“Castle Sinta, or here?” Griffin demands, crossing the sloping field with purposeful strides. “Your choice. I’ll build you a Gods damn bloody house right here and never leave.”
“I’ll run away.”
“Then it’s a good thing I have a magic rope.”
“Griffin!” He’s not being rational. I start trying to get loose, and his free hand lands on my bare bottom with a smack.
I growl as we pass in front of the pasture holding our horses. Panotii lifts his head and flicks his ears, nickering at me. Brown Horse ignores my flopping around in favor of the grass.
Griffin suddenly bends down and plops me into the spring-fed stream with a splash. I gasp, ice-cold water shocking me as it rushes over my lower half. I instinctively curl up, and my reaction must have some kind of retracting effect on my wings because they shrink with a rustling of feathers. There’s a quick slice of pain, like a shallow cut, and then they disappear into my back. I think.
I turn, trying to look over my shoulder. “What’s there?” I ask. I can’t really see.
Griffin leans over me and looks. “Nothing. Not even a scar.”
I don’t feel the wings anymore. Not a tickle of feathers. Not a flutter in my chest. Nothing.
He kneels in front of me, uncaring that he’s still partially dressed and getting soaked. He bunches up a handful of my destroyed tunic, wets it, and then presses the frigid linen against my chest. The cold stalls the breath in my lungs.
A deep groove settling between his eyebrows, Griffin starts washing the dried blood off my healed skin. Stream water sluices around my arms and middle as I lean back to brace myself, almost shivering. If this is what Griffin needs, I’ll give it to him. I needed a bath anyway. Blood to wash off. Mother to erase.
The icy water is refreshing and restorative once I get used to it. I watch my husband carefully. Griffin doesn’t look at my face. He looks everywhere else and washes me with such determination that my heart aches. His big hands are all over my body, but there’s nothing sensual about it. He’s efficient. Single-minded. Top half. Middle. Legs. Wingless back. Face. He still doesn’t meet my eyes.
When he’s finished, he rocks back on his heels, seeming immune to the cold, and stares down at his hands.
I reach out and touch his chest. His skin is hot, feverish. Or maybe it’s just my hand that’s cold. Goose bumps sweep over his torso. I shift up onto my knees, take the cloth from him, and then start to gently wash him. He stares down at his slack hands where they rest against his thighs, not stopping me. Not helping me. Not saying anything at all.
“Griffin?”
After a while, he grunts.
“It’s okay to lose control every now and then. I certainly do.”
His head stays bowed. “I’m supposed to be the steady one.”
“You are the steady one. But you’re human, too.”
Silence. Then, “I thought you were dead.” The bleakness in his voice cuts straight through me. He’s still staring at his hands, almost as if they were the very weapons used against me.
He finally looks up, regret shattering his expression. “You thought you failed Little Bean today?” He shakes his head. “I failed you both. I couldn’t protect you. I promised you I would. I promised you so many times, and you believed me.”
“No,” I tell him softly. “You believed it, but I never did.”
My heart breaks at how devastated he looks. My name is a whisper that barely crosses his lips. His eyes glass over.
Mine do, too, and as I wrap my arms around him, I tell him what I’ve always understood and believed. “From the moment I let you in, I always knew we’d be protecting each other.”
CHAPTER 17
“So…” I shiver. I’ve had it with sitting in the icy stream. Enough is enough, even for me. “Mother. Big fight. Gods. I fell apart. You fell apart.” I huff a dry laugh. “What a day.”
Griffin nods, his eyes still haunted.
“Are you still considering giving up?” I ask.
“I’m debating,” he answers.
“Don’t waste your time. I won’t let you.”
He frowns.
“You put me in charge, remember? Crown? Head? Me?” I pat the top of my head.
A small grunt escapes him.
“So what’s next?” So much for being in charge.
Griffin must see the humor in that, too, because his expression turns slightly less somber. Then, with a gusty exhale, he stands, pulling me up with him. He sweeps his hands down my chilled arms, warming my pebbled skin.
