Slowly, I lower myself onto his erection, taking my time to allow myself to stretch as he fills me. It isn’t long before he’s all the way in. I dig my fingernails into his shoulders and I gasp at the sensation.
His hands are on my hips, guiding me up and down. I moan as his cock hits me in just the right place.
Darius’s hands are on my back, supporting me as I continue to ride him. He moves one of his hands so he’s cradling me with one arm. Suddenly, a new sensation joins in as his thumb works my clit. I cry out, already near climax.
When his lips find my sensitive nipple, I lose control, screaming as I orgasm. He doesn’t ease up, though. His mouth moves to my other nipple and his thumb continues to work me into a frenzy.
After another orgasm that sends shivers through me, he pulls me close. I tangle my fingers into his dark hair and guide his mouth to mine. The kiss is hungry and rough. My lips swollen and sore, but I don’t relent. I want all of him. I want every bit of him.
I keep riding him while we kiss until I feel him tense. He pulls my head closer, deepening the kiss as he thickens inside me.
A moment later, I’m laying on the dirt, in the arms of the summer king. My mate. He brushes a loose strand of hair away from my face as we stare into each other’s eyes.
I know every word he said was true. I know we’re meant to be. He’s part of me now. And I’m part of him.
And soon, I will be his queen.
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The End
From the author
Dyan is USA Today Bestselling author of fantasy and urban fantasy books featuring strong female leads and lots of magic. She loves coffee, Star Wars, and superheroes.
* * *
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Copyright © 2020 by Corinne O’Flynn
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Chapter One
Ansel
I pull off my gloves and cloak, handing them to the footman at the door. “I got your message and came straight away. What say you, Tagel?”
“There’s a pattern, your highness. See for yourself.” The king’s personal mage urges me to look at the report spread out across his table. His bony, ink-stained fingers move over the diagram on the wide scroll, held down with bronze weights at each corner. “There are usually six to eight days between each of these surges, which have all taken place in the hours around dusk. It is slightly irregular, but there can be no denying it is happening.”
I study the chart which begins a month ago, and sure enough, the pattern is clear to see. “Agreed. But how do you explain the fluctuations? And why is it only happening now?”
The mage shakes his head, confounded. “I cannot explain either of those things, sir. But I can assure you that only a lamendium crystal could produce readings such as these.”
It hardly seems possible. “And what have you discovered on the other side?” I ask.
The mage’s face grows grim. “Your father hasn’t allowed us to send anyone yet. The surge only lasts an hour or so, and if you’re not back in time…”
“Of course, I understand. We wouldn’t want anyone lost. But surely he can see that the pattern has been consistent,” I offer, realizing that my father’s confidante will never speak against his king.
The mage nods, unwilling to betray his frustration. “He wanted more proof before he was willing to risk anyone crossing.”
“I see,” I say, though I know my father is far too conservative in this matter for his own good. “If you’re right, and this is lamendium, you do realize what this means.”
“Indeed.” His gaze grows distant as if he’s lost in a thought. “The missing Stone of Theribas. It defies belief. After so much time.” He strokes his beard. “To bring it back…” His voice trails off.
“Would change everything,” I complete his thought and I meet his gaze for a long moment before returning my attention to the chart. “The last surge was…” I run my finger over the date line and count forward.
“Today is the eighth day, sir. If the pattern continues, then it will happen very soon.” He walks over to a contraption on the table built into a cabinet against the wall with needles and bulbs and long copper wires leading up through the roof of the tower. “The sun has started to set. If it comes today, it should be soon.” He drops onto a stool to watch the device.
I glance at the window and the sun, which is starting to make its descent and slide a chair over so I can sit next to him. “Well, then let us see what transpires, shall we?”
Chapter Two
Mila
I stand at the top of the hill, taking in the view of the lake and the mountains beyond. My painting is almost finished, and I find that I don’t want it to be done. I feel a wry smile come over me as I imagine Brian’s voice whispering to me. “I told you so. Life goes on, love.”
Coming back here has been as easy and as difficult as everything else has been since he died. It’s easy to drive up into the mountains and park the car. It’s just difficult with the seat beside me empty. It’s easy to carry the picnic basket and blanket down to the lake where we used to watch the sunset while I painted. It’s just difficult knowing that he will never walk through the tall meadow grass and the wildflowers with me again. It’s easy to sit on the blanket and wait for the sun to fall behind the mountains. It’s just difficult knowing that he will never see these brilliant colors; the oranges and pinks and purples that used to find their way into my paintings after they glowed up all around us.
Before he died a year ago, Brian made me promise to keep on living. It’s easy to make those promises in the moments before the world falls apart. He made me pledge that I would go back to our spot and paint the sunsets. That I wouldn’t get lost in losing him—which is exactly what I did. Unable to work at the hospital, I took a leave of absence and let myself coast. A week turned into two, then a month turned into three, and then six months, a year…
And then a month ago, my grandmother died, snapping me out of my haze and leaving me shocked at how much time had passed.
