Fae King's Temptation (Court of Bones and Ash Book 1)

by Layla Harper

  Gray growls.

  “Oh, knock it off,” Kyra says softly, applying a dab of the poultice to a gash on the warg’s side. “It doesn’t sting, you big ball of fur. You’re all growl and bark, aren’t you?”

  I grin. My warg’s helpless whine is priceless.

  Gauron chuckles from where he lies bandaged beside her. “If I cry too, will you rub my belly, human?”

  Kyra scoops another glob of poultice and jabs it toward his nose playfully. “Don’t push your luck, orc.”

  Aelinor grasps my arm, drawing my attention back to her face before I can hear Gauron’s retort. “There is something about that human that doesn’t feel right. The mist responds to her command. It protects her. You and I witnessed this anomaly with our very eyes. And now your warg behaves like a lovesick pup.”

  “You are angry because he nearly bit your hand off.”

  “That warg has hated me since the day you smuggled him into my father’s castle.” She gives me an exaggerated sigh. “If he didn’t nip at my hand, I’d be worried. Don’t discount my warning, Rogar. I’ve never steered you wrong.”

  True. But I refuse to believe my mate is capable of such vileness. “You are reading too much into Gray’s reaction to Kyra. He scents my musk on her body. He will protect her as he protects me. It is what he has been trained to do. Nothing more.”

  “And the mist?”

  I shrug. “That I cannot explain. And I doubt she can either.”

  “Very well. And what of the Baobhan Sith? I have heard of three or four hunting together but thirteen in one place?”

  “These lands have long attracted those of us on the outskirts of fae society. The sith have no territory to call their own.”

  “This was no random encounter.”

  “What exactly are you implying now?” My patience grows thin. “That Kyra is in league with the vampires?”

  “The attack was premeditated. The sith were after you.”

  “Enough,” I bark. “I have had enough.”

  “And if you truly are the target, then someone tipped off the sith and divulged your location.” The words pop from her mouth rapidly, drowning out my previous command. “Only the four of us knew of the last-minute change to our itinerary to Lithyr.”

  “I will hear no more of this, Aelinor. Discussion terminated.”

  “As you wish, my lord.” She whirls on a heel and marches to the perimeter of our encampment, then lowers her body onto the log situated as far from Kyra and the fire as possible.

  I shake off the unease pinching my neck, but the damage is done. The doubt and apprehension Aelinor’s warning triggers settles in my gut like a boulder thrown into a tranquil pond. I do not want to believe what I have been told, but another truth darkens my reality.

  The goblins are brutal, cold-hearted killers who are swift on their feet. They can run nearly as fast as an orc. Kyra would never have stood a chance against four in pursuit.

  I ignore the ache in my chest and set off into the woods.

  * * *

  Hours later, after a meal of roasted hare and wild roots, we sit around the fire. Aelinor has gone off to collect more bog and moss to make another batch of poultice for Gauron’s wounds. He sits propped up on a bedroll between Kyra and me. Blood seeps through the makeshift bandages Aelinor had applied earlier.

  Frowning, Kyra holds a small bowl of water to his mouth. “I thought you guys had special healing properties.”

  Gauron snorts. “Special how, little warrior?”

  I bristle at the endearment, my fangs growing heavy in my gums.

  “You know what I mean.” Eyes stern, Kyra sets the bowl down, but a smile brews on her lips. “If you weren’t already hurting, I’d punch you right now.”

  He chortles. “You and twenty other females.”

  “I meant special as in your skin can magically knit itself together, like Gray, but now I’m thinking you’re another kind of special.”

  Gauron’s laughter has me grinding my teeth. Since when am I envious of him or his easygoing manner? I stoke the fire to keep from doing something stupid, like strangling my second.

  She pokes the side of his leg. “Well?”

  “Ouch.” He gingerly rubs the spot she jabbed.

  “Baby.”

  He winks. “I’ve been called that a time or two as well.”

