Текст книги "Between Tides & Thunder"

Автор книги: Lena Kazak

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Текущая страница: 14 (всего у книги 27 страниц)

CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

“AND WHAT ABOUT THIS one?” I ask, holding up a dark blue vial.

“Laudanarum,” Sauzon replies. “Helps relieve pain and ease coughing fits.”

It’s a rare, quiet day in the infirmary. I jot down his response in my notebook.

“What about antidotes? For poison? I’m not sure how much my healing would help with something like that.”

Sauzon retrieves a large bottle filled with clear liquid from a cabinet. “Wormbark oil. Purges by inducing vomiting. Very effective.” Replacing the bottle, he scans the infirmary. “It’s a slow day, Princess. I’m retiring early. You should do the same.” He packs his belongings with quiet efficiency. I suppose I can return to my chambers and continue my reading.

I bid Sauzon goodbye and step into the hallway.

The empty hallway.

My guards are gone—likely between shifts, assuming I’d be preoccupied in the infirmary for a few more hours.

My breath catches. I’m alone.

I don’t squander my chance.

I’ve never explored the palace alone. I head down an unfamiliar hallway, pulse hammering in my throat. All it would take is for one guard or servant to see me, and I’d return to having a chaperone.

And a very angry husband.

The stone wall is cool beneath my fingertips as I run them along its length—smooth and unremarkable. Hiding nothing.

With a frown, I turn down another hallway.

Shit.

I picked the wrong one.

Faramir stands at the end, speaking with a handful of advisers. Thank the Tides, none of them spot me before I creep back to the adjacent hallway.

“Another attack?” Faramir’s obnoxiously preening voice echoes against the stone walls. “Has my brother been made aware? Or my idiot father?”

The adviser responds, too low for me to hear.

“What about Tundrayn? Do you think they’re involved? Teaming up with the Rebellion? Wouldn’t put it past the treacherous bastards.”

I bristle. I don’t have time to be outraged, though, because Faramir’s voice grows louder. They must be walking down the hall.

Straight toward me.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

I pad silently down the hallway, head swiveling until I spy a door. I yank it open—a supply closet—and disappear inside.

It’s dim and musty, a thin sliver of light beneath the door barely cutting through the dark. Slowly, my eyes adjust, and I inch deeper into the closet.

I hold my breath, careful not to make a sound. If Faramir catches me, I’ll lose this fragile freedom I’ve carved out, and Zev will never let me out of his sight again.

A beat passes, then another.

Silence.

He’s gone. I’m undetected.

I exhale softly and—

–the door opens.

A large figure enters, broad-shouldered and massive.

My heart stops.

The dark silhouette edges closer.

I loose a relieved breath, tension melting from my stiff shoulders.

I recognize him.

It’s my husband, and he does not look pleased.

“What are you doing in here, wife?” His voice is casual, but the undercurrent of danger swirls around its edges.

He steps closer.

I step back.

“Hiding,” I whisper. I creep backward until I’m pressed flush against the wall. “I saw your brother one hallway over.”

He hums, taking another step closer. The air around him vibrates.

“And where are your guards?”

“You wanted to find me in a dark closet with one of my guards?”

He growls. “You know that’s not what I mean.” He’s right in front of me now, barely an inch between us.

All I can see and smell and sense is him.

He braces his hands against the wall on either side of my head, muscular arms caging me. The air tightens—there’s no escape.

I hate it. I love it. I can’t tidesdamned think.

“I’m waiting for an answer, wife.” His breath skates across my lips.

“I—I saw a chance to be alone. I took it. Everyone wants to be alone sometimes.”

His gray eyes study me, nearly black in the dark.

“Which guards?” he finally asks.

“Don’t punish them,” I protest. “It’s not their fault.”

“Which. Guards.”

“Gregoran and Freynk. But please don’t punish them. I like them.”

“You like them?” he growls, pressing closer. “I’m feeling more and more inclined to eviscerate them.”

My hand finds its way to Zev’s firm chest, splaying over his heart. I don’t say anything, teeth catching my lower lip as I look up at him with wide eyes.

