Текст книги "The horde King of shadow"

Автор книги: Zoey Draven

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Chapter 17KLARA

Zaridan landed at the edge of a wide, glimmering lake in a hilly valley. Overhead, I heard Elthika. Wild Elthika, I realized, my heart giving an excited but alarmed jolt. When I looked up, I saw an entire horde of them flying overhead, passing us as they flew west.

“Where are they going?” I asked Sarkin, still in his arms as he guided us down Zaridan’s wing. I craned my head past him, if only to watch them a little while longer. They were beautiful. Beautiful and awe inspiring in their power.

“There’s some nesting grounds toward the western coast,” he told me. The ringing in my ears from the wind was slowly dissipating. That had been a pleasant ride, if only because there had been very little pain. And with Sarkin holding me, I’d felt surprisingly safe. I’d enjoyed it. I wondered if, with time, I would come to enjoy riding an Elthika.

I just had to get over this pesky rider burn first.

And the teeth-gritting ache and soreness in every muscle of my body. No wonder Sarkin and the rest of the riders were so well built. Riding an Elthika was deceptively difficult and required a level of physical strength and endurance that I wasn’t certain I’d ever be able to possess.

“Where are we?”

“The temple of Lishara,” he told me.

I frowned, looking around with curiosity and confusion. “I don’t see a temple.”

He set me down into the spongy, bright teal grass. It was long, brushing up toward my calves, and feathery light as it swayed in a gentle breeze. The lake was sparkling in the lowering sun. It hadn’t been a long journey, but it hadn’t been short either. I had no idea where we were. How far away we were from the horde, but I knew that my stomach was rumbling with hunger. It warred with my nerves, however, and eventually my nerves won out, quieting it.

I noticed that Zaridan was oddly still, though her ears were twitching. A dragon appeared overhead, a familiar one, and it circled until it landed behind us. Feranos, Sarkin’s commander, dismounted, nodding at us both as he approached.

Sarkin went to Zaridan, murmuring words I couldn’t understand in Karag, but then I watched as the Elthika stalked to the lake line, stepping within.

“Come,” Sarkin told me. The hairs at the nape of my neck rose, my flesh tingling. There was something here. I could sense it. It felt like…Bekkar and Arik’s sword. Deep below the palace in Dothik. That quiet humming of power and magic.

He led me to the edge of the lake before pulling me into the water until it lapped at my ankles.

“A mate bond’s blood,” Sarkin said softly, “with the blessing of their Elthika. That is what opens the temple. That is why you cannot see it. Yet.”

My brow furrowed when he pulled one of his daggers, my heart giving a mighty thump at the sight of it. Yet I watched as Sarkin cut his palm, black blood welling up. His hand dropped, and I watched the blood drip into the lake, blooming like an ink splatter on parchment over the still surface.

He went to Zaridan.

“What are you doing?” I breathed, watching him use his dagger to slide underneath one of her scales, one on her chest. Zaridan blew a sharp huff but otherwise didn’t move as Sarkin plucked out the scale, nearly as wide as his palm. Onyx black and thick.

“Elthikan magic was once the most powerful thing in existence,” Sarkin told me, holding the scale up to me. I saw a small drip of shimmering silver blood coating the edge. Elthika blood.

He tapped the scale, and the drop fell into the lake.

The blood seemed to create a larger ripple than was possible for something so light. There was a sensation of electricity in the air, as if a storm was coming. I could smell it. It felt like a humming, the land coming alive.

Like…heartstones.

Feranos’s Elthika stomped his forelimbs, his tail swinging, and yet his rider didn’t move. He watched us from his spot on shore, a decent enough distance away that I wondered if he could even hear us.

“Once, there was plenty of it,” Sarkin continued, approaching me. “It bled from everything in this land. You could smell it in the breeze, feel it pulse in the earth. But our ancestors—and their Elthika—became greedy. They used it to create technology beyond what we thought was possible, advancing our nation forward at lightning speed, using it to protect our borders and crush any enemies that thought to take it from us. They consumed too much without replenishing, and so that power slowly died.”

“The heartstones,” I realized. Behind him, Zaridan began her sy’asha, and I inhaled a sharp breath, hearing her beautiful song as the humming grew louder and louder, ripples coming from the center of the lake, as if…as if something was rising.

“The way the story is told, it’s said that the first Elthika, Mokag, cried tears of loneliness, wishing for a mate and a companion to share his long life with,” Sarkin told me. I met his eyes, drawn by the tale, hungry for it. “And from his tears grew trees. Thalara trees, laden with powerful heartstones at their roots. With the magic of those heartstones, Lishara came to be. The first female Elthika, Mokag’s mate.”

