The Reclamation (Shadowed Wings Book 3)

by Ivy Asher

  Treno looks at my hand for a moment and sort of deflates like a week-old balloon. “I’m not upset because that male is wrong, flower, I’m upset that he’s right.”

  I pause and take a moment to sift through just what the fuck that means. Unless he’s confessing that he still sides with Lazza—which I highly doubt is the case—I got nothing.

  “Umm...come again?” I ask concerned.

  Treno shakes his head disappointedly, but it’s not aimed at me. “I am Avowed, or at least I have been my whole life. Yes, I knew that the mark had been used against the Gryphons by the Ouphe, but with it also came a more powerful breed of Gryphon,” he tells me, further explaining what he means by using the runes on his chest to call a spinning sphere of water to float just above his palm.

  He moves his hand and guides the sphere of water around, like some street hustler who tells you to keep your eye on the ball and then guess which hand it’s in.

  “I believed my parents when they taught my brother and me that the Ouphe runes and magic would ultimately make us stronger and better. I’ve fought battles and killed because of that belief, to protect it. It’s what I thought was right, and then…” he trails off, his haunted eyes focused on the water ball that’s still in his hold.

  Treno takes a moment to collect himself, and I want to kick myself for not realizing how much he is hurting.

  “And then my brother tried to kill me with the very thing I’ve spent my whole life defending. It took a split second, and everything I thought I knew spilled through my fingers.”

  Treno releases his hold on the water, and the ball bursts, allowing the liquid to trickle past his palm, punctuating his point.

  “I’ve been asking myself how I could be so stupid. Why didn’t I open my eyes and see what Lazza really was capable of, or at least try to understand where the Hidden were coming from? I’ve always looked at things so black and white, but now I can’t figure out why. Why couldn’t the Avowed and the Hidden have lived together in harmony? Why couldn’t it have been that those who want the Vow can get it and those who don’t...don’t?”

  Treno runs his hands frustratedly through his straight white hair. He looks so lost, so pained. I hate that he’s been struggling with this, clearly blaming himself for things that shouldn’t rest on his shoulders.

  “Why couldn’t I understand that forcing what I think is right on someone who doesn’t want it is wrong?”

  Treno’s blue and purple gaze lands on mine, and he’s so fucking shattered inside, the anguish is bleeding out of his every feature like a sieve. I reach up and cup his face, my thumb caressing his cheekbone gently. I wish I could make this hurt less for him. I wish he had been born to a better family and never did anything that I know will haunt him longer than he deserves. He leans into my hand, and I feel my defenses crack just a little. Gone is the angry, spiteful Treno, and in his place is this vulnerable, adrift person.

  “We all do the best we can with what we have, Treno. You see the other side now, and you’ll do better. I know that doesn’t change what happened. That it doesn’t immediately relieve the pain, but I hope it helps you find peace in some small way.”

  “I don’t deserve peace,” he confesses quietly, his voice cracking with emotion.

  My eyes prick with tears as I watch him attempt to swallow the hurt down.

  “What I did to you, Falon,” he starts, and I catch a tear that escapes down his cheek with the back of my fingers.

  “Hey,” I soothe. “What happened sucked...for both of us. I know it wasn’t easy on you, Treno. The whole mate thing on top of what was happening with your brother wouldn’t have been easy for anyone, but you’ve been figuring it out, and I’m here,” I reassure him.

  “Are you?” he questions, and just when I think his eyes can’t fill with anymore sadness, they do. “I watch you interact with us like you’re waiting for one of us to slip back into the way we were before. There’s a barrier that separates you from me that was never a factor between us, and I despise myself for knowing that armor was forged in my anger and tested by my wrath.”

  I drop my eyes from his, not sure what to say. My natural reaction is to tell him that it’s okay. To dismiss what was done and how I was treated, in an effort to lessen his hurt, but I can’t do that. I can’t pretend it was okay, because it wasn’t. I can understand why it happened and where it all came from, but none of that makes me any more deserving of what happened.