He mutters a curse, his gaze dropping to my mouth.

For a moment, neither of us says a word.

Zev trails a finger across my collarbone, up the line of my neck. He’s breathing hard. So am I.

“Can I kiss you, Mayah?” he whispers.

It’s dangerous how easily he unravels me. How badly I want to lose myself in him.

Just one kiss. Just one taste.

Then I’ll stop.

“Yes—” The word has barely left my mouth when his lips capture mine in a deep, punishing kiss. His mouth claims me with urgency, full lips coaxing mine open. My hands tangle in his soft locks, a loud groan tearing free.

I try to stifle the moans rising in my throat, but he drinks them down greedily—like he wants every gasp, every sound I’m not supposed to make. The harder I try to stay quiet, the louder I become. His tongue plunders my mouth, and Tides drown me, I’m lost in him. Large hands grip the backs of my thighs, hoisting me up until I wrap my legs around his waist.

The stone wall is hard against my back, and my husband is hard everywhere else. I’m utterly consumed by him. He breaks away only to trail hot, open-mouthed kisses down my neck, nudging aside my necklace to dip his tongue in the hollow between my collarbones before kissing his way back to my lips.

I should push him away. I should tell him to stop. Tides, this is dangerous.

But the way he looks at me—like I’m the only thing that’s ever mattered—splits me open, leaving me powerful and fragile all at once.

Nothing about the kiss is gentle—not the sharp clack of his teeth as they knock against mine, not the rough scrape of his stubble against my cheeks and chin, not the bruising grip of his fingers on my thighs.

Instead of drowning in the Tides, I’m drowning in him.

I used to think I had control. But pressed between stone and shadow, with my husband’s hands branding my skin—I realize how weak he makes me.

I grind against him, desperate for more, aching for his touch, I—

The door flings open with a loud bang.

Feminine chatter, followed by a sharp, scandalized gasp.

Silence.

Zev breaks the kiss, and I squint against the sudden onslaught of light.

“Come back later,” Zev growls, turning his attention back to me.

I recognize Farzina amongst the servants.

“Wait! Wait,” I call out as embarrassing heat rushes to my face. I push at Zev’s chest, but I may as well have been shoving a brick wall.

My eyes lock with his in a fierce glare. His gaze is dark, swirling with unbridled lust. Reluctantly, he sets me down. My legs wobble, knees nearly buckling, and my husband steadies me with a firm hand around my waist.

Eyes downcast, I scurry out of the supply closet, Zev close on my heels. I can’t bring myself to meet Farzina’s eyes. Quickly whipping around a corner, I stride away, heat scorching my cheeks.

Except Zev’s footsteps thud after me, refusing to let me escape.

“What are you doing?” I hiss. My face is still flaming.

“My wife seems to have misplaced her guards,” he rumbles, giving me a knowing smirk, though it’s edged with something sharp. “I’m ensuring she returns to our chambers safely. And”—he snakes his arm around my waist in a possessive grip—“if she wanted to continue what we began in the closet, I’m happy to oblige her.”

I almost tell him I want nothing of the sort, but the throbbing ache between my thighs calls me a liar.

So I don’t say anything.

We walk in silence, Zev melded to my side, reaching our chambers when I have a sudden thought.

I whirl. “What were you doing in the closet?”

He’s silent for a heartbeat, then says, “I was hiding from my brother, too.”

He braces one arm against the door jamb, towering over me in the hallway. “Have you decided, wife? Can I come inside?” His voice is sinfully low. So deep, so decadent, I nearly say yes.

I bite my lower lip. “You don’t need permission to enter your own chambers.”

He leans closer, his breath hot against my ear, melting the resolve I’m desperately clinging to. “You know that’s not what I’m asking.”

I want to say yes. Tides, I want to say yes.

But I shouldn’t. I can’t.

My breath catches. I swallow hard. “Your—your brother is looking for you.”

He blinks. Just once. Then the smile that lit his face dims, and he steps back.

I catch the flicker of hurt, mingled with disappointment, that flashes through his eyes. He gives me a curt nod before walking away.