Understanding went through me.

“And this is her temple,” I said softly.

“Where she died,” Sarkin corrected me, his eyes briefly leaving my own to look out over the lake. “Where they died together. The temple was built much later, with the same technology that nearly wiped out our heartstones, but…you can still feel the Elthikan magic here. Only here, in a sacred place, on sacred ground, does it still thrive. You’ll see why.”

My heart was throbbing in my chest, beating itself against bone, but I wasn’t afraid.

He held out his hand, and I remember what he’d said. A mate bond’s blood. I gave him my palm, and he made the cut quick and clean with a slide of his dagger. My red blood spread into the veins of my palm, and I leaned down, pressing my hand into the lake, watching the blood drift around it like a red fog.

I huffed out a breath at the sight, a connection of a distant memory…and then rose.

The lake began to tremble at our feet.

“Sarkin,” I said, alarm going through me, stepping toward him. Zaridan’s sy’asha only grew louder and louder. The stomps of Feranos’s Elthika made a steady beat, like drums. Like music.

Something dark was rising out of the water, sending larger waves our way. The bottom hem of my dress was soaked. Soon, the lake lapped at my mid-calf.

With parted lips, I watched a stone structure rise from the lake. A single doorway.

An entrance, I thought. Thunderous booms echoed across the water, rippling out around the valley, hitting the tall mountains to the east and ricocheting it back. The sound of rushing water came next, sliding off the stone but also tumbling into the black mouth of the arched entrance, the inside pitch black, leading down into a hidden tunnel below the surface of the lake.

Carvings were etched into the stone. Of two Elthika—Mokag and Lishara, I knew.

Then it went quiet.

Sarkin’s warm hand went to the small of my back, and he walked me toward the entrance through the lake. The water never deepened, and I realized that there was a road, a pathway beneath our feet that led us straight to it.

I marveled that if we had flown by this lake, it would have looked like any of the others I’d seen. There was nothing from above that had marked it as otherworldly, and yet…

This had been created with the technology that Sarkin had spoken of? Or was this magic, in its simplest and purest of forms?

Perhaps they are one and the same, I thought.

Sarkin stepped through the mouth of the doorway first. I looked over my shoulder, at Zaridan, who was regarding us from the shores of the lake, a scale missing, revealing dark gray, unprotected flesh underneath. Her sacrifice. Feranos was walking toward us, intent to follow us into the temple.

“Klara,” Sarkin called. When I turned, I saw there were stairs and he was already halfway down them. “Come.”

I took a deep breath, then followed.

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Chapter 18SARKIN

Deep down below the lake lay Lishara’s temple. The stairs led to a small chamber, circular in size.

I led Klara down until we were both at the threshold of the room. Behind us, Feranos entered, but he would stay in the shadow of the stairwell, solely a witness to the short ceremony, if only so he could report to Elysom that we’d received Lishara’s blessing. He would not speak. He would not interfere.

Making a circle around the room were five carved stone pillars, each glowing with a heartstone, imbedded within. In the center of the pillars was a small pool of water. Each of the pillars had a single vertical line carved into them, leading from the ceiling of the chamber. Water from the lake trickled down there before running around the heartstone like a stream. The carved channel guided the water directly to the floor. There, five little rivers ran from the pillars to the pool of water, pouring within it at a steady rate.

As such, the small pool was infused with the power of all five heartstones. All five ancient heartstones—the arasykin, as the Karag called them. Once, this land had been riddled with them. Now these were some of the last in existence, and they would forever remain in this place. Any who had tried to steal them before had met a terrible end. A cursed end.

“Heartstones,” Klara said in awe, moving to the closest pillar, her lips parted. The bottom half of her dress was wet, clinging to her skin, and nearly transparent. I forced my eyes upward, coming to stand at her side as she gazed at it.

The blue, glowing light lit up her face beautifully, illuminating Muron’s mark and making her gray eyes sparkle like the iridescence of hatchling scales.

“I’ve never seen so many,” she said in awe, raising her hand, gingerly, as if afraid to touch it. “I hear their whispers.”

A chill went down my spine as I watched her. I could feel the pinch of magic here. It had always made me uncomfortable, as unused to it as I was. But all dragon riders of old had felt the bite of magic. It was only the newer generations that were unfamiliar with it.

