In some corner of her mind, she was vaguely aware that things were progressing according to her plan. There was a desperation in the grip of Tyr’s hand, a guttural honesty in his voice. He wanted her, and after their little talk, his revelation about his parents…she was certain it wasn’t just her body he needed so badly.
He ran his hand up her back, tangled it in her hair. Calloused fingers gave a gentle tug, and that simple movement lent an edge to the pleasure washing through her. Her breath hitched and she pressed harder against him. Gods, how had she gone so long without this, denied herself such a pleasure?
Revenge. Revenge, revenge, revenge, don’t forget your revenge.
She blinked through the haze clouding her mind, pulled from the cloud of desire by the voice screaming in her head. Revenge. This was all part of revenge, wasn’t it? Confusion weakened her determination. She needed space, needed to think.
As if he sensed her conflict, Tyr tightened his grip on her, clutched her to him as if he’d pull her inside his body. His hand slid down her back, fingers pressing into the muscles, seeking out tension, working it loose. She melted further against him.
“Tyr… Tyr.” Her voice sounded drunk, her lips swollen from his kisses. It was so hard to hold a thought when all she wanted to do was take every ounce of pleasure he was offering. Wring every moment of enjoyment from this mad night.
He pulled back at the sound of her voice, and there was a wild light in his grey eyes that made her gasp. He looked more alive than she’d ever seen him, his eyes fever bright, his face flushed with heat. Her heart pounded as she realized she must look the same.
The man staring at her now wasn’t viewing her as a means to an end, a weapon to be used in self-defense. The man staring at her was watching her as though they were already lying on the bed, as though he were already inside her, as though he looked at her and saw…a future. She swallowed twice before she could speak, and even when the words came out, they were faint, breathy with passion. “Will you take me home?”
There was no need to specify what she meant, to clarify that she was asking him to forget the ogre king, to abandon his task. He’d already promised to take her home when it was all done, so there was no reason to mean anything else. He closed his eyes, hiding the grey orbs that glowed so brightly and bowed his head, touching his forehead to hers.
“If I take you home now,” he whispered. “Would you let me stay?”
Her heart leapt into her throat. He was asking her to make herself vulnerable, to make her offer again, the same offer he’d thrown back in her face the last time. Still looking out for his own interests, even now. She steeled herself against that voice, the hand still heavy on her back. “You don’t get to know that before you answer.”
The room was so silent, their ragged breathing the only sound. Tyr drew a deep breath as he raised his head to meet her eyes. Panic spiked inside her, a freezing geyser that threatened to steal the heat from her veins. She jerked her hand up, pressed a finger over his lips. She was shaking her head before she spoke, the words falling over each other as they fought to escape.
“No. No, nevermind, don’t answer that. Don’t answer.” She fumbled at his shirt, dragged him against her. A voice in her head screamed, called her a coward, but another voice, a new voice, screamed back. She wanted this night and she would have it. Her fingers curled into fists in his shirt, clinging, demanding. “Just kiss me again.”
A twitch in his body betrayed his surprise, and he opened his eyes. His lips parted and Ingrid shook her head quickly. “Don’t.”
She kissed him again before he could speak. Before he could choose his mission over her, force her to abandon this madness, or worse, poison this memory. His mouth opened for her and he held her as she took her turn to deepen the kiss, to lay her claim on him. Another thought made itself heard, demanded to be heard before the tide of passion swept all good sense away.
What if he agreed to turn the ship around, threw his life away for the promise of the life he could have with her? Could she give up her solitude, give up control over her own life? Could she commit to him, commit to a life with him? Resign herself to a life that would never again be solely her own?
Desperation seized her, a need to get out of her thoughts to live in the moment, just this moment. She dropped her hands to the hem of his shirt, only then daring to pull away from the kiss to meet his eyes. His pupils had dilated, almost swallowed the grey. There was a predatory look in those eyes, something primal and frightening. She held his gaze as she put her fingers to work on her own clothes, tugging at laces until her garments fell away.
