Текст книги "The wolf and the crown of blood"

Автор книги: Elizabeth May

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Текущая страница: 18 (всего у книги 33 страниц)

“Rules?”

“Rule one. You stay naked.”

He adds another finger, thrusting harder now. My hips follow his hand, chasing pleasure. Chasing release.

“Rule two,” he continues. “If you make it too easy, you get nothing from me. No mouth. No cock. Just your own hand tonight. The longer it takes me to find you, the harder I fuck you when I do.” He punctuates that filthy promise with a slow grind against me, letting me feel every hard inch of him. “Last one. When I catch you—and I will catch you—no begging. No mercy. It gets to be too much, you tap out. Give me your word one more time so I know we’re clear.”

“Ishkah.”

“Good. You get five minutes. Then I’m coming for you.” He steps back and spanks my ass one last time. “Run, Devaliant.”

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33

BRYONY

I BURST OUT into the garden, my lungs burning.

Aethertide paints the sky in ribbons of indigo, emerald, and deep purple. Between the flickering hues, the stars rain down in glittering streaks that illuminate the ground as I sprint between the roses.

A branch snaps in the darkness.

Shit.

I bolt into the trees surrounding the Wolf’s tower, my bare feet finding every sharp damn thing on the forest floor, but I don’t slow down or falter. I’ve learned to shove pain down deep.

Stay low, Amara’s voice thunders in my head. Watch your footing.

A darker voice, hungry: Run faster. Make him work for it.

Aetherlight paints the woods in shades of blue and green, bright enough to light my way. Nothing exists but this—my hammering heart, the chase, knowing the Wolf’s out there hunting me. Wind stirs the branches overhead. Then…

Crack.

The sound comes from my left. Closer than before. Is he toying with me? Has he already caught up?

I push harder. I want him starving when he finds me, out of his mind. We’ve been playing this game for weeks. Pushing, pulling, taunting, teasing. All those touches when he healed me, our kisses, his fingers inside me—every day leading us toward this like kindling just waiting for the right spark. My goal is to crack him open and let the hunger take its due.

I want his mouth to taste like violence when he kisses me.

How long have I been running now? Minutes? Hours? I lose count of how many times I slip into the shadows at the rustle of wings. Evading him, denying him, tempting him.

The longer it takes me to find you, the harder I fuck you when I do.

So I make him work for it.

Every minute that passes fuels the heat inside me. It’s primal. It’s animal. It wants to be conquered. To finally have the Wolf in the ways I’ve imagined in the midnight hours with my hand between my thighs.

Through the skeletal branches, a rocky outcropping promises a hiding spot. I scramble over the boulders, loose scree biting into my abraded feet as I heave myself over the ledge—

And freeze.

Because he’s here.

The Wolf crouches low. His eyes are nearly black, just a thin ring of gold around pupils blown wide. His wings arc behind him, gleaming in the aetherlight.

“Found you,” he growls. He lunges for me, his fingers wrapping around my throat. “Did you enjoy making me chase you? Getting me all worked up?”

I bare my teeth. “You still haven’t earned it.”

“Vicious girl.” His grip tightens a fraction. “I’m going to fucking wreck you.”

I yank out of his hold and lunge. No thought, no hesitation, just my body colliding with his, frantic to mark him as he’s marked me. To bite and claw. But before I can savor my victory, his mouth crashes down on mine.

It’s annihilation in the shape of a kiss. The Wolf meets my brutality with his own, stealing breath and reason until I’m drowning in the taste of him. Nothing exists except his lips and the bruising pressure of his grip.

“Yield,” he says.

No. If he wants to conquer me tonight, I’m going to make him bleed for the privilege.

I kiss him hard enough to bruise, to hurt. My teeth sink into his lower lip until he bleeds for me. A groan rumbles through him, but he doesn’t stop. He just keeps kissing me, keeps taking, keeps trying to make me submit.

But that’s not what I want. I want to be hungry tonight. Animal. Feral. I want to fucking own him.