  I want to throttle my best friend, throw my mate over a shoulder, and stomp off like a crazed animal. I bite back the urge and scan the perimeter of the encampment, scenting Gray nearby. After the attack, Kyra aided Aelinor and attended to Gauron’s care, much to my cousin’s chagrin. When we moved to a site farther east, Kyra walked beside Gauron’s horse while Aelinor and I ran ahead to ensure we were safe from another sith attack.

  Since then, a cordial friendship has sparked between the two—a platonic friendship that makes me see red regardless of what I know to be true. Gauron has no interest in my mate. That observation does nothing to appease the beast clamoring inside me to claim my female, right here, right now, before another male steals her from under my nose.

  Spirits help me, this bond will be the end of me yet.

  Kyra sits cross-legged, tracing shapes into the dirt with the tip of a twig. “You better start talking, orc man.”

  “Orc man? Now, now, little warrior. There is no need to get violent or say hurtful things. I will answer your question. If you ask nicely.”

  “Gauron.” My voice drips with barely controlled fury.

  His eyes widen and lower to the claws curling against my palm. He clears his throat. “Some fae do heal quickly.”

  I drop the stick I had used as a poker and take my seat beside Gauron, who throws a concerned glance my way before resuming his explanation.

  “As higher fae, elves regenerate rapidly. I, on the other hand, have no such luck as a half-orc with no knowledge of his heritage. I can tell you with complete certainty that I’m no elf. There’s probably a bit of lower fae in my ancestry, and maybe a drop or two of human blood since I heal about as slow as you. Even the warg has me beat. But who knows?” He shrugs and then winces, settling a hand on his bandaged abdomen. “All I can tell you is that I wasn’t blessed with the special properties my king possesses.” With a smirk, he hooks a thumb in my direction.

  Kyra’s gaze lands on my chest, then falls to my lap. She quickly looks away, but not before I catch the twinge of pink on her cheeks.

  Had she remembered me naked?

  The memory of our last night together by the fire, the feel of her luscious body sprawled over mine, inflames my desire. I want this female. I want her more than I have wanted anything in my life.

  “Um.” She avoids making eye contact, choosing instead to examine a gash on Gauron’s arm. My injuries have long since healed.

  “So how do you know you’re an orc, then? I mean, I know it sounds like a stupid question, but from where I’m sitting, there isn’t much difference between you, Rogar, and Aelinor.”

  “Ah, female.” Thinking of her reaction to my body thickens my voice. “Even I do not have the balls to talk about my cousin that way.”

  For a moment, Kyra’s expression freezes with uncertainty, but then she bursts out laughing. “Okay. That was pretty funny, your lordship. I’ll give you that.”

  I incline my head. “I cannot let you believe my second is the only male in this realm with a sense of humor.”

  “I’ll be sure to remember that, smarty pants.” Blue eyes sparkling, she bites the edge of her lip. Her smile widens and sucks the air from my lungs. “But seriously, how do you know what you are? On Earth, we categorize ourselves by race or ethnicity. Is it a territory thing here on Alfhemir?”

  “Perhaps it was at one time.”

  Gauron’s soft snore interrupts our conversation.

  Kyra rolls the blanket on his lap over his chest. “I was wondering when the tea would hit him. That’s some potent stuff Aelinor brews.”

  I stand and gesture to the other side of the encampment. “Come.
” I extend my hand out to her. “Gray patrols the boundary. We can speak freely from over there and give Gauron the solitude he needs to recuperate.”

  Her gaze latches onto mine, and I immediately recognize the lie in my suggestion. I am using my friend’s injury to get my mate alone.

  And she knows it.

  I rub the back of my neck. “I… perhaps you would prefer to—”

  “You’re right. He needs sleep. Besides, we’ll be close enough to monitor his condition.” She strolls to the spot I indicated and I accompany her, purposely falling back a step. The sway of her hips draws my eye to the swell of her ass molded by the fine leather pants she wears.

  “Here okay?”

  I glance up before she catches me ogling her rear. “Let me set down a blanket. The soil is damp.”