“Stay,” she whispered.
He made a strangled sound somewhere deep in his throat and then he was tackling her to the bed, one strong arm banded around her waist, holding her to him even as he threw her back. She gasped as they hit the mattress, but he was careful not to crush her, taking his weight on his arms and then rolling them over so she lay on top of him. His hand cradled the back of her head, pulled her to him. He kissed her like he would consume her, deepening the kiss with strong sweeps of his tongue, chasing the kiss until he sat up with her in his lap. He pulled away just long enough to pull his shirt over his head and then he was dragging her back against him.
His bare chest against her breasts sent shocks of pleasure sizzling over her nerves and she sucked in a breath as she squirmed from side to side, dragging her nipples back and forth over his warm skin. He groaned and rolled them over, pressing her into the mattress as he slid down her body to lay his mouth over her breast.
“Oh, gods.” She writhed as he took her nipple into his mouth. The sensation of his hot tongue curling around the bud of flesh was nearly her undoing, and she arched up to meet him. Her hands scrabbled at the back of his head, torn between pushing him away because it was too much and holding him closer because it wasn’t enough.
“Tell me about the life we will have.” The words were thick with desire, spoken against her skin. He licked at her other breast, teasing her nipple with his tongue without taking it into his mouth. “Talk to me, min skatt. Tell me about our future.”
She rolled her head back and forth, lips moving without creating any sound. “I…I need you.” She slid her fingers into his hair as she squirmed, trying to stop his teasing. “You’ll take me in the orchard.”
His hips jerked forward, mouth opening on a loud groan. He sucked her nipple between his lips, pulling hard until she had to swallow a scream.
“Every night you’ll take me under the apple trees. Our energy will feed the earth, keep the orchard green and flourishing, even in winter.”
“Yes,” he hissed.
She cried out as he pulled away, only the weight of his gaze holding her in place as he stood long enough to rid himself of his boots and his pants. Her attention fell to his manhood, blood-darkened flesh standing straight and heavy between his legs. She stared, mesmerized, and he let her look, muscles twitching as he refrained from leaping back into the bed.
Hunger roared to life inside her, pulling her to her hands and knees so she could crawl to the edge of the bed. She was vaguely aware that Tyr had gone still, that he wasn’t even breathing as she raised her mouth, pressed her tongue against the base of his cock and licked a long, wet line up the shaft. He sucked in a ragged breath, fisting his good hand at his side, knuckles turning white. She pushed down in one smooth bow of her head, taking as much of him into her mouth as she could.
“Gods!”
In a flash his hand was under her arm, hauling her up the bed. She released the flesh in her mouth with a grunt of disappointment that was quickly smothered when he pressed his naked body against her and seared her mouth in a kiss.
There was wildness to the kiss, a chaos that stole all sense of time and place. It was over too soon, but her protest died as he slid down her body, his movements ragged and clumsy, wedging his wide shoulders between her legs, pushing her thighs apart. Ingrid groped at his shoulders, passion-addled brain struggling to
keep up.
“Tyr,” she begged. “Please…”
Tyr bowed his head, pressed it against her pubic bone. “Gods, please, stop.” He licked at her center and she arched her hips off the bed and cried out, the snap of pleasure over her nerves almost painful. “Ingrid, I need to… I want you ready, I…don’t want to hurt you.”
The last half of his sentence was muffled as he licked her again, pressing his tongue into her folds. It was the most erotic thing she’d ever experienced and suddenly she couldn’t see, couldn’t think, could do nothing but feel the sensations washing over her, twisting her nerves into throbbing knots. She was vaguely aware of tangling her hands in his hair, but she couldn’t tell if she were trying to pull him up, or hold him to her.