She’d been with me through everything, and her death left me alone in the world. Sure, I have friends and a career as a surgeon, but with the death of my maternal grandmother, I am all that’s left; the lines of both sides of my family ends with me. It’s a sobering truth that has hit me in the most jarring and unexpected ways.
I’d always wanted a family and children. I pictured all of that with Brian for so long it seems impossible that it never came to be. As her only family, I inherited my grandmother’s estate, and one morning, a courier arrived with a box from her. Inside was a letter and an antique ring with a strange purple stone set in the most delicate gold.
Her letter was short and direct, as expected, and it explained that this ring has been in our family for generations. It is my birthright, and she meant for me to have it sooner, but with all I was dealing with it never seemed the right time. She begged me to pick up my paints again and find my way back to the lake. Back to the living.
Back to the living…
Funny how new loss broke the fog of old loss. Nothing can erase the love I had for both of them, but it was her words that forced me to get out of bed and make good on my promise to him. I sat there, tears dripping onto her letter in my hand, and swore to myself that I would do more than ghost my way through the rest of my days. I would find a way to enjoy it and look forward with hope. I would dream again.
And so I’m here again at the lake, with my little easel and canvas, paints and brushes, and for the first time in what feels like forever, the feeling I only get here, in this place, settles on my heart: hope.
The edges of the clouds turn bright orange-pink; a hue I love to mix. I hurry to trace a few lines on my canvas before I lose
the light, fighting that balance needed between artist and the world in order to capture a fleeting thing. When I look up again, a thick, silver-white fog rolls in off the water to my right.
I’ve never seen fog move like that. It billows and fades like theater smoke or dry ice clouds as it fills that side of the valley. I hurry to mix some paint to nail down the color but with the sun setting so quickly and the light fading, it’s all I can do to simply watch and appreciate it, capturing it in my memory in the hope that I can do it justice when I commit it to the canvas.
The fog settles, and as it pulls away, a man appears as if out of thin air. He’s wearing dark brown pants tucked into heavy leather boots and a long green coat that comes to his knees. His white shirt stands out in the gloaming, lighting up his features, which are chiseled and statuesque. He watches me, his blue eyes holding mine across the meadow.
I can’t look away. I can’t find my breath. My heart races in my chest, not from fear but something else. Something much deeper inside me.
In any other circumstance, I would want to run away. But I have nothing to fear from him. I have no idea how I know it; I just do. What is happening to me?
His mouth moves, forming a smile that transforms his face from a statue into something even more perfect.
“My god.” I find myself feeling carefree in a way that I haven’t felt since my husband passed away. It doesn’t feel manic or panicked or rushed, it feels like the path I am supposed to be on.
Chapter Three
Ansel
I step through the mist and find myself staring at the face of an angel. Tagel warned me to be wary of the sense of a glamour, that it was the mist and the call of the lamendium ringing through my mind, and nothing more. He said it would fade. He didn’t mention anything about a woman.
She stands at the side of the lake, an easel between her and what must be a spectacular view of the valley. Her long dark hair is pulled over one shoulder, the ends of her curly locks dancing in the breeze. A thin, forgotten paintbrush waits suspended between her raised fingers as she stares at me.
“By the fairies,” I whisper to myself as I take her in. I am not a man for simple pleasures, nor do I get lost in fanciful momentary passions, so I remind myself of Tagel’s warning.
Beware the allure of the mist and the lamendium… the power in both can leave the strongest fae addled, your highness.
His words followed me as I slipped through the portal without a plan, or a second thought. But now that I’m here, it all feels so real.
This trip was meant to be a quick look; see where the portal opened and report back to Tagel so he could know how far the door had moved over the years. But I know this valley and these mountains. I know this lake and this meadow. It’s been some time since I’ve been here, but it hasn’t changed all that much.
I don’t have time. According to the charts, the portal stays open only a little while after dusk. I should make a quick circuit of the shoreline and let the pull of the lamendium guide me. Instead, I am transfixed, my gaze locked on this woman who stares back as if she too is addled by a glamour.
I step toward her, unable to stop my feet from carrying me straight across the meadow until I am only an arm’s length away. The tang of her paints hangs in the air. Her eyes are bright green and hold mine with a strange intensity.
“Where did you come from?” Her voice is soft and light, gentle and sweet. I want her to keep on speaking.
“I beg your pardon?” I say, urging her on.
She smiles. Does she like the sound of my voice as well? “I said, where did you come from? One minute the bank was covered in fog and then the next minute, there you are.”
“What can I say?” There is no way for me to answer her question without lying, and I do not wish to lie to this woman. I offer her my hand, instead. “I am Ansel, at your service.”
“Nice to meet you, Ansel.”
When she takes my hand, it’s as if the rest of the world disappears and there is only her and me, and this tiny patch of earth beneath our feet. I turn her hand over and lift it to kiss her beautiful paint-stained fingers when I see it.