I seize a fistful of his hair and wrench his head back, sinking my teeth into the junction of his neck and shoulder. Hard enough to break skin. Hard enough to make him feel it, to remind him that he may have caught me, but I’m not prey.

“Fuck,” he breathes, reverent. “Do that again.”

So I do. I bite down harder this time, savoring the copper-salt taste of his blood. The way his body strains against mine.

My triumph is short-lived. He locks an arm around my waist and spins us, pushing me against the rock wall. My hands slap against the stone. His palm flattens between my shoulder blades, pinning me down, telling me without words that it’s time to yield, to surrender. And I’m trapped. Exposed. Every part of me pressed to every part of him.

“Spread your legs.”

Part of me still wants to fight him. I don’t move.

His fingers sink into my hair, tugging sharply. “I said spread them.”

This time, I obey. Cold air kisses my inner thighs as I widen my stance.

The Wolf’s hand slips between my legs, and he gives a soft groan when he pushes his fingers inside me. “Is this from running? Or is your pussy always this wet for me?”

I turn my head and nip at his jaw hard enough to sting. “Just shut up and fuck me.”

“That’s my girl,” he says with a soft laugh, slipping his fingers out.

And then he lines his cock up and pushes into me, forcing the breath from my lungs. It hurts—too much, too fast. But I wanted this.

The Wolf freezes, every muscle in his body going rigid. “Devaliant…” His voice changes, softens. “Are you—”

“Stop.”

I don’t need his pity. Don’t want him to care that I’ve never done this. I want the feral god right now. So I shove back against him, taking him deeper, forcing him to move. My fingernails scrape against rock as I brace myself.

“You said you’d wreck me, remember?” I look over my shoulder, catching his eyes. “So wreck me.”

His eyes darken. Then his hands clamp down on my hips hard enough to bruise as he withdraws until only the tip of him stretches me open.

“Palms flat on the rock,” he orders.

I obey, bracing myself.

The Wolf thrusts hard into me, the force of it lifting me to my toes. There’s nothing gentle about how he takes me. Nothing careful. Only the aching stretch of his cock, the sweet-sharp edge of too-much-not-enough. Only snarling need and the frenzied coupling of two creatures learning each other’s teeth. I’m not me anymore—just his. Something dark and hungry lives in my skin.

His hands grip me, yanking me back to meet every brutal snap of his hips. Like he’s using me, shaping me into what he needs, taking what he wants without asking. But didn’t I tell him to? Doesn’t that make us even? Since I’m using him too?

I think I might die if he stops.

It’s a defilement. Desecration. Pleasure so sharp I can’t breathe, can’t think, can’t focus on anything but the pleasure suffusing through my veins. Release hovers just out of reach. That coil of heat, that thing I’ve chased alone in my bed at night, imagining his hands instead of mine. Almost, almost, almost—

“Harder,” I say.

My voice doesn’t even sound like mine, but it doesn’t matter. Because I need to feel this tomorrow. Need the reminder that for once, I wasn’t careful. Wasn’t smart. That I just took what I wanted.

His teeth find my shoulder—not gentle, not asking. His thrusts sharpen, fucking me deeper, faster, not caring if it hurts. I’ll have bruises tomorrow where his fingers dig into me, but I want them there. Need them there.

I earned every single one.

He shoves in harder, his pace punishing. Stretching me, filling me. Pushing so deep. “You have no idea,” he pants, breath ragged, “how many times I’ve thought about this. About messing up all that pretty. Seeing what you look like when I’m fucking you.”

“And what do I look like?”

He breathes softly in my ear, “You look like someone I’d keep, if you were anyone but you.”

I feel everything. The heat of his body against mine, the spicy scent of him, the hard slap of his hips. Stars streak across the sky, and their light catches on his skin, on mine, on the places where we’re joined. He grips me so tight it hurts. Like if he loosens his hold even a little, I’ll disappear.

And I give him what he wants.

I let go.