Her fingers pressed into the face of the heartstone, water streaking off it, and a small stream ran down her arm. I watched closely and saw that the heartstone throbbed a bright blue, momentarily illuminating the entirety of the dark chamber, like the sun had filled it.

Klara gasped, and she tugged her hand away quickly.

“But these are different,” she breathed, meeting my eyes. They were troubled, unfocused.

“You can feel that?” I asked quietly.

“I can see it,” she said, shaking her head.

“These are ancient heartstones, the same heartstones that Mokag, the first Elthika, used for his beloved mate. We believe their power will never be depleted but never again will we see their equal. Not in our time. Not ever.”

“I think you’re right,” she said quietly, meeting my eyes. When I looked down to the ground, I saw that our blood, still a slow drip from our palms, had entered one of the streams at our feet. Zaridan’s scale was still hot in my hand. Within it, I swore I could feel her heartbeat. “Do you feel that?”

There was a palpable energy in the air. It infused this whole land, truthfully. It was what the old world would have felt like. A constant awareness. A constant presence of magic.

I wasn’t certain I would’ve liked it, had I lived in an earlier time, though I supposed I wouldn’t have known otherwise.

“Yes,” I replied, though I wondered if Klara could feel it more strongly than I could. There was no denying her connection with Elthikan magic. Some beings were more sensitive to it, a gift in and of itself.

Klara swayed, and I reached out to steady her.

“Take my hand,” I told her, and she gripped it without protest, the heat of our cut palms coming together. “This will be quick, and then we can leave.”

It should be quick, I amended silently.

For it was nearly impossible to judge what would happen next.

“We are here for Lishara’s blessing,” I told her, guiding her to the pool in the center of the stone-pillar circle. Here, the light was blue, all of the heartstones pointed toward this very place. It even felt warm, like the touch of the Elthika goddess herself. “But I must warn you, her blessing can be unpredictable.”

“What do you mean?” Klara asked, her eyes going to the basin of water at our feet and Zaridan’s scale in my hand. “We drink that?”

I inclined my head. “Scholars from Elysom have their different theories. They believe Lishara blesses a mate bonding with what they need, not what they want. Sometimes it is a gift of patience. Other times, a gift of…fertility.”

“That’s…that’s fascinating,” she whispered, eyes wide before they turned to the pool, assessing it in a different manner, her brow furrowing, her mouth pinched. Had that been her expression in her precious archives, surrounded by her mountains of tomes and scrolls?

Klara the Curious, I thought, feeling a surprising pinch of affection for her.

“Has anything bad ever happened?” she wondered next.

“A few times,” I told her.

“Like what?”

“If Lishara does not approve of the mate bonding, she sickens the pair with the water,” I told her.

“Oh,” Klara whispered. “So there’s a chance that she might not approve of us?”

“Yes,” I told her.

“Let’s find out, then,” she said, turning her eyes up to meet mine. “Lysi?”

I knew that word meant yes in her old Dakkari language. I felt my lips tug up, but I fought to keep my expression neutral.

“Lysi,” I said softly, crouching to scoop up some of the water in the sacred pool, using the curve of Zaridan’s scale like a shallow bowl.

When I rose, I saw that Klara’s eyes were on the water between us, watching as the remnants of Zari’s blood mixed within. She would be part of Klara now, no matter the outcome of this.

“Whatever the blessing is, aralye,” I began, seeing her eyelashes flutter as her eyes flicked up to me, “do not fight it. Whatever she gives us, we must see through.”

She nodded. The chamber felt like it was one giant heartbeat, throbbing in time with mine, with Klara’s. The energy and heat of the heartstones was a distraction, the magic trailing up my skin like a touch, weaving into my lungs with every breath I took.

I brought the scale up to my lips first, holding her gaze as I took the first drink. The water was pure and crisp, icy cold. I held it out for Klara. After a slow inhale, she nodded, as if to herself, and her lips met the edge of Zaridan’s scale. I slowly tipped it back until she drank the remainder, then I threw Zaridan’s scale into the pool. The final offering.

We waited. And waited. I could hear when Feranos shifted on his feet in the darkness of the stairwell, ever patient.

“I—I don’t feel anything,” she said finally, frowning. “Do you think it worked?”

Then the air in the temple seemed to heat, like a fire had been lit.

No, not in the temple, I realized a moment later. In me.

At first, as heat seared me, I thought that perhaps Lishara had rejected our mate bonding. Perhaps she had rejected us and given us sickness instead, a fire raging through us as punishment.