  “That,” he tells me, placing a knuckle under my chin and coaxing it up so that my eyes meet his again. “That is what I mean, and I loathe that I created it. You should always be able to look at me, to trust me…” he trails off for a moment, and his eyes take on a faraway look.

  “When you tried to sever our bond…” he starts, and I take a deep breath, readying myself for the ache I know his words are going to lure out of my chest. “I didn’t know how badly I’d been hurting you until that moment. I felt you tear away from everything that I am, and I knew I’d never recover. That I would do everything in my power to fix it, because what was left of me wasn’t enough anymore. I’d felt what it was like to be yours and for you to be mine, and I knew I could never go back to anything else,” he tells me, the back of his fingers capturing the tear that tries to escape down my cheek.

  “It would have been a half-life not worth living, flower,” he confesses, stepping closer to me, his eyes pleading as he fits me against him like I’m a lock and he’s the key. “Never again, flower. I know you’re watching, expecting the fury and frustration to return, but I will never give you reason to arm yourself against me again.”

  His words throw me off. I’m not sure what to say, or if I even can, my throat is tight with emotion and hurt.

  “Take this off,” he tells me gently.

  At first I’m confused because I think he’s talking about my shirt, and quite frankly, that’s pretty presumptuous, but he grabs at something a couple of inches away from the tunic that I’m wearing and pretends to heft it off my shoulders. He mimes that it’s heavy as fuck and looks relieved when he drops the imaginary weight to the ground.

  “And this,” he adds, repeating his motion over my other shoulder. “This too,” he declares, faux knocking on my chest and then pretending to undo the armor he’s imagining is there.

  One by one, he goes over my body, meticulously removing nonexistent armor as though I’m some great knight retiring after battle and he’s my squire. I smile as he gets to his knees and pulls off my imaginary sabatons and greaves. And then all at once, I realize that the make-believe armor doesn’t feel so unreal. With each motion, I can feel myself getting lighter, letting go, and just breathing freely now that the tight bands are coming off my chest.

  Tears drip steadily down my face as Treno helps me take off the weight I’ve been carrying, and one by one drops pieces of my armor to the floor. He gets back to his feet, and looking down at me, his eyes filled with so much care and warmth, he takes off the last piece. He drops the imagined helmet, and his eyes light up.

  “There you are, mate,” he whispers reverently, his eyes brimming with tender affection.

  Then he closes the distance slowly before his lips touch mine, and just like that, his key opens my lock.

  19

  The kiss starts out vulnerable and delicate. Like it’s this fragile thing that could be shattered if rushed or not cared for. Treno bends my head back and devours my offered mouth, but it doesn’t feel dominating or possessive, it’s gentle in a I have you, and I always will kind of way.

  I’m floored by the raw emotion I taste on both of our lips, and I tell my brain to let go of all the what happens nows that are floating around in my mind, waiting for me to snatch them up and fling them at Treno and then examine them myself. I tell my head to sweep away the but what does this means and shove each there’s no going back from this next to them on the shelf.

  I just got all of that armor of doubt, second-guessing, and hurt off, and I’m not putting it back on for
anything.

  His lips are benevolent, his tongue contrite, and even though he doesn’t speak an apology into existence between us, I can feel it in the way he holds me and taste it in his kiss. My mouth and body offer absolution, and my nimble fingers make quick work of the laces that hold the neck of his shirt closed.

  My needy hands skim down his torso until I find the hem of his tunic and pull it up. Our kiss breaks as he pulls my shirt off too, and then we both hurriedly move to each other’s pants. Mine come away and drop to my ankles with no issue, but my tongue stalls against his expert guidance as his crotch laces become literal cock blocks.

  “Fucking hell, what did you do, tie a bunch of damn sailing knots down here?” I demand, pulling from his lips so I can focus all my concentration on the ties of his pants. “Are these of Celtic origin or blessed by nuns, because this is some bullshit,” I grumble when I still can’t get them undone.