Tyr’s tongue continued its sinful torture, and he alternated licking and sucking at her swollen flesh. Every pass of his tongue seemed to wrench something open inside her, widening a deep chasm that ached with such emptiness she felt she’d never be filled. Every second was an eternity that was over too soon, and then when she couldn’t take it anymore, she pulled at his hair.
“Tyr, please. Oh, gods, please, now. Please, it has to be now.”
She didn’t need to beg for long. He surged up her body, sweat-slicked flesh sliding easily, urging their bodies to fit together without a sliver of light between them. She had one second to feel the heavy length of him pressing against her and then he was inside her.
There should have been pain. There might have been pain. But she didn’t feel it. She couldn’t have felt it. Not through the pleasure.
And not through the power.
Magic stronger than anything she’d ever experienced exploded around her, inside her, coming from everywhere and nowhere. Over and over Tyr thrust into her body, dragging heated flesh over the bundle of nerves that ripped whimpers from her throat. She was talking, rambling about orchards, and earth, promising to offer herself up to him, demanding that he take her over and over, every night. With every word his hips snapped a little harder, pushed a little deeper. Something opened even wider inside her and the magic around them rushed to fill it. A shining precipice loomed before them and then they were falling.
The pleasure tore a scream from her throat and his shout followed. Their bodies writhed, uncontrolled, helpless against the tide of pleasure throwing them about like grains of sand in a storm-tossed surf. There was nothing to hold onto, nothing to keep her grounded, and she let go, gave herself completely to pleasure and magic.
Ingrid came back to her senses with her cheek pressed to a sweat-soaked pillow. Tyr lay behind her, his hard body curled along her spine, his mouth tucked into her neck. He kissed her and that small gesture set off a chain reaction that had her writhing anew.
“Woman, if you don’t hold still, I’ll have you again and neither of us will be able to walk when I’m done with you.”
His voice was hoarse, heavy with satisfaction. The sound of it filled her with a new confidence, a hyper-awareness of her own seductive power. She was drunk with magic, alive more than she’d ever been. She turned in his arms, dragging her flesh against his, and put one hand on his jaw. “What makes you think I’m done with you?” she purred.
Tyr made a strange sound low in his throat, turned her onto her back so he could lean over her, press a kiss to the base of her throat. “Careful, witch,” he rasped. “I’ll call your bluff.” He paused, leaned up enough to meet her eyes. “I didn’t hurt you, did I?”
The question was quiet, sincere despite the pressure of his hardening length against her thigh. She smiled and brushed his hair back from his face. “No, you didn’t hurt me. In fact, I felt…” Something behind him caught her eye and she froze, her lips parting. “Oh, my…”
Tyr’s brow knitted and he looked over her shoulder. Then he fell onto his back, lay there gaping.
Trees. The cabin had been taken over by trees. Each of the five trunks full of soil that had been arranged in front of the bed and near the walls now held a fully grown apple tree, boughs offering up fruit of such color that they rivaled gemstones in their beauty. The branches stretched as if reaching for each other, sprawling branches making it look like the entire cabin was packed with trees. The air was thick with the scent of the fruit, the rich perfume of freshly turned soil.
“What… How?” Tyr murmured.
The newborn orchard held Ingrid’s attention long enough to pull her from the erotic daze that had muddled her brain. Slowly, she became aware of her body. Not the pleasant hum of her nerves as they remembered the touch of Tyr’s mouth and hands, but something deeper. The core of her being where her magic flowed like water in a never-ending fountain. It had been a mere trickle before, robbed of its vitality by distance from the land, but now.
“Ingrid…”
There was awe in his voice, and something else. He stayed where he was, lying beside her, but she felt him pulling back, putting wary distance between them. The power flowed up, infused every part of her body until she thought she would levitate off the bed, float in the warm waves of magic fed by the trees all around her.
“I’m not going to hurt you.” She said the words softly, but still there was an echo in her voice. Power.
Tyr held her eyes and his brow furrowed slightly as if there was something in her gaze that hadn’t been there before. “But you could. You could hurt me now if you wanted to. You have the power, even out here on the sea. I can feel the change.”