Pleasure rips through me, violent and sudden. I tip my head up to the stars and shout my release. I can’t breathe, can’t think. Only the solid heat of the Wolf’s body keeps me from drowning, from falling. My fingernails scrape against the rock, breaking, bleeding. I don’t care.

“Evander.”

His fingers dig into my hips as he slams into me one last time, rhythm faltering. With a curse, he slaps his hand against the rock beside my head, splintering it under his fist. The heat of his release stings between my thighs. After a few shallow thrusts, he goes still, curling his body over mine.

For a minute, there’s nothing but our breathing—mine ragged, his deep. As if we’ve both been drowning.

The Wolf’s forehead rests between my shoulder blades, his palms gentling over my sides. I let myself savor this stillness, with the sweet ache blooming in places I didn’t know could feel this good.

“Bryony,” he whispers.

My name shouldn’t sound like a prayer. Like a vow. But it does, and it rattles something loose inside me—an emotion that’s too immense to be contained, pressing against my lungs. It feels like vulnerability. Like terror. Like some bright, fragile thing starved for all his softness. It suddenly hurts when I breathe, that light expanding and expanding until it’s as if I’ve swallowed a star—too much, too big, burning me up from inside.

I want to cut it out.

But that’s the thing about falling—you never think about the damage until you’re already halfway to the ground.

“Hey.” He turns me around, those gold-ringed eyes searching my face. “You okay?”

Each brush of his fingertips is a confession, a claim. As if he doesn’t already own every inch of me. As if this feeling isn’t still burning in my chest.

I nod, forcing my expression to stay even, neutral. If I speak, I think I’ll say something I can’t take back. Something like, keep me.

“Cold?” he asks, rubbing my arms.

I nod again.

He works his jaw as if he’s figuring something out. “Let’s get you back,” he murmurs, scooping me into his arms and spreading his wings.

When we land in the courtyard, I expect him to put me down. He doesn’t.

“Bath first,” he says. “Then my bed.”

I almost argue. Almost remind him in pitiless terms that what we just shared changed nothing, that he’s no more entitled to me now than he was yesterday. Getting fucked out of my mind by a savage god? An excellent decision. Willingly spending the night naked in my future executioner’s bed for an encore performance? A level of insanity I’m not prepared to claim.

Still, I’m filthy and sore and exhausted. I need to get clean.

I close my eyes and let him carry me through the halls to his chamber. His bedroom is exactly as I imagined and nothing like it at all. The tall windows admit a wash of aetherlight that illuminates the enormous four-poster bed with black sheets. Past that is a comfy-looking dark leather chair covered in stacks of books. The red roses have climbed nearly every inch of his walls and ceiling, still open and in bloom even in the darkness.

The Wolf doesn’t give me time to process my surroundings. Just carries me into the adjoining bathing chamber and sets me on my feet beside a sunken tub big enough for his wings.

Steam curls from the water as he fills the bath and gathers some bottles. The warmth licks at my skin, chilled after all that time spent naked in the elements.

He eases us both in, settling me between his thighs. I tip my head back with a sigh as floral-scented steam curls around me. A shiver rolls through me as his fingers thread through my hair, untangling the snarled mess with surprising care.

“Too much?” he asks.

“No.” I fidget, trying to tamp down the emotions battering around my ribcage. “Just new.”

“Lean back. Let me take care of you.”

So I do. He works the soap into a lather and glides his palms over my spine. He’s meticulous in his attention, as if he’s trying to memorize me in this rare, soft moment. Cataloging all my injuries. His power reaches for me, sliding across my skin and healing the bruises from his hands, the places where branches sliced into my skin during the run, the cuts on my palms, my injured feet. Comforting. Soothing.

He reaches for my inner thighs, and I tense, bracing. Ready to shore up the cracks broken open by his gentle hands.

“Easy. This is just…” He exhales, and it sounds oddly unsteady. “This isn’t about getting you wound up again. Just cleaning you off and making sure you’re all right.”

Holding my breath, I let my legs fall open.

