him, bared her neck, and he traced his nose along her delicate skin, slowly, gently, the lightest of touches. A shiver rippled tremulous breaths out of her, and she whimpered softly.
Her heartbeat quickening, she wriggled, turning in his embrace to face him on her knees. She captured his face in her gentle palms and leaned in, the fading sun casting a shimmering glow on her golden hair as she brushed his lips with hers. He stroked a hand up her back, brought her closer, and as her tongue demanded his, she shifted, rising to bring her knees around his hips in the grass.
Heat settled on him, and he growled into her mouth, his hold tightening, his kiss deepening. Great Wolf, she drove him mad with hunger, a deep-seated, ever-growing hunger that would not be denied, never be sated until he buried himself in her.
Say it.
Holding her securely, he rose enough to lay her on the blanket, and pinned her. “Rielle—”
“Your next words are ‘I want you,’” she whispered, kissing his neck as she unbuttoned her riding coat, shirt, and vest, “or you’ll leave me no choice…”
“No choice?” He pressed his lips to the space between her breasts. “No choice but what?”
She laughed under her breath.
As the evening breeze brought the freshness of the grass, the musk of the aspens, he slid his hand down from her waist to her hip, then lightly over her round ass, sweeping soft circles with his palm that grew in firmness.
He gripped that supple flesh, eliciting a sharp exhalation as he pulled her closer. Her eyes locked with his, she nodded, and her breathing shallowed on parted lips. Lips begging to be reclaimed. He bridged the distance, and she met him, her hand gliding up his chest and around to the back of his neck.
Say it.
Fingernails dug through his hair, and she gripped a fistful, keeping him to her as she took his mouth with a growing ardor. Soft wool bunched in his hand as he lowered her trousers until at last his fingers brushed linen and lace. He traced a finger down her hip to her upper thigh, her soft, squirming, upper thigh.
No, as much as he wanted to, he couldn’t do this. Not until he knew it for certain. Not until she said it.
“Brennan,” she breathed against his lips. “Don’t stop.”
Closing his eyes, he paused, then drew back. Perhaps they weren’t ready after all.
She stood, then bent to remove one boot, and the other. Drew her trousers and socks down and off. Let the unbuttoned coat, vest, and shirt fall off her shoulders until only her corset and lacy underwear remained—baring long, shapely legs. An invitation.
A very tempting invitation.
She reached behind her back and loosened her corset, unhooked it in the front until it, too, fell away. Shimmying out of the lace, she finally stood gloriously naked and unbound her hair from its braid.
His eyes wanted to look everywhere at once. At her round, beautiful breasts, the smooth expanse of her stomach, the crux of pleasure between her legs. Her gleaming eyes, her raised chin, her full lips. Like she’d stepped out of one of his dreams, all these years as his friend, his enemy, his everything, when he’d pictured her eyeing him just like this.
“Deny me.” She said it like a challenge, daring him to turn away from her as she faced him bare, bold, confident.
He grabbed ahold of her, crushed his mouth against hers, taking everything she had to give. No words, but her love was in her lips teasing his, her soft hair tickling his neck, her hands rushing in their work, unfastening his buttons, pulling at his clothes, ripping, and he helped her, throwing down everything but his overcoat without abandoning her delicious lips for even a moment.
Rielle kept her arms locked around him, the heat of his mouth against hers irresistible, delicious, addictive.
That heat lit a fire that demanded more, and she obeyed, pillaging his mouth with her tongue, laving fiercely, undeterred by the spring chill, her hands ravenously exploring his body. Every touch, every part of him against her skin filled her up, with heat, with need. With him.
She would know him, every part of him, tonight. Before the voyage, before the trials, before everything.
He knotted a hand in her hair, cradling her head, and pulled her closer still, matching her need with his own. His breaths came faster and harder, and as she leaned into him, she felt his unmistakable arousal—and it stoked the heat between them to blazing.
She inhaled the familiarity of him, cinnamon spice and cypress amid a scent undeniably his, undeniably masculine, that had driven her mad with desire years ago and still did. Brennan. Her Brennan. Here, under her touch. She’d known the smell of him since her childhood, as she’d cared for him, loved him, hated him, and the need for it had long been a part of her. A part now thriving.
Her palms glided over the hot skin of his back, pressing against the powerful muscle beneath her fingertips, and he kissed her with a passion to match the searing heat of his body. They came together again and again, their gasps for breath the only thing to dare separate them.
With every passing second, she wanted him more, and more, and more, until her desire built to a pressure that ached, a pressure built over a decade of ties and strain. When he broke away, her lips chilled, and she shivered, but he clad his black velvet overcoat around her shoulders.
“Put it on.”