Her ring.
She wears the lamendium on her finger. The purple crystal sits in a ring of spun gold, the intricate weaving of the delicate golden threads a hallmark of my homeland. This is jewel work from Fae. How is that possible?
“What a beautiful ring.” The realization brings me back to my senses. I am not mesmerized by this woman; it is the pull of the lamendium that sparks the light in my chest. Her voice, though lovely, is not bewitching me; it is the glamour of the stone, as Tagel warned me would happen.
A pang of disappointment settles over me, unbidden and surprising. I don’t want this affinity to be false, glamour-made. I bring her hand up the rest of the way, touching it to my lips gently before letting it go, trying to ignore the ache in my chest at the broken contact. I must keep my wits about me.
I am not here to conquer a human heart. I am here to save the world, my own heart be damned.
Chapter Four
Mila
When he lets go of my hand, it’s like the air gets cooler. Is this a dream? I glance around me, trying to connect the dots of time, looking for holes. I don’t remember sitting on my blanket, and yet here we are.
He leans back on his elbow, languid and easy. “You haven’t yet told me your name.” His voice is husky and low, like a quiet rumble that demands my attention so I don’t miss a single word. I don’t understand why I am still here, but I can’t move.
Heat rushes to my face. I hate when I blush, but I don’t want to look away from his face, his eyes, the blue reflecting the pale sky… “How rude of me. I’m Mila.”
“Mila.” My name falls from his lips like a secret.
I smile again and touch his arm for a moment, relishing the thrill that washes through me on contact. “You caught me a little off guard. I wasn’t expecting to see anyone here.”
“Nor I.” He runs a finger over my hand and smiles, letting his hand trail away from mine as he moves off the end of my fingertip.
I reach out for him. I want to touch his face, cup his cheek, feel the stubble on his jawline. I settle on his hand again, brushing his skin softly, just another moment.
He smiles up at me and I feel the heat in my face again.
“I’m sorry. I… I can’t stop touching you.” What the hell is happening to me? This isn’t right. It isn’t normal. I look down at the picnic blanket, at the torn edge of the fabric from when it got stuck in the car door. Then I gaze up at the sky. The sun has set and the air seems flat as it clings to the last of the light.
“Nor I.” He raises his hand to mine, inviting me to press mine to his. He weaves our fingers together and the flame inside me ripples heat into every single nerve.
I must be dreaming. That would explain everything. Yes. Just like last week, I took a break from painting and sat on the blanket, only to wake an hour later, shivering in the chilly night.
Ansel sits up, his face inches from mine, his eyes holding mine, his lips…
I lean toward him, closing the gap. Our lips meet and we kiss softly, testing to make sure this is where we want to go. Lightning surges through my body as I part my lips and his tongue touches mine.
He groans softly and pulls me to him, my body warm where it makes contact with his.
I don’t know what comes over me. I give in to the moment, running my hands over his chest, feeling the contours of his taut muscles.
“Mila…” he whispers into my mouth as we come together again, all hands and lips and breathlessness.
The air around us cools and raises gooseflesh on my arms. I realize with a start that the moon is out and a thick fog is rising from the bank.
“What is that?” I ask. It is no ordinary fog.
His body tenses. “I must go.”
“Go? Where?” The fog billows on the bank, churning and curling like a cloud. It doesn’t settle and fade like it had before.
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He takes my hand and kisses my fingers. “I am so sorry to leave like this. Will I see you again?”
I blink and nod, not sure what is going on. “I’ll be here.”
I hug myself as I watch him walk away. He steps into the fog, which seems to envelop him. He turns to look at me, his smile so sad and beautiful I could cry.
Chapter Five
Ansel
“By the fairies, your highness, I thought you were lost.” Tagel grips my arm and pulls me through the portal and then releases me, as if remembering that I am his sovereign. “Forgive me, sir.”
“No matter, Tagel. It is all right.” I step into the mage’s tower and drop into a chair, trying to make heads or tails of what just happened.
“You were gone for so long, sir. I feared the worst.”
“I’m all right.” I can still taste her on my lips, feel her hands on my chest. The smell of her hair…
“And what did you find?” the mage asks.
My heart seems weaker without her next to me. Can that truly be a trick of the mist and the lamendium? It hardly seems possible, and yet the mage predicted a glamour before I stepped foot in the other realm. “I found the stone, Tagel.” My words feel hollow.
Tagel gasps and leans on the table for support. “The Stone of Theribas!” The mage’s face goes white. “Can it be? May I see it, sir?”
“I have it not.” Her hair moved like silk through my fingers. Her warm skin smelled of the mountain air…
Tagel steps toward me, his brow knitted in confusion. “Sir? Where is it?”
“I couldn’t take it from her.” This is the truth. I could have stolen it, overpowered her with a stunning spell and slipped it from her hand. I could have taken it and disappeared into the mist.
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