Something pulls at my heart, sharp and insistent. My hand shoots out, fingers curling around his bicep.

“Wait! I—” His steely gaze rakes over me, and my breath catches. “I want to, Zev. Truly. It’s just … even with our marriage, the situation is tense between our kingdoms. Your family still doesn’t trust Tundrayn. I’m afraid. Of being hurt. Of hurting you. I just need more time.” I press his palm to my cheek, willing him to see the truth in my words.

His eyes soften, lips parting on a deep exhale. He nods once more, brushing a kiss to my forehead before striding away.

CHAPTER FORTY

ZEV DOESN’T COME TO bed that night.

Or the next night.

At first, I assume he’s angry with me, but on the third day, he arrives in the infirmary by early afternoon.

Sauzon quickly makes himself scarce.

“Hi,” I greet tentatively, twisting the sleeve of my gown.

He crosses the room in three long strides and pulls me into his embrace. I release a breath I didn’t know I was holding.

Relief floods through me, sharp and unexpected. The fear that I’d pushed him too far, that I’d ruined this fragile thing between us, had wrapped around me like a noose. But here he is—solid and warm. I melt into his arms, trying not to tremble.

“I’ve missed you,” he murmurs, drawing back to look at me. “Do you have time for a walk?”

Sunlight dapples the grass in shifting patterns as we wander through the gardens where we were wed. The air is crisp, leafy trees standing like sentinels around us, their branches heavy with golden leaves that rustle and drift.

“The Rebellion has waged three attacks in three days,” Zev tells me, his face drawn tight. “All on Arbinji bases.” He doesn’t say anything else, but the unspoken meaning is clear.

“Do you think Tundrayn is involved?”

“My father and brother do,” he admits, raking his teeth over his lower lip. “I’m not sure. Your father would be a fool to attack Arbinj while we have his daughter.”

I stiffen, footsteps faltering, and Zev quickly stops, stepping closer to cradle my face. “Hey. You know I’d burn down all of skiesdamned Arbinj to protect you, right?” A tender kiss brushed across my forehead. “But your father doesn’t know that.”

His words soften my heart, but still, my gut churns with worry. If the attacks are the work of the Rebellion, what will they do next? Attack the palace? Attack Tundrayn?

And if my father is involved, what does that mean for me?

“I don’t like being so far removed from what’s going on.” Bright yellow leaves crunch beneath my boots. “I want to attend council meetings with you.”

Zev winces, casting me an apologetic glance. “I swear by the Skies, Mayah, one day you’ll be beside me wherever I go.”

“But?” I prompt with a scowl. I try to unlace our fingers, but he refuses to relinquish his hold.

“But my father and brother already suspect Tundrayn’s hand in these attacks. And if they continue—which I’m certain they will—they’ll see you as a spy, feeding them information.”

I worry my lower lip between my teeth. Tides, he’s right. “What about your brother’s marriage to the Volcan princess?” I ask.

“Still up in the air. Their emissaries left weeks ago, but their queen still seems unwilling to ally with a kingdom plagued by Rebellion attacks.”

“I can’t blame them. Volca actually treats nonwielders fairly. Maybe if Arbinj and Tundrayn did the same, the Rebellion would leave us alone, too.”

“Maybe,” he murmurs. A shadow passes over his face. Zev is silent for the rest of our walk.

I snap Faerahzar shut with a stifled yawn—at last, finally finished. The thought of a young Zev curled on this very sofa beside his mother, rapt at tales of bravery, softens something in my heart.

I stretch, a wince tugging at me as the ache in my legs flares from the long day in the infirmary. My palms hover, glowing faintly, about to press healing warmth into the sore muscles, when the door opens and Zev steps into our chambers.

He stills, eyeing my glowing hands.

“What’s wrong?” he asks. His gaze is sharp, already scanning for injury.

I gesture to my legs. “I’m sore. From, um, standing.”

Tension seeps from his shoulders, and the corner of his mouth twitches. He tsks. “My poor baby healer. Can’t handle a bit of soreness?”