Only, as my heartbeat began to throb in my throat and Klara’s cheeks went flushed, a wildness in her eyes as she slowly started to realize what was happening too…I knew it wasn’t sickness.

Lishara had given us a blessing.

Only…it was one of desire.

I stumbled over to one of the pillars, pressing my hands against it as lust and need ripped through my body, otherworldly and oppressive. I nearly bellowed with it. I breathed deep and ragged, resting my forehead against the cool stone. Its touch felt good, though it did nothing to help calm the storm within me.

Dammit, I cursed silently. This wasn’t meant to happen. This was—nearly—the last thing I had ever expected.

I could smell Klara. I could smell her tantalizing and lush arousal bloom within the small chamber, mingled with the cool, earthy dampness of the temple. It was dizzying.

Fuck. I hated magic. Detested it because it only proved how out of control one could be in their own destiny.

My earlier words came back to haunt me. Whatever the blessing is, aralye, do not fight it. Whatever she gives us, we must see through.

“Sarkin,” came Klara’s gasp, more of a mew. A plea.

And fuck me, it was needy and full of want. My cock thickened in such a rush it was almost painful. Every throb of my heart, every breath I took of her arousal burned in my belly. Blood rushed, pounding in my ears until it was all I could hear.

“Feranos,” I growled. “Leave us! Now!”

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Chapter 19KLARA

What is happening? I thought, feeling my core throb and heat as want and desire rode me hard.

I heard Feranos’s quick retreat from the stairwell and knew that Sarkin and I were alone in Lishara’s temple.

“Sarkin,” I cried as a wave of punishing lust rippled through my body, leaving my knees shaky and me panting. The trigger had flipped in me so quickly it was frightening.

Elthikan magic was once the most powerful thing in existence, Sarkin had told me.

I felt it now. I believed it. Only I hadn’t expected to feel it in this way.

I heard a growl, dark and rumbling. It sounded animalistic, like it rumbled from Zaridan instead of the Sarrothian male who, I realized, was now my husband.

My mate.

For a lifetime. Because nothing would break these bonds now—only death.

The thought should’ve sobered me, but all I felt was pulsing anticipation as I watched Sarkin stalk toward me. I felt every step reverberate in my chest, even as fear stabbed inside like a dagger.

I felt the heat of his body before he ever touched me, and I nearly cried out in relief when he did.

His hands slid over my body, and I arched into him shamelessly, like I was a puppet and he was controlling my strings. I had no experience with males…not like this, though I’d devoured the erotic books in the archives. There was a whole tome written about sex and how it celebrated our goddess Kakkari. There were instructions inside, sketches and drawings, and I’d brought it home too many times to count in my endless curiosity, feeling an exciting thrill every time as I’d pored over the delicate pages.

He was my husband now. I figured I might as well explore this new, enticing sensation with someone. And since he’d demanded it be no one else, it would be him.

Underneath his ceremonial vest, I knew there was endless bronzed skin, hot and carefully crafted and forged like a weapon. I nearly whimpered, my fingers going to his vest, wanting to see it. Needing to. I imagined digging my nails into him, liking the idea of marking him. Mine.

“Aralye, listen to me,” he rasped. His hands came into my hair, and I swore I could feel his touch in every last strand. My scalp tingled, then my neck, a whole body shiver racking its way down my body until it vibrated between my legs.

I squeezed them together. “Is this…is this normal?”

“We can fight this,” he told me. The words seemed plucked from him, harsh and guttural.

“Gods, no!” I thought, a scream in my mind, only it took me a moment to realize I’d cried it out loud. The room echoed with it. The damp, stone walls of Lishara’s chamber seemed to pulse like it was a living thing. The heartstones glowed brighter until everything was cast in a soft, ethereal blue. “Don’t ask me to. Please. I can’t.”

“You’ll hate me for this,” he argued. “After.”

I was shaking my head, desperation nearly making a sob rise in my throat. “I won’t. I promise,” I pleaded. “Touch me. Gods, Sarkin, please!”

Sweet relief burst inside me when his hands slid from my hair down my neck, his thumbs brushing over the thunderous pulse of my neck. One moved up to rub against my bottom lip, and my tongue darted out, catching the edge of his warm skin, eliciting a low, rumbling groan from him. Heat flooded between my thighs, the dress I was wearing felt so heavy, it was suffocating. The texture across my skin was becoming unbearable. It scratched and raked against me.

Too sensitive, I thought. Need it off.