The Wolf slides his hand along my inner thighs and I bite back a moan as he gently brushes fingers along my pussy, his magic soothing the soreness before he backs off. His palms smooth over my skin in circles. So careful with me, almost reverent as he washes my breasts, my belly. There is no demand in the drag of his fingers, no seduction. No intent beyond the act of caring for me.

It’s unbearable. Tenderness has no place between us. I should pull away, armor myself. Yet, as I tilt my head to study his face, the words wither. Our gazes catch and hold. The pad of his thumb finds my bottom lip, dragging until my mouth falls open on a sigh. Something complicated twists his features.

“You’re too quiet,” he says. He seems almost uncertain. “Did I hurt you?”

“No more than I wanted.”

The Wolf’s eyes flicker between mine. “Then what’s happening in that head of yours? Trying to convince yourself that this was a horrible idea? That you should have said ishkah before I had you up against that rock?”

“I was just thinking that for someone so dangerous, you’re far too good at being soft.”

“Only for you.” He strokes the damp hair from my brow and cups my cheek. “Temporary insanity brought on by rut-fever.”

“Is that all it is?”

“What else would it be?”

I don’t have an answer for that. Not one I’m willing to give.

His mouth finds mine, the kiss an unhurried glide of lips and tongue. Lush and intoxicating. So different from the way he claimed me before, all violence and desperation.

When he finally lifts his head, I’m dizzy. Drunk on the feel and taste of him.

“When you’re like this,” I whisper, “I have to remind myself.”

“Remind yourself what?”

“That you’re very dangerous for mortal women with fragile human hearts.”

“Then it’s a good thing this mortal woman is too clever to catch feelings.” His head dips, lips shaping the words against my temple. “Stop thinking so hard, Devaliant. It’s inconvenient.”

“Is this…” I struggle to find the right words. “This gentleness. Is it just part of the biological process? Soothing your partner after breaking them?”

“Rut-fever comes in waves. I’m using the time between to give aftercare to the human I just found out was a virgin and didn’t tell me.”

I make a noncommittal sound but offer no real response.

He doesn’t press, just resumes his reverent exploration of my body. Skimming his fingers over my ribs, up and down, stroking until I’m drowsy.

With a kiss on my temple, he reaches over and snags a small glass bottle from the collection on the rim of the bath. “Drink all of this,” he says, pressing it into my hand.

I uncap it and sniff. The scent is medicinal, but not overwhelming. “What is it?”

“It’s rare for gods and humans to have children, but we’re biologically compatible. It prevents pregnancy.”

Oh. I down the entire bottle and set it aside. “Thank you.”

He returns to stroking my hair, pushing it back from my face. “Will you be mine for the rest of Aethertide? You can say no.”

I was prepared to reestablish boundaries, build up my walls, and return to my room. But the way he’s touching me—speaking to me—is so careful that I’m not ready to let it go. When was the last time someone took care of me like this? Let me be wild?

“Yes.” I settle my hand over his. “Do you need me again?”

I feel his smile against my nape. His breathing quickens with excitement. “In a few minutes. And again after that. Until neither of us can move.”

When the Wolf deems me sufficiently clean, he dries me off and settles me in his bed. The mattress dips as he slides in beside me.

He feels like safety, like shelter. And I’m too strung out and sex-stupid to question the complicated tangle of feelings I shouldn’t have for the god who’s going to kill me.

So when he rolls me under him, spreading my thighs with his knee, I let him.

He takes his time with me, drawing out every sigh and moan. Sucking bruises into my skin as he fucks into me, nice and deep and slow, like he’s savoring me this time. I lose myself to the hazy pleasure of it. To the filthy words he breathes into my skin, to the sweet ache building between my thighs.

He maps my reactions—every hitch in my breathing, the helpless arch of my spine. And when he’s wrung every drop of ecstasy from me, he hauls me into his lap and starts all over again. It’s too much. It’s not nearly enough.

When he finally pulls me on top of him, spent and satisfied, he says, “During Aethertide, I’m Evander.”

“Just Aethertide?”