I roll my eyes, but the smile tugs at my lips anyway.

He disappears into the washroom. “Don’t waste your reserves,” he calls. “I’ll be right out.”

When he returns, a small bottle of oil glints in his hand. He sinks onto the sofa beside me and, without waiting for permission, draws my bare legs into his lap.

“Zev—” I start.

He uncorks the bottle with a soft pop. “Relax,” he says huskily, “Let me take care of you.”

Warm oil slicks his hands before they glide up my calves, thumbs pressing into the aching muscles with ease. A soft moan escapes before I can stop it.

“What are you doing?” My voice is already breathy—embarrassingly so.

“Easing your aches,” he says with a cocky smile, as though his hands aren’t undoing me with every stroke. “You don’t have to fix everything with your power. Some of our backwards methods are effective, too.”

He winks, and my heart forgets its job.

His fingers knead slow circles into my legs, working their way higher. Heat unfurls low in my belly. I try to stay focused, to stay rational, but it’s like trying to think through dense fog.

Be still, Mayah. Be strong. But my body isn’t listening.

“I don’t think your methods are backwards,” I manage. A sharp gasp slips free as he finds a particularly tight knot and presses into it.

His smirk is wicked. “No?” His hands slide up to my knees, his palms large and warm and unrelenting.

Higher.

Every inch he climbs feels like an unspoken question. And my silence is its own dangerous answer.

I swallow. “Any updates on the Rebellion?”

He hums, never slowing his movements. “They’ve taken more land on the Arbinj side.”

My brain barely registers the words. My world is narrowing—my thoughts a desperate chant: This is a mistake. This is dangerous. Keep control.

And yet, I don’t stop him.

His hands glide higher still, skimming the soft skin of my thighs, so close to the hem of my short nightgown, it makes my breath stutter.

“What about—what about Tundrayn,” I say, struggling to keep my voice steady. “My father—is he sending aid?”

“Two battalions to the border and a promise for another. Which was more than I expected.” He watches me closely as his fingers tease the lace at the edge of my gown. “I don’t think he wants to risk losing you.”

He says it casually, but a possessive edge sharpens his tone.

You’re not his to lose. You’re mine.

I clench my thighs, but he’s already there, massaging slowly, thoroughly, like he has nothing better to do.

“Any other aches I can help you with, wife?” His voice is velvet-wrapped sin.

I should say no. I should run. I should bolt to my feet and try to retain some of my dignity.

Instead, I stammer, “Let’s go to bed.”

He raises a brow. I flush. “To sleep! Just—to sleep.”

Zev’s chuckle chases me under the covers, but even in the dark, I lie awake for a long time.

Not thinking about the Rebellion or Tundrayn.

Not thinking about politics or my purpose here.

Only about the patient man beside me.

CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

S LICK, CALLOUSED HANDS GLIDING up my thighs.

Tantalizing silk caressing heated skin, sending pulses of need through me.

Insistent fingers hooking under lace, waiting, always waiting.

Dark, stormy eyes snare my gaze. Tender. Affectionate. Hopeful.

I never want to look at anything else.

Arched hips and a keening moan—permission granted.

The gentle slide of silk against oil-slicked skin, and finally, finally, I’m bared before him.

He doesn’t move, doesn’t breathe, doesn’t touch.

My thighs part on their own, the invitation he’s waited for, and—

Sleep leaves me in a disorienting, receding wave, lapping at the edges of my consciousness. I moan softly, struggling to grasp onto the blurry vestiges of my dream, trying to chase it—him—but it slips away like water through my fingers. I arch into nothing, clinging to a touch that isn’t real. So close, we had been so close. My thighs slide smoothly against each other, still slick with last night’s oil, but that’s not the only reason.

The throbbing ache between my legs is unbearable.

There’s a subtle movement behind me—I freeze.

Zev is still in bed.

Slowly, ever so slowly, I crane my neck to look at him.

Tides ravage me, body and soul.