  Treno laughs and then immediately chokes on it when I call on help in the form of a Nike swoosh blade. “Whoa!” he calls out, his hips jumping away from me, and I growl at the misbehavior.

  I take a minute and assess that I did just get mad when he wouldn’t let me attempt to cut him out of his pants, and Pigeon flashes me the tumbleweed desert image again. I roll my eyes but decide to put the gnarly looking black blades away.

  “You’ll hear no complaints from me about your eagerness, but one slip of the grip on those blades and neither one of us would be happy for a very long time,” he tells me on a chuckle, but it soon turns into a growl when he can’t get the ties of his pants undone either.

  I raise one eyebrow in challenge, because I know he’s thinking about calling on a blade now too. Pigeon sends me an image of her drumming her talons on a table impatiently, but I home in on the sharp claws and experience an aha moment.

  Oprah was right, this shit really is life changing.

  I partially shift my hand until one sharp black talon stretches out from the tip of my finger, and then I close the distance between Treno and me and carefully thread the claw up the crisscross of laces. I pull my hand toward me, shredding the ties and jerking Treno’s body against mine. He gives an approving growl, and I see his gryphon rise up in his eyes, like he’s riding Treno with as much excitement as Pigeon is riding me.

  I release the shift of my hand, and Treno’s hungry mouth claims mine as he finally shoves his pants down, and I climb him like a flight of stairs until the inside of my knees are resting on the inside of his elbows. He grabs my ass and kisses me hard as I wrap my arms around his neck. He lifts me up, and I feel him lining up just right and then dropping me down on him just the way I like it.

  I moan and revel in how he feels inside of me, and his kiss morphs into a sexy grin as he pulls his lips from mine and seats himself as deeply as he can.

  Fuck, I missed this!

  He nips at my neck as he angles his hips back and slips out of me to the tip. “This is us, flower, always connected, never to be ripped apart again,” he declares, and then he buries himself inside of me, and I cry out a resounding yes as I grind against him. He looks around and quickly spots whatever it is that he’s looking for, because he starts walking us to the right as I hold onto his neck and work myself up and down on him.

  “Yes, flower,” he groans and sucks on where my neck connects with my shoulder as my thighs slap against his hips, and the beginnings of an orgasm start to tingle between my thighs.

  The next thing I know, Treno is laying me down on a soft cool bed of grass and taking control of things. “Mmmmm,” he hums against my ear as he kisses down my neck, over the scar across my throat, and up until his lips are skimming my opposite ear. “It doesn't get better than you on your back, opened up to me and screaming my name,” he purrs in my ear, rolling his hips until he’s lighting up all kinds of things inside and outside of me.

  “I’m not screaming your name,” I point out and then clench down as he hits an especially sweet spot.

  “Yet,” he challenges, and then he really gets to work.

  He closes his mouth around my nipple and immediately hits me with some vibrating tongue as he sucks hard. An orgasm unfurls slowly in my belly, but just when I think it’s going to take its time and crawl through me lazily until I’m squirming and even more needy, it shoots out through the rest of me and sparks a trembling cry from my lips.

  Treno moves to my other breast and works in and out of me, unwaveringly relaxed, as he does everything that he can to draw out my pleasure. My orgasm starts to ebb, and I climb back down from floaty euphoria ready for more.

  Treno slows his thrusts, his lips scaling my throat until they’re on mine again. I can taste his passion and reverence as though I’m some prize worthy of piety and vows of allegiance. But despite what my vagina is telling me right now, I don’t want to be worshipped, I just want to be respected. I want a partner, not a supplicant. I want what I myself am willing to give. Nothing more and nothing less.

  I pour that into our kiss, my lips and tongue asking Treno to meet me nip for nip and stroke for stroke. I roll my hips underneath him, my body begging for him to let go and take us both to new heights. He savors my mouth for a second more and then gives me exactly what I need.

  “Yes,” I moan against the shell of his ear when his seductive thrusts turn serious and he starts to fuck me hard and fast the way we both love.