She did as he bade, sliding her arms through the too-big sleeves, leaving it open. His eyes flashed, then darkened as he walked her to the tree, pushed her back against it, warmed her chilled lips with the passion of his own. So much like the garden in Maerleth Tainn that night—the one that had been teasing her dreams for the past few days before she slept. He interlaced her fingers with his, then raised her hands above her head, pressed them against the aspen’s trunk.
She didn’t know where he was taking this, but wherever it was, she wanted to follow.
“Don’t move.” He kissed his way down her neck, lips brushing over a sensitive spot that made her reach for him—
He paused, intense gaze darting to hers.
Don’t move. She returned her hand to its place on the trunk, and he resumed the heaven whispering across her skin. His big hands stroked down her body, firmly gripping her waist, her hips, her backside as he kissed his way down her breasts, down her belly, and he descended to a knee.
His lips brushed below her navel, the sensitive contact making her squirm, before he parted her thighs and tucked one of her legs over and around his shoulder.
Divine, he was going to—
Those hot lips of his teased her inner thigh, close, closer, and closer, as he breathed deep, as he moaned low in his throat, until those lips met her throbbing core.
A choked cry escaped her mouth, sensation pooling irresistibly between her legs, and she wanted to reach for him but only clapped her palm back onto the trunk above her head.
His kiss was light at first, gentle, answering her pulsing need with a blooming warmth and lips that brushed her sensitive skin with the lightest of touches, teasing her flesh awake, aroused, alive. That kiss turned sensual, wet heat firm in long, slow strokes that made her thighs tremble and her eyes squeeze shut.
“Watch me.” A low, deep command.
He waited until her eyes found his, their focused intensity, and she gave him a bewildered nod, her belly contracting as it longed for his pleasure.
His tongue found her once more, his slow coaxing building the pressure at her core, concentrating it to a fine point that begged for more, for release, for ecstasy, his eyebrows creased together in determination, determined to take her to the edge and gloriously over, and then—Divine—he took her into his mouth.
She hissed, his pleasuring godly and unbearable, forcing panted cries from her lips as he increased the pressure, groaning a deeply masculine sound that vibrated against her core and made her cry and lean her hips into him, tears blinking from her eyes as he stroked, stroked, stroked, warm, firm, wet, pleasing, giving, taking, taking, taking—
She screamed as the pressure exploded, as the transcendent pulse pounded between her thighs, rippling warmth and pleasure into her blood, into every corner of her body, waves of sensation that rolled inside of her in that sublime contradiction of too much and not enough. His gaze met hers as he brought her over the edge, pleased, smug, and she wanted to run her fingers through his dark, thick hair, touch him, but she dared not move or look away lest he cease that splendid magic consuming her alive.
Great Divine, every frisson of lust, every moment of desire, every wanting second over the last few weeks, everything that had mounted to maddening pressure inside of her until tonight, he took it all, freed her body of anxious need with his carnal spell.
As the throb ebbed in her blood, his strokes slowed, eased, his touch perfectly attuned to the waves subsiding within her. He lavished her tender skin with kisses, softe
r and softer as her breathing leveled, and nuzzled her inner thigh with his cheek, brushing the barest coarseness of his face against her.
She gasped, arms shaking above her; they begged for reprieve, but she dared not move them.
Carefully holding her steady, he stood and relieved her hands of their post.
“Brennan, you—” Her breath caught. She wanted to tell him everything at once, about the pleasure, how he made her feel, how—
“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that.” He dipped down and rested his forehead against hers, breathing deeply and unmoving but for the heaving of his chest. His sultry breaths mingled with her own in the close space between their lips, but that short gap threatened to destroy her if it wasn’t bridged at once.
“Rielle,” he said, his voice raw, deep. If not for his hold, she’d be a collapsed heap upon the grass. He took a step closer, leaned into her, and his hardness pressed against her, ready, demanding, mouthwatering.
Divine, she could barely feel her legs, and she wanted nothing on this earth more than Brennan Karandis Marcel inside her. A lustful shiver began in her core and shook through her body.
She rubbed her damp forehead against his, rested her hand against his chest, feeling the fast and powerful beating of his heart. She had never needed anything more than she needed him right now. “Please,” she whispered.
He covered her hand with his own, then raised it to his lips, pressing a kiss to it before guiding her arms around his neck. His palms glided their way down and over her backside, cupping her gently until he scooped her up. She clenched her bare legs around his waist, and as he lowered to his knees, she leaned in to kiss him, closing her eyes to isolate the feel of his lips against hers, his tongue against hers, his warm breath and hot skin against hers.
Their lips locked, he removed the overcoat from her shoulders and laid her down upon the blanket, propped up on an elbow next to her. His warm palm cupped her cheek, feathered down her neck, teased her breasts.
Over the years, questions of this had surfaced in her dreams, in her daydreams, what it would be like to give herself to him, to be taken by him, questions that had so long remained unanswered, that had chilled in the face of their enmity and strain. Questions that had blossomed back to life in the past few months, that now received warm, bright answer.
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