I gritted my teeth when Sarkin dragged his hand down the length of my side, and I gasped, arching into the stroke of his touch across my breast. When had they ever felt so sensitive? I thought I might be able to come just from him petting them.

“Fuck,” he hissed, feeling my nipples pebble against the material. His thumb dipped on the underside of one, thrumming it upward, and my legs shook. I was wound up so tight, too tight. His head dipped, and my eyelids fluttered close, a shiver racing up my spine when he rasped into my ear, “I can’t decide if I should try to have at least some restraint with you. But I fear it’s too late for that, princess.”

“I’m firmly against restraint at this point,” I gasped out.

I heard his whispered curse in my ear. He spoke something in Karag, something I couldn’t understand. Then I felt the bite of his teeth on the sensitive flesh. My hands flew to his shoulders, just as his felt like they were everywhere. All at once.

“Lysi,” I cried, the word echoing around the chamber. Yes in Dakkari. “Hanniva.”

Please.

“You’re going to make me come with those sweet little words, aralye,” he hissed. “Say it again. Beg me again.”

“Hanniva,” I whimpered. “Hanniva, rei kassi.”

Please, my mate.

I felt something unleash within him at the words, which I knew he understood. This was what I’d never experienced before. Had I ever thought I would beg a lover to touch me? Had I ever thought to hear Sarkin rasp those naughty words across my skin?

No. And yet it felt natural between us. There was no shame in this. Only want.

His hands flashed to the straps of my dress, and he snapped the thin, delicate chains with little effort.

“I have thought only about doing that since I first saw you in this damned dress,” he grated.

He tore at the dress, but luckily whatever material it was crafted from—and I strongly suspected they were a kind of dragon scale—it was durable and strong. He didn’t rip it in his ferocity, but he did pull it off quickly, tugging it over my hips with a swift jerk. It pooled at my feet, leaving me naked and exposed.

Sarkin’s nostrils flared, those dark eyes skimming over every inch of me. He went behind me, his hand drifting across my waist. I heard his whispered curse, coupled with a soft groan. I sighed when I felt his hands stroke down my bare back and then bit my lip when they cupped my rounded backside, when they squeezed in appreciation.

“Perfect, aralye,” he murmured into my ear, pulling me back against him. Against my lower back, I felt the unmistakable outline of his cock, hard like Dakkari steel and impossibly hot, even through his trews.

The heat between my thighs was growing unbearable as impatience nipped at my spine. Sarkin seemed to feel it too because his touch grew even more possessive, his fingers digging into my hips hard as he brought me back to rock against his cock.

Against my back, I could feel his heart. It matched my own thunderous beat.

He spun me around, and the intensity in his gaze was nearly a glare. His motions were quick and purposeful, his hands beginning to tug and untie the laces of his trews.

“Get my vest off,” he growled. “Need to feel you against me.”

My fingers flew to the silver catches, but my hands were shaking in my need. I only got two undone by the time Sarkin kicked off his boots and pants. He was silent as he ripped at the material, the silver clasps flying across the stone. My hands were on his chest before he even shrugged off his vest, fingers digging into the solid, warm muscles of his pectoral. I brushed them over his hardened, flat, dark nipples, eliciting a sharp inhale from him.

Then my hands were everywhere, roaming, exploring. My inner thighs were still wrapped, but the tops of the bandages were getting soaked with my need.

I moaned when I felt his fingers brush my sex. It was like a zap of lightning went through me, and I nearly drew his blood when my fingernails dug into his skin.

“Fuck. You’re dripping for me, Klara.”

I couldn’t say anything but “Yes. More!”

My hips rocked against him as he touched me. My face lifted, wanting to feel him everywhere. His eyes were watchful though wild. If I didn’t know any better, I would say he even looked furious in his intensity.

“That feels so good,” I moaned, drunk on his gaze.

Sarkin’s gaze flicked to my lips. Just as his thumb brushed over my sensitive clit, making me jump and gasp, he took advantage. His head lowered and he captured my lips in a fierce kiss.

His lips were soft and warm. My head spun. I breathed into him, feeling his tongue stroke against my own, a deep groan building in the back of his throat. His hard cock was pressed against my soft belly, his hand between my legs, playing and strumming me like an instrument, and I felt thoroughly claimed by his kiss.

My knees gave out, but he caught me, holding me up with little effort, and before I knew it, I was up in his arms. His lips never left my own though I felt the loss of his touch between my thighs.