  I suck on his neck and then bite with just enough pressure to leave imprints of my teeth on his skin. Treno does the same thing against my shoulder, and it all feels so good that I’m quickly ascending into another orgasm.

  “Treno, I need…” I declare through moans and whimpers, our skin slapping together as we crash against each other and then recede like ocean waves against the shore.

  “What, flower? What can I give you?” he asks, already reading my body and cries and playing both like I’m something he’s mastered. Like he knows all the right strings to pluck and the sweetest rhythms to coax out of me.

  “Fuck,” I groan, falling into pure bliss as his cock once again starts to make my pussy sing. “I need…” I start again, so close to falling off the edge and taking him with me.

  “Anything,” he purrs against my mouth, pounding into me as I drink down his declaration.

  “I need you,” I finally cry out, and then his name is a claim and brand and a proclamation pouring out of my lips as ecstasy detonates in my every cell.

  I come so fucking hard I feel every rune on my body light up, and a pulse of purple magic rockets out of me. Treno groans my name and bites my shoulder hard, shoving into me as deeply as he can go. I scream out as my already intense orgasm restarts like he just hit rewind and then play again.

  Treno and all that he is clicks through me, settling in my soul, like he’s as fundamental to my essence as Pigeon is. Ragged breaths clash against sweat speckled skin as we both pant and float in what just happened between us.

  My mind is surprisingly calm, like not even it can question the perfectness of what we just experienced. It’s as though my worry and doubt knows there’s no tainting what I feel in every fiber of my being for Treno, and what I know he feels for me.

  He pulls out of me and rolls to his back, both of us working to even out our breaths. I chuckle as a case of bliss giggles bubbles up in my chest.

  “Fuck, that was good,” I declare, but I don’t hear what he says in return because suddenly Pigeon surges through me.

  I automatically give in to the frantic need I feel slamming through her as we shift, and I try to take in what around us has her demanding possession of our body. Treno is on his feet in no time, his cock still glistening with my desire as he looks around in alarm.

  Then he also explodes into his gryphon, and panic pumps steadily through me. “Pidge, what’s happening?” I demand as nothing immediately attacks us or shows itself.

  Pigeon releases these weird chirps, and then the sound of a small motor starts up somewhere around us. I try to pinpoint where the sound is coming from, but
when I land on Treno’s gryphon, confusion surges through me.

  What the hell?

  Pigeon moves toward him, half body checking, half rubbing up the white gryphon’s side.

  “Pidge, what the hell is going on? Are we in danger?”

  Out of nowhere, Pigeon snaps at Treno’s gryphon and growls at him. He snarls back and rears up.

  “Hey, asshole!” I shout at him, not liking the tone or understanding what the fuck is happening.

  The white gryphon’s claws come at us, but instead of drawing blood like I’m expecting, he grabs a hold of Pigeon and pulls her beneath him. She bellows a threat and snaps at him again, but despite the aggressive stance it seems like she’s taking, I realize that there’s a thrum of satisfaction humming through her and she’s not actually physically fighting Treno’s gryphon.

  “What the…” My question dies in my mouth as Treno’s gryphon mounts Pigeon from behind, and I immediately know what’s happening as she arches her back with a growl.

  “Pigeon, did you seriously just make me think we were being attacked when all that was really happening was you wanted to fuck Treno’s gryphon?”

  Pigeon ignores me completely, focusing instead on her gryphon conquest as he pins her down and lines his hips up with hers.

  I cover my eyes, like somehow that’s going to give them privacy. I can’t believe this is happening. I feel like some totally creepy voyeur.

  Pigeon snaps aggressively at the white gryphon again, and I’m taken aback by the hostile, violent feel of the pairing. The white gryphon bites the back of Pigeon’s neck, and she feels pissed and immediately satisfied, which I find confusing as fuck.

  Deep laughter rumbles through my mind, and my head snaps around, looking for the source.

  Don’t tell me that was the other gryphon.

  “It seems they were done being patient with us,” Treno tells me as our gryphons start to do their thing.

  “What, how am I hearing you?” I demand, panicked.