“You’re cold,” he says in surprise.
“We’re knee-deep in freezing water, it’s autumn on a mountainside, and the sun just dipped behind the trees.”
“I thought you were immune to the cold.”
“Not entirely, although Little Bean does her best to keep me warm.” I glance at my belly. “Maybe she’ll have Fire Magic,” I say, patting where her little life beat is a constant spark inside me. “Auntie Bella can show you how all that fire stuff works.”
Auntie Bella? Where did that come from? And Bellanca Tarva is hardly the epitome of control.
Little Bean’s energy tumbles under my fingers like she agrees, although I don’t know with which part. Her power branches out inside me, reassuring me. I don’t know how Hoi Polloi mothers can stand not knowing what’s going on in there, at least on some level. At this point, they probably wouldn’t feel much of anything, and maybe even think the occasional flutter low in their belly was just digestion—or rather, indigestion.
For my part, I’m so increasingly aware of the budding magic in Little Bean’s blood that it’s almost as though I can talk to her. I know when she sleeps. I know when she wakes up. I know she’s interested every time Griffin puts his warm hand over her or speaks close enough for her to hear. I know she likes riding Panotii, especially at a trot, because the bouncier the better, it seems. And I know she’s completely tuned into me as well, thumping me with her life force when I’m nervous and relaxing when I’m not.
We could communicate even more, I know. Mother obviously did.
I immediately trample the thought. Little Bean doesn’t need me in her head, even if it’s only to tell her that I love her. She already knows that. She needs me around her, protecting her, simply being her mother.
“Auntie Bella?” Griffin looks like that’s going to take some serious getting used to. I completely agree.
He dips and picks me up. Funny how he does that. He knows I can walk.
“Aren’t you cold?” I ask, looping my arms around his neck.
“Freezing. My balls are about to fall off.”
I laugh. Then scowl. “That’s not funny.”
“For either of us,” he mutters.
He strides uphill but bypasses the barn, heading toward the smoldering house instead. At the outer wall he puts me down and picks up our discarded gear. Luckily, everything was far enough from the house to be safe from the flames. He throws my cloak around my shoulders, pulling it closed. The magical threads heat, and I groan like I just took a bite out of a freshly baked spice cake.
“That good?” Griffin asks, a smile tugging at his mouth.
“Better,” I answer, reveling in the warmth.
He puts his own cloak on, takes my hand, and then leads me back across the meadow. His grip is firm, as if a part of him is still afraid of letting me go.
He gathers up my pants, boots, and belt, although he only gives me the latter. I buckle it low on my waist inside my cloak so that the pearls sit right in front of Little Bean again.
“Ianthe knew what that did,” Griffin says, glancing at the pearls. “That’s why she didn’t get the circlet back from you. She wanted you to have it.”
I nod, a pang bumping hard against my ribs. Selfless Ianthe. She gave me her best protection against Moth
er. I don’t think my heart can take another sister turning herself into a shield for me, or sacrificing her life for mine.
Griffin steers us into the barn. It’s warm from the animals. It smells like them, too. A pungent mix of beast, hay, must, and manure. He takes flint to steel and lights two of the lanterns that are hanging on the wall, handing one to me. I hold out the light, careful of where I’m stepping in my bare feet, but the straw is fresh cut, relatively clean, and not too prickly. Mother must have eliminated the real hermit only shortly before we got here. The farm is in good shape. Dinner was still bubbling over the fire. Without that wrong turn I took, I wonder if we could have saved the witch of Frostfire.
We climb a ladder to a loft filled with sacks of grain, drying hay, and a huge supply of fragrant medicinal herbs that significantly dampens the odor of goat.
“Your mother won’t come back?” Griffin asks, suddenly looking tense again.
I shake my head. “Two Gods showed up, and they weren’t on her side. She’s long gone. She’s adept at many things, and one of them is living to fight another day. She’ll need to get her shoulder healed. Plus, did you see how fast that mare was moving? She’s probably halfway to Castle Fisa by now.”