Ingrid smiled and turned away from the trees, took Tyr’s hand in hers and pulled. He came willingly, but tension pulled at his shoulders, and the lines around his eyes deepened. He was right to be afraid of her now. She was almost drowning in her own power, and for the first time she understood Baba Yaga’s constant nagging, her insistence that an earth witch would never reach her potential without a mate. Man and woman, two sides of a whole.
Her feet met cool soil. It covered the floor of his cabin now. Her magic—the magic he’d helped awaken, had called to everything in the soil that was living now, or ever had been, encouraged it to multiply, feed itself and produce more. The mineral content of the soil had not changed, there was no life there to feed, so the new soil was much softer, giving easily under their footsteps. She led him to the largest tree, pressed against his chest until he laid down.
The flicker of fear in his eyes was quickly swallowed by heat as she lowered her body onto his, straddled him with her fingers dancing over his chest.
“You wanted a fantasy,” she reminded him softly. She gestured around her. “This is our fantasy. An orchard. You…me.”
She leaned down, letting out a sigh as the weight of her passion-swollen breasts settled on his chest. His breath hitched and his good hand cupped her bottom, urged her to move up his body, put her in a better position. The hot length of him, hard and ready again, pressed against her and she opened her mouth against his so he swallowed her moan. Her body was still wet, still ready for him, and he slid inside her as if he belonged there.
Pleasure rose again, promising to grow larger, stronger than before. Heat filled her mind, turning her thoughts to melted puddles. The voice in her head that had demanded revenge grew quieter and quieter, but didn’t disappear. A choice would have to be made.
But not right now.
Chapter Eleven
Get out there and tell them to turn this damned ship around.
Morning sunlight poured through the windows, casting a golden glow over the cabin that until a few days ago had begun to feel like a prison. Tyr plucked another leaf from the bowl on the small table and shredded it with the same tender care as he had the others. Bits of bruised leaf fluttered down to join its rendered mates, filling the air with the calming scent of greenery.
You’ll be too late.
The voice continued to whisper through his head, throwing up images of Ingrid, of her face when she’d asked him to take her home. The desperation in those eyes…the hope. He could still hear her voice, could still feel her finger on his lips, preventin
g him from answering.
He didn’t know what he would have said. But he had a fair idea.
He shredded the last leaf, more violently than he had the others.
“Tell me about the life we will have. Talk to me, min skatt. Tell me about our future.”
Oh, what a dangerous game he’d started. It wasn’t the first time he’d played out a fantasy in the bedroom, but he wasn’t fooling himself. That plea hadn’t had anything to do with bed play. It had had everything to do with that pathetic voice inside him that tried to trick him, tried to make him believe that when this was over, he would be spending the rest of his days in a warm orchard instead of this salt-encrusted coffin.
And Ingrid. Oh, she had played her part well. The way she’d opened herself to him, thrown herself into their coupling with the passion of a woman in love. Her response to his touch, the look in her eyes… He’d told her to give him a fantasy, to pretend, and still he almost believed it was real.
He emptied the bowl of shredded leaves into the sack lying next to it, then lifted the bowl and returned to the row of apple trees. The wood of his cabin faded away, taking the sound of the sea with it. He wasn’t on his ship. He was in an orchard. Ingrid’s orchard.
You’re losing your mind.
The whisper of sheets against naked skin drew his attention to the bed in time for him to see Ingrid stretch, pale arms reaching up to the sky, eyes still closed as she drew in a deep breath. The sheets fell below her breasts, baring them to the sunlight and his ravenous gaze.
Tyr was next to the bed before he remembered moving. Green eyes opened, glittering at him in the morning sunlight. She smiled softly, then dropped her gaze to the bowl he still held in his hand.
“Leaf mold,” he offered. “My father always shredded the leaves that fell, kept them—”
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