My husband is lying on his stomach, his gorgeous head resting on his bicep. The blanket pools around his waist, leaving his tanned back bare for me to appreciate—the broad width of his shoulders, the ridged lines of contracted muscle. A myriad of scars crisscross his skin, some shallow and thin, others deep and jagged. My fingers itch to trace them, my heart desperate to know the story behind each one. His brow is smooth, blissful sleep chasing away any worries. Long lashes cast dark shadows across his prominent cheekbones, and Tides help me, I’m drowning.

My pulse quickens. I’ve slept beside this heartbreakingly handsome, chiseled man for months now.

And I’m aching for him—just like he wanted me to be.

Careful not to make even the whisper of a sound, I turn back.

I’m weak, Tides plunge me into your unforgiving depths, I’m weak.

My hand presses flat over my chest, as if that might steady the racing thrum of my heart. Slowly, my fingers inch down, over the full curve of my chest, lying flat over my belly.

Lower.

Lower.

The amount of gathered wetness is embarrassing.

I work my fingers, biting my lip to contain the soft sounds.

My back arches slightly, a whimpered moan escaping my lips, unbidden.

A prickle of awareness dances along my spine—the weight of a gaze, the stillness of held breath.

I freeze.

Zev doesn’t make a sound, but I just know.

My husband is awake.

Something shifts in the air. I still my hand, but it’s too late.

His voice is ragged, scraping against the silence like a struck match. “What are you doing, wife?”

What am I doing? Praying for the Tides to flood my veins with water and freeze it.

The mattress shifts as he inches closer. His breath is hot against my neck as he peers over my shoulder. A low growl rumbles in his throat.

He swallows hard. Then, he swallows again.

“Do you want me to leave?” Tension coils around every syllable.

“No,” I murmur. I flex my wrist, and his breath stutters.

A beat. A muttered curse.

“Then, do you want a hand, Mayah?”

I want to snort—he’s so corny.

But I’m burning with need, and it’s not enough.

It’s. Just. Not. Enough.

My heart’s pounding for all the wrong reasons—or maybe all the right ones. I’ve stopped caring which is which.

His large hand slowly splays over my abdomen. “Yes, Mayah?” he asks, his voice low and deep. His tongue curls around my name in a silken caress.

If I refuse him, I’m certain he’ll listen. He’ll leave and let me chase my release alone. He’ll tease me about it later, sure, but Zev is the type of man to respect my wishes.

A good man.

“Yes,” I breathe.

The air around us crackles.

“Tell me if you change your mind.”

And then his large hand covers mine.

Oh.

My.

Tides.

It’s embarrassing how quickly he unravels me with just his masterful fingers. I’ve barely settled back into my own skin when he rolls me onto my back, climbing atop me, setting hot kisses to my throat.

“Skies, I’ve dreamed of this,” he breathes, voice cracked with longing. “You—just like this.”

His eyes are dark, his lips, ravenous.

“I’ve been starving for you, Mayah. All these months. Right beside me, yet painfully out of my reach.” His teeth nip at my earlobe, his stubble rough against my cheek. “I need to taste you, baby. If that’s not what you want, you need to tell me to stop. Now.”

My eyes lock with his with a painful desperation, fingers curling in his dark hair.

“Don’t stop.”

That’s all the encouragement he needs.

Stubble scraping against ribs, a soft kiss pressed over my navel, tongue dipping inside just for a heartbeat, and then he’s—oh.

I forget who I am.

I forget why I’m here.

Zev. Zev. Only Zev. My Zev.

I can’t, I-I need, I’m going to—

The tide crests, and I go with it.

He doesn’t stop.

“No more, I can’t take any more, please,” I keen, thighs clenched around his head in a death grip.

“One more,” he growls into my flesh. “Give me one more.”

And I do.

I’m a boneless, melted heap of pure contentment when Zev crawls back up and gives me a slow, slick kiss that tastes like the sweetest sin.

“You have no idea the power you hold over me,” he murmurs against my lips. “You undo me, Mayah.”

He wraps me in his strong arms, nuzzling my neck and breathing in my scent.

He doesn’t ask for anything else.

But I want more. I want him.

And I’m tired of fighting it.