Griffin nods, but concern lingers in his eyes. Not about Mother coming back today, I think, but about the future, and whatever new nightmare our next encounter with her might bring.
He leaves me upstairs in the barn to warm up and then comes back with our saddlebags after seeing to the horses. As soon as he reappears, he tosses a pair of wooly socks at me.
I catch them but then set them down beside me. “My feet aren’t cold.”
“How is that possible?” he asks, not even trying to repress a shiver. His lips are dark, like they’re tinged with blue.
It’s possible because I’ve been all tucked up under my cloak for a good twenty minutes when I probably should have been helping Griffin with the horses and getting him out of his wet clothes.
“Eternal Fires of the Underworld. Come.” I hold out my hand. “I’ll warm you up.”
Heat flares in his eyes. Smiling, I pat the hay next to me, feeling even warmer myself.
Griffin sits, propping his cloak-covered back against the wide, rough-hewn planks of the deeply shadowed loft. I get in front of him and pull off his boots. It’s hard work, considering they’re soaked through. I set them aside to dry and then peel his pants down his legs—hard work as well, but definitely worth it when I get the visual confirmation that his balls have in no way, shape, or form fallen off.
I lay his pants out to dry next to his boots and then kneel between his legs, making sure my smoldering cloak covers his bare and frozen feet. The garment does little to hide my nakedness, and Griffin’s concentrated gaze heats me up so much that the fiery cloth dims.
Leaning forward, I sweep my hands up his thighs. His skin is damp and cold, his powerful muscles are taut, and his short, dark hair is coarse against my palms. I dip my head and kiss the first hard ridge of his abdomen. His midriff tenses. My breasts sway under me as I move, brushing his growing erection. He groans, the sound hoarse with need, and then curls his hand around the back of my neck. His fingers are like ice.
I slide down, kissing the next ridge and tracing the hills and hollows of his torso with my tongue. My lips never leave his skin, and my breath swirls between us as I lick the indent next to his hip. Humming softly at how good he tastes—like cold, fresh water and crisp mountain air—I brush a slow, hot kiss all the way to his hard length and then take him into my mouth.
Griffin’s head thumps the wall behind him. His hand tightens on my nape.
I suck with my mouth and stroke with my hand. I want to warm him up. I want him to forget his fear.
Griffin gathers my hair into his fist, holding it back. He says my name, his voice rasping and rough. “You’re so Gods damn beautiful. My amazing wife.”
My heart swells with love. I need more of him. Always and urgently. Irrevocably. I sink down on him, taking him deep into my mouth.
His hips flex, his body naturally meeting my rhythm. His breathing shortens to harsh pants. When I sense his muscles tightening, I look up, licking my lips. He groans, his eyes like molten silver. From the hot, intense look on his face, I think he’s going to drag me up to straddle him, get inside me, and then help me to ride him fast and hard.
Instead, he carefully turns me and then lays me on my back. He takes his time, his hands gentle but his expression everything that’s predatory and fierce. His heated look roams over me from my head to my toes—every curve, every dip, every naked inch.
Anticipation mounts in the wake of his scorching gaze. He’s the wolf here, and I’m definitely ready for him to pounce. Gods, I even hope he bites.
“I’m going to savor you. My mouth is watering. There’s not a single part of you that I won’t taste.”
True to his words, Griffin lifts my right calf and starts at my foot, trailing his mouth over my toes, the arch, and then kissing the inside of my ankle. I shiver. Who knew that feet could be so sensitive?
Little bolts of pleasure race up my leg, and I catch my lower lip between my teeth, moving my hips to try to relieve some of the pressure gathering in my core. His hands, his tongue, his lips… They’re everywhere. The back of my knee, my inner thigh, the curve of my hip, the dip of my waist. He’s tender. Focused. Thorough. Slowly devouring me.