He’s quiet for a long moment, his heart thudding under my ear. “Just Aethertide,” he says, very softly.

A few days to have this. To pretend this is something simple. Where I’m not a Devaliant, and he’s not my executioner.

You look like someone I’d keep, if you were anyone but you.

“Then I’m Bryony,” I whisper back.

He shuts his eyes and gathers me closer against him. “Night, Bryony.”

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34

EVANDER

I WAKE UP to cold sheets.

Of course, Bryony bailed as soon as the fever dimmed, and I managed to fall asleep. Who could blame her? I’ve been fucking her all night, touching her in ways I have no right to, saying too much in my half-mad delirium.

You look like someone I’d keep.

And I need her underneath me again.

Her scent pulls me to the gardens. The stars bleed light across the sky, the aetherlight casting everything in shades of teal. Thousands of stars fall like rain.

My skin is too hot now. The rut-fever is burning through my veins after the reprieve, a relentless drumbeat—need, want, take. Need, want, take. Drowning out everything else.

Her scent catches me halfway down the path—jasmine and dark spice, the lingering traces of sex. My magic is saturated in her skin. When rut has me in its grip, everything is primal, and last night, I wanted to mark her up all over. Claim her as mine.

I round the corner and stop.

She perches on a crumbling wall, one leg dangling over the edge, the other tucked under her. That sheer slip she’s wearing is practically useless. I can see the bite marks on her throat and the bruises I sucked onto her collarbone—handiwork I couldn’t bring myself to heal just yet.

I watch her. Doesn’t matter how many times I see this girl, the same thing always happens: it’s like a knife to the chest every time.

She shouldn’t matter to me. To an Eternal, mortals are ephemeral. But Bryony Devaliant? She’s shrapnel. She’s nails and broken glass, and I can’t dig her out of me, no matter how deep I cut. Some girls, once under your skin, can never be carved out. Not without taking pieces of you with them.

“You planning to stand there all night?” she asks, still studying the colors dancing above us.

“Depends.” I walk closer, crossing my arms. “You planning to sit out here all night and expect me to keep my hands to myself?”

She gives a little huff. “I just needed air. To think.”

“About?”

“Some demis in Caelestis were gossiping about trouble in Hellevig. I woke up worrying about my sister.” Bryony drags a hand through her hair. “What if Theo tried to take the throne? What if she—” She stops and swallows, rubbing her hands on her thighs. “She didn’t say anything in her letters.”

I snort. “Well, if your sister knocked Idris off his throne, I’d call it an improvement.”

“Yes,” she says quietly. “He hasn’t been right since losing his daughter. And Theo keeps trying to fix everything. She always does.”

“Amara will get answers.”

“I know. I just…” She catches her lower lip between her teeth. “I hate not knowing if she’s okay. Sorry about abandoning you like that.”

“Worrying about siblings?” I shrug. “I get it.”

Honestly, her family dysfunction has nothing on mine. If Bas follows his pattern from the last two Aethertides, there’s a village in Vartena that’s about to learn what it means to be in the path of a god who’s lost his humanity. My brother hasn’t fucked in centuries. Now he just kills.

“The Blade is your brother, right?” she asks. “You never talk about him.”

I give her a tight smile. “Nothing to talk about. We don’t see each other much.” Not anymore. For three hundred years, he’s been a stranger. “You and I have unfinished business, and you’re not going to get out of it by bringing up Bastien.”

“Is that so?” she asks, plucking at her chemise.

“Don’t play coy. You didn’t tell me I was your first.”

“It didn’t seem relevant.”

I swear, she’s the most deliberately obtuse creature I’ve ever met.

“Devaliant. I was half out of my mind from rut. I could’ve hurt you.”

“Please.” She rolls her eyes. “Amara’s broken practically every bone in my body daily for the last five weeks. And you’ve never cared about collateral damage before.”

“I’ve never fucked a virgin sacrifice before, either.” I drag a hand down my face, frustration spiking. “Forgive me for trying out this novel concept called giving a shit.”

