His hands raced over her body, cupped her breasts, pinched her nipples, plucked them. His hot, wet mouth closed over them and Tyriel sobbed out his name, reaching up, fisting her hands in his thick golden hair.
His teeth bit down on one nipple and she screamed, arching up. One hand cupped her, and one thick finger worked its way into the tight, slippery channel of her sex and she shuddered. His groan reverberated against her breast, sending another shudder through her body.
The fog clouding her brain was slowly, reluctantly lifting and she couldn’t keep herself from thinking.
She pushed at his shoulders. “Aryn?”
“Shh…”
His mouth covered hers again and he moved back up her body and gripped her thighs with his hands, pushing deep inside her body with one driving thrust. She moaned, closing over him in welcome as he surged forward, deeper and deeper until he was buried inside her to the hilt, the head of his cock resting against the mouth of her womb. She felt his fingers threading through her hair, his hands cupping the back of her head, magic whispering through the room, wild, and untamed.
“Aryn…ahh…all I’ve ever yearned…” She moaned against his mouth as he ate at hers hungrily, his tongue sweeping and tangling with hers, withdrawing so that he could nibble at her lower lip. Pushing his tongue back inside, past her lips and teeth, he greedily took in as much of her taste as he could and all around them, wild magic lit up the room in chaotic bursts.
Wild magic…
Tyriel moaned as he moved higher on her body, rubbing against the sensitized bud of her clit with each thrust of his hips. She reached down, dug her nails into the taut curve of his ass and pulled him more tightly against her, rocking her hips up, taking him as deeply as she could.
She felt the rasp of his cock inside her, raking her swollen, wet tissues, the rounded blunt head passing over the sweetly hidden area inside, and she whimpered, her head falling limply back.
Through the veil of her lashes, she stared up at him as he pushed up onto his hands, planting them beside her head, staring down at her with dark, hooded eyes of midnight-blue, golden hair falling like silk around his strong, broad shoulders, raining down his back. Her eyes trailed down his body, lingered over his chest, the sculpted form of his pectorals, gleaming with a fine sheen of sweat before moving down to the bunching and flexing of his belly as he thrust inside her.
Her breath caught inside her throat, staring down at it as he drove that long ruddy column of flesh back inside the wet well of her sex. A hungry, helpless whimper fell from her lips.
She reached up, clutching at his shoulders, her eyes staring raptly at their joined bodies, his cock gleaming with the liquid evidence of her desire as he pulled out, then slowly pushed back inside.
On the third slow thrust in, she climaxed with a strangled cry, the muscles in her vagina clamping down around his cock rhythmically, her hips jerking, her heart racing.
Magic broke open inside and flooded the room.
His cock jerked within the tight grasp of her pussy.
She felt the hot jet of his seed fill her as she started to drift back down.
It wasn’t until she was sliding back into sleep that something started to niggle at her mind.
Something wasn’t right.
There had been free magic before she climaxed.
Tyriel may lose control when she climaxed, but rarely. Now if she willingly dropped her control, that was another thing altogether.
And while the enchanter’s magic was slowly filling Aryn, it had not yet taken hold of him completely.
The magic had not been Aryn’s.
Irian…
You bloody bastard.
That was her waking thought as well.
She knew he was trying to protect her.
If the darkness looming at her mind didn’t frighten her so, she might have been angry. But even with that blackness looming around, Tyriel could not stay. Slowly, she sat up, wincing as muscles rarely used so vigorously went on vicious protest.
Behind her, Aryn slept on, deeply. Irian forcing his control over Aryn’s was no longer such an easy task and had drained both of them.
That, at least, would work in Tyriel’s favor.
She reached up and stroked the amber moonstone between her breasts. Her nipples grew tight in the cool morning air as she rose gingerly, still stroking the pendant.
It was time to go home.
She’d visit the cousins in Bentyl first, pay her respects there.
But then…home.
To Averne, where she belonged.
Dawn wasn’t even a thought when she slipped out of the room, looking over her shoulder at Aryn’s nude body sprawled across the sheets. He was inhumanly beautiful, more than even the elvin kin to her eyes. The muscled curve of his ass, the sleek lines of his back, his long golden hair hanging in a glorious tangle down his back and across his shoulder, one strand lying across the sharp edge of his cheek.
Damn you, Irian…what a memory to leave me with.
A hot, bitter wash of pain filled her chest and throat.
She turned away, closing the door in silence. The heels of her hard-soled elvish boots were soundless on the wooden floors as she moved down the hall and the stairs.
Tears burned her eyes and a lingering ache throbbed between her thighs, inside her cleft. Riding wasn’t going to be such a pleasant act today.
“Kilidare, you had best behave yourself,” she said aloud as she headed down the already busy streets. In her mind’s eyes, she could feel the mount’s interest, almost see his ears perk up.
And she never noticed the shadow moving up behind her.
Kilidare was worried.
His breed wasn’t horse.
His kind was far more intelligent than a mere horse. And even among his own kind, he was unique.
He could run like the wind, track like a hound, puzzle and reason like a primate, but he needed a focus.
He needed his mistress.
And when his mistress didn’t appear right away, he forgot his worry after a time and he started to wander yet again.
Elvish steeds were originally wild.
What separated the elvish steeds from their wild forebears were their masters. And his mistress had yet to return to him.
So he started to roam. But he remained near the city where she had told him to wait and he remembered.
Time passed, though. Their bond stretched ever thinner as he roamed the woods and plains of the area around the town of Ifteril.
She could still come. She would. She always did.
Chapter 14
Her eyes were swollen, battered.
Nearly impossible to open from the beating she had taken only hours before. An elf’s healing abilities made a human’s look laughable. Within three days, the marks from the beating would be all but gone. But it was draining.
The iron at her wrists, at her ankles, wrapped around her belly was sickening her. And the collar around her neck, a slave’s collar.
On a Princess.
The blood of a Royal, which she so rarely acknowledged, was so very, very enraged—the death of this man would be…painful. Painful. Slow. Bloody.
He had put a slave’s collar on an elvish Princess, the daughter of Wildling chieftains.
She stared blankly at the man in front of her.
Tainan.
Her mouth twisted in a snarl when he came through the door.