By the time Griffin centers his mouth over my throbbing sex, the tension in my body is already explosive. Gripping his hair, I whisper his name, my exhale shaky with desire. I need him to press down on me. I want him to drive me over the edge.
He softly blows, and I stop breathing.
“What you feel right now?” He moves back down and then starts all over again with the other leg. “It’s what I feel every time I look at you.”
I gasp when he flicks his tongue along my instep. “Then I don’t know how you can function.”
He chuckles, the sound thick with passion. He takes almost more time than I can stand to move back up my body, but it’s the sweetest kind of torture. Unrelenting, he drowns me in sensation.
When Griffin finally reaches the top of my legs again, I’m desperate for release. His hands splay over my hips, holding me steady, and his hot kisses are everywhere except for where I want them the most. I clutch his head, trying to center him. His eyes flick up, meeting mine. I tilt my hips in offering, and he finally gives me what I crave. A long, sinuous lick. A good hard suck.
I buck, and his hands tighten on my hips. The throbbing pulse between my legs beats hard, and I cry out. He gives me more of what I need until my head kicks back, my spine arches, and I climax on a ragged breath.
I feel Griffin’s husky groan clear to the center of me. It’s like a coil of heat deep in my core. He waits me out, watching my body settle and my breathing slow. Then he says, “Again.”
His mouth lands on me for another blistering sweep of his tongue.
I gasp, arching away. “I can’t.”
“Again,” he rasps out, merciless.
I settle beneath him once more and tangle my hands in his hair, alternately pulling him closer and pushing him away. Panting, I dig my heels into the straw, my legs going rigid with mounting tension. My head thrashes, and my pelvis comes up, riding his mouth. I shudder, already close to shattering again.
Griffin slides his hands up my body and then palms my breasts, squeezing. He finds my nipples and gives them a light pinch, but it’s the sharp tug that pulls me over the edge. The explosion starts beneath his mouth and then streaks outward in perfect, pounding waves.
He coaxes every last ripple from my release. I moan, long and deep, and then go limp, my eyes half closed. I eventually remember to breathe.
Griffin moves up my body, stopping to nuzzle, kiss, and lick. Heat ignites inside me again, and I start to shift restlessly against him. I didn’t th
ink it was possible, but I still feel edgy with need. I want Griffin. Not just the climax he can bring.
Wrapping my legs around him, I meet his gaze. “I need you.”
He kisses me deeply, taking my breath away. I grip his shoulders and frantically kiss him back.
Griffin lifts his head. “No. Slow.”
I press up into him. “You don’t like slow.”
“I like everything with you.” He slides his arms under me, one behind my back and the other angling up underneath me to cradle my head in the palm of his hand.
I reach down between us to guide him inside me. Griffin moves forward with a slow thrust, and I start to close my eyes.
His fingers tighten on my head. “Look at me.”
I open my eyes again.
“Do you feel this heat?” He rocks once, filling me completely. “I burn for you.”
My lips part on a soft gasp.
“Touch me, Cat.”
I skim my hands over the hard muscles of his shoulders and then up his neck. Diving my fingers into his hair again, I grip the inky locks.
He looks down at me, his expression open and earnest. “I am caught. You caught me. Not the other way around. From the very first day. And from the very first day, I would have done anything for you—except let you go. I couldn’t. Not when deep down, I knew we were meant to be like this. To love like this.”
Without moving inside me, he dips his head and kisses me. It’s slow but nothing like gentle. It’s intense and fierce, burning and passionate.
“I was arrogant and high-handed,” he says, lifting his head. “I took you from your home and from people you love. Sometimes, I wish I could say I’m sorry for that, but I’m not.”
“I’m not, either,” I tell him. “I still have them. But now I also have you.”
“Always,” he says fervently.
“Always,” I echo in kind.
“My eyes are fully open, but I see only one thing.”
“Griffin…” The threat of tears thickens my voice. My eyes blur, and I blink.
“Don’t cry. Not now. I need you to listen to me.”
Heart on Fire (The Kingmaker Chronicles Book 3) Page 21