She lets out an incredulous laugh. “Oh, so now that the post-coital glow has faded, you care? How many times were you inside me last night, again?”

I’m not answering that question. I lost count. The only reason she’s still able to move is because I keep healing her so I can have her again.

“If I’d confessed, would it have slowed you down?” she presses. “Altered your angle of approach? Or just inspired you to find a more convenient surface to bend me over?”

My cock twitches at the memory. I actually have to clench my hands into fists to keep from grabbing her. But this is a game, a careful balance of want and patience and conquest.

“I would’ve fucked you on any surface I could get. Floor, wall, tree—didn’t matter as long as I got to hear you scream my name.” I step closer, watching her pupils dilate and her chest move a little faster. “But yeah, maybe I wouldn’t have spanked that disobedient ass the first time. The chase through the woods? That would’ve been later.”

“I don’t need soft,” she says with a withering glare.

“Wasn’t offering it.”

“I don’t want rose petals and silk sheets. I wanted—”

“To be devoured, I know. And I don’t deny myself the things I crave. Especially the dangerous, chaotic ones.”

“Of course not. Usually, you just gnaw on them until they stop twitching. Must have been refreshing to have something fight back for once.”

Oh, I like her mouthy. I like her mean. This is the woman who’s scratched her name into my soul with bloody fingernails. The one who cuts with her words and fucks like she’s fighting.

“Careful, sweetheart. You keep up that bratty attitude, and I’ll have to spank you again.”

Bryony swallows hard, squirming a little, but says nothing.

“But from now on,” I say, “when we play? I expect honesty. No holding back. No lies of omission. Are we clear?”

“You want honesty? Fine.” She lets out a hard exhale. “Nothing in Vartena was ever mine. My body, my time, my choices—all of it belonged to other people. My virginity was just another commodity to be traded. Another thing they could take from me. So last night, for the first time in my life, I chose. I wanted you, so I took you. I won’t apologize for that.”

I see it with a sudden, stark clarity—a girl broken for her realm, doomed to be chewed up and spat out by a world intent on using her up. Sacrificed on a god’s altar and expected to smile as she’s stripped of agency. All those people with their hands on her, deciding her fate and bartering her away piece by piece.

Her uncle trying to kill her was just the final insult. The real violence was every day they told her she belonged to everyone but herself.

She shouldn’t have handed me this. Shouldn’t have pressed the shape of her hurts into my palm and expected me not to squeeze until the world fractures. Because now all I want is to peel the skin off every arrogant fuck who thought to collar her, starting with Alexios.

Bryony slants me a look. “Stop.”

“Stop what?”

“That thing you’re doing with your face. The brooding. Men only brood for two reasons: they’re planning something stupid or angsting about their feelings. So which is it? Murder or manpain?”

“I scheme, vicious girl. I plot and plan and sharpen my claws. I dream up new and interesting ways to make people suffer.”

She arches an eyebrow. “What’s the difference?”

“Brooding is for poets and lovesick fools. Scheming is for monsters.”

“A semantic argument at best.”

I grin slowly. “Want me to lay the bodies of your enemies at your feet? Stack their skulls in a monument to your glory?”

What? Destruction has always been my love language, and Bryony Devaliant is a dark and hungry god shaped like a woman. I want to worship at her altar.

A reluctant smile tugs at her lips. “That’s horrifying, dramatic, and unnecessary, but sweet. I’ll pass on the corpse pile, though.” Bryony hops down from the wall and closes the distance between us. The aetherlight filters through her thin chemise, silhouetting the graceful curve of her hips. “You say the loveliest things for a male who claims to loathe me.”

“You make me feel a lot of things. Most of them vaguely homicidal.”

“And the other things?”

Everything I have no right to feel, not for anyone. Especially not for you.

“Irritated. Frustrated. Occasionally murderously possessive,” I say instead. “Right now? So ravenous I can barely see straight.”

I reach for her, ghosting my fingertips up her body. Skimming over her ribs, beneath the curve of her breast. Her breathing goes a little ragged.