When my back met stone, I realized he had me propped up against one of the heartstone pillars. The trickle of lake water ran over my body, little tendrils that felt like faint touches, stroking over me. A stream spilled over my shoulder and ran over my nipple, making me squirm against Sarkin.

He released my lips, biting his way down my jaw and over my throat. He sucked and kissed me there, and a shiver raced up my spine, the chamber spinning. How could I be so incredibly sensitive there?

I was loud, crying out uncontrollably from his wild kiss, one of my hands gripping his shoulder and the other diving into his thick, wavy hair, the strands silky and surprisingly soft.

I want to feel it tickle between my thighs, came the wanton thought, and even more arousal dripped from me. There had been a salacious image in my book of just that. I’d been curious ever since about what that must feel like.

His lips trailed down my neck and went straight for one of my nipples, sucking on it hard, making my back arch off the pillar. He lapped at the heartstone water that skimmed off my nipple, his tongue darting out to flick the sensitive peak. Around the room, I could hear the whispers, the beat and pulse of them growing louder and louder.

It might have been Lishara’s presence here…or it might’ve been Kakkari’s.

Maybe they are one and the same, I thought.

“Gods,” I breathed, my brow furrowing, looking down at Sarkin with a half-lidded gaze. I wasn’t scared or frightened of what would come next. I didn’t care if there was pain. All I knew was that I needed him inside me. I needed to feel him, hard and possessive and wild, joined with me in the most primal of ways. “Hanniva!”

I felt the press of his cock between my legs, the slick head brushing over my entrance.

“Wrap your legs around me. Tight,” he growled, his voice dark and deep, nearly unrecognizable in his lust. His hands came to my waist, hitching me up and holding me securely as my legs wound around his hips, my ankles locking around his back.

I was shamelessly exposed, and when I looked between us, I saw his cock. My lips parted, the first pinprick of doubt going through me, wondering if we would fit. A moment later, I realized it didn’t matter. We needed to, or I would die from this agony, this “blessing.”

The head was bulbous and slick. With parted lips, I saw a bead of shimmering pre-come push from the slit at the tip, and I nearly whimpered as it rolled down the side. His shaft was impossibly thick, but it was the heat that radiated off him that surprised me the most.

Just like full-blooded Dakkari males, I saw his dakke. The swelled bump above the root of his cock. I wondered how that would feel when we were joined, pressed and pulsing against my clit.

“Sarkin,” came my needy voice.

“Is this what you want, aralye?” he rasped, running his slick tip over my clit.

Stars burst in my vision, the back of my head hitting the pillar, my neck exposed. I felt his mouth go to my nipples, and when there was a telltale flutter between my legs, I thought, panicked, I’m going to come.

“Yes!”

I felt the burning sear of him as he pressed into me, my eyes flying open at the sudden pinch.

How will he ever fit? I lamented.

“Tight,” he said in a low tone. “Too tight.”

“Don’t stop,” I begged when I felt him retreat. “No!”

“Believe me, princess, there is no threat of that ever happening now,” he grated. The muscles in the column of his throat were stretched tight, his jaw gritted, his body shaking with the needful energy I sensed just under the surface. Untapped. Waiting to be unleashed.

I gasped, feeling him push back inside.

Too much, too much, I thought silently, feeling when he met the burning resistance of my inner muscles.

He retreated again.

“You’ll have to take me, Klara,” he rasped, looking into my eyes, one of his hands lifting to grip the back of my neck.

His lips pressed against mine, and I kissed him back eagerly, becoming addicted to his taste and the sweep of his tongue. The back of my throat tingled with the sweetness of it.

“I’m sorry,” he breathed into me.

With that, he pumped his hips once, hard and swift, until he was seated fully and deeply inside.

I tensed around him, but my need drowned out the retreating pain. Lishara’s blessing had softened the edges of pain already—I hardly felt my rider’s burn or the ache and pull of my muscles. Nothing else mattered except this. Us. Right in this moment. I would handle the consequences later.

Sarkin’s groan reverberated into my chest, as closely as we were pressed together. I’d hardly dragged in a deep breath before he pulled back…thrusting even more deeply again. His dakke pressed against my sensitive clit, and I gasped. I could feel the pulse of his heartbeat there, the sensation indescribably intimate.

My teeth chattered together, feeling only a brief bloom of pain that slowly melted into heat, spreading between my legs. I felt so full of him. That strength and unleashed power between my legs felt incredible.

And when he unleashed it? When a warning growl ricocheted up his throat, momentarily drowning out the whispers I heard in the chamber and I felt his pace begin to quicken between my thighs?