“How much of this is Aethertide?” she asks. “Were you like this with Arcadia?”

The question is guarded. There’s a subtle tension in her shoulders, as if she’s bracing herself.

I move closer, until we’re breathing in the same air. “Jealous, nemesis?”

“No.”

“Liar.” I lean in and graze my teeth up her throat. “What if I touched her exactly like this, fucked her the way I fucked you? Made her scream and beg so pretty—”

Her hand shoots out, wrapping around my throat and digging her nails in.

“Mmm.” I give a laugh. “That feels an awful lot like jealousy.”

“When we’re together, you don’t think about anyone else. Understand?” Her voice is almost a snarl, fingers tightening until she’s digging into my pulse.

Then her mouth is on mine, greedy and artless. I sink into it with a groan. She tugs at my hair, fingernails a sweet sting against my scalp as she presses closer. Her scent fills my head—that intoxicating combination of midnight blooms and arousal, and I think, Oh. This. This is what madness must feel like. Wanting the woman most likely to destroy me, and not caring anyway.

I break the kiss and whisper against her mouth, “Jealousy tastes good on you.”

“Shut up.”

“But I like this side of Bryony Devaliant.” I kiss her again. “Demanding Bryony.” I grip her slip and drag it off her shoulder, following with my lips. “Possessive Bryony.” I yank her clothes off the rest of the way. The aetherlight dances over her bare skin in silver-blue patterns—catching on her cheekbones, the hollow of her throat, the dip of her waist. “Greedy Bryony.”

“I said shut up.” She pushes me away. “And take off your damn pants.”

That’s right. So fucking greedy.

You shouldn’t want her like this.

But I do. I’ve had more lovers than I can count, fucked my way through the centuries with males and females, humans and gods. I’ve seen Bryony naked, had her spread out beneath me, mapped her body, taken her over and over.

And she still leaves me breathless.

I strip out of my trousers. Power thrums beneath my skin—Aethertide making everything sharper, more intense, more present. A fever cured only by her.

Bryony looks my naked body up and down, slow and hungry, then drags a palm down her face. “It’s actually offensive how beautiful you are.”

“That’s the trick.” I sink to my knees in the grass. Catching her by the hips, I draw her down until we’re skin to skin, heartbeat to heartbeat. “Monsters are always beautiful. The prettier we are, the easier it is to fool a clever girl into letting us devour her.” I drag my nose along her jaw, biting softly at her earlobe. “Would you want me even half as much if I were nice?”

“No,” she sighs, melting into me. “I really wouldn’t.”

My blood sings at the admission—victory and satisfaction. Because this raw, messy want? Knowing that does it for her, too? That is so much better.

Because I’m exactly what she needs. What she craves in the dark.

“That’s right.” I walk my fingers up her spine, relishing her little shiver. “You don’t need gentle. You need a lover with teeth.”

Tipping forward, Bryony nips at my jaw. “Put your mouth between my thighs.”

I lean down and bite the inside of her thigh, soothing the sting with my tongue. Then I’m shoving her legs wider. I look my fill, admiring the sight of her.

“Such a perfect pussy,” I say. “Tell me I’m the first to worship you here.”

A shiver rolls through her. She nods. Shy, almost.

Fuck, yes.

I grin slowly. “Let me show you how a god prays.”

Starting slowly, I taste and tease with barely-there kisses. Stroking, exploring, getting her used to it. Learning her taste. She makes these sweet little noises, fingers curling into my hair.

“More,” she moans.

“Patience,” I say with a light nip on her thigh.

I thrust my fingers into her. She arches off the ground with a sharp cry. I grin, running my tongue over her in a long, slow lick. Then I press my mouth to her clit and suck, light at first. A moan shudders out of her. I do it again, harder this time.

“Oh, fuck,” she gasps.

There it is.

Her hands grasp my hair as I eat her out. I pin her hips, holding her still for every swipe of my tongue and plunge of my fingers. I could feast on this pussy for days.