  She helps me spread one of the bedrolls positioned near the fire and then sits down. The fire’s warmth quells the chill in the air. I lower myself beside her. Stretching my legs out, I lean back and brace my weight with my palms. Although healed, my muscles are tight and sore from the effort it took to defend against the vampires.

  That thought has me scanning the woods. With Gray in our midst, we are safe.

  For now.

  But the attack set us back another day, and with Gauron’s injuries, the trek to Lithyr is indeterminable. What should have taken us two days might take us five. And each day we spend in this accursed forest, the hunt grows nearer, and the threat to our lives heightens—a course I am helpless to change.

  I have no one but myself to blame for our plight.

  My chest constricts.

  “This place is so strange,” Kyra says softly, staring into the fire. The silver veins of the lys trae cast an eerie reflection on the ground.

  This close, her scent consumes me, and the firelight flickering in her eyes is a snare I cannot escape. I no longer care about Aelinor’s warnings. I do not care about Kyra’s ties to the goblins, or her possible involvement in the sith attack. When I think about all the things I could be doing to her body instead, all my misgivings are drowned out by the force of my lust.

  I angle my knee to hide the bulge in my pants. “We have many such places. After the Reckoning, magic changed Alfhemir and the beings living within her borders. We are as much defined by what we are as where we live.”

  “I guess I can say the same about where I come from, except for the magic part.”

  “See? We are not so different after all.”

  “Maybe.” A smile quirks on her face. “But I wouldn’t go that far. I don’t double in size or grow fangs.”

  “Neither do we, initially. Orcs are bigger than most fae. Our size is one of the first indicators of our breed. We gain the ability to shift into our battle forms after puberty, and unlike our elven counterparts, we do not wield magic. For most orcs, the first shift is either a blessing or a curse. There are no full-blooded orcs left, or if there are, they have chosen to remain well hidden.”

  “I’m sorry. Aelinor told me about what happened to your people.”

  “We are not without blame.”

  “So all fae have a battle form, then?”

  “No, very few have this ability. Some have strength or immortality. Others, like the elves, command magic born of their lands, another side effect of the Reckoning.”

  Kyra pulls her legs into her chest and clasps her hands around her ankles. She rests her cheek on her knees and raises her eyes to mine, a pensive look on her face. “Is this why you refer to some kingdoms as winter or autumn?”

  I lose track of what she says next, lost in imagining the taste of her lips against mine. Does she know the power she holds over me? Does she have any idea what my enemies would do to discover such a weakness?

  “Rogar?”

  Huh? “What did you say?”

  She lowers her knees and folds her legs. “I asked if this is why you refer to some kingdoms as winter or autumn.”

  “Yes.” My gaze drops to her mouth again. “And it is the reason the Forest of Night begets darkness and magic.”

  “So”—her breathing shallows—“as a half-elf, are you immortal? Your wounds healed pretty fast.”

  The scent of her sweet arousal tantalizes my nose. I have trouble stringing one thought to another. “No.” Regeneration is the only ability I inherited from the mother I cannot remember. “I age slowly, but I can be killed.”

  Kyra turns her face to the fire and tucks a loose lock of her dark hair behind the small, round-tipped ear so unlike mine. I have the urge to flick my tongue over that delicate crown to see if she is as sensitive to touch there as I am.

  “Don’t let that happen.”

  I drag my attention from her cute ears. “Do not let what happen?”

  With her lip captured between her teeth, she tips her head.

  I am caught in the center of that cerulean beam, breath locked in my throat, my lungs unable to work.

  “Don’t die, Rogar.”

  My heart soars. She worries. For me.

  Shifting my weight onto my left side, I dip closer and raise my hand to her cheek, her skin so soft beneath my rough skin. “I will not.”

  “Not exactly a promise you can make.” She looks away. “No one ever means to disappear, but it happens all the same.”

  She is not talking about me.

  Blinking away the hurt in her eyes, she tries to pull away, but I hold her face between my hands.

  I lean forward until her breath brushes my skin, igniting the fire in my veins. “Do you know how beautiful you are?” I trace my thumb across the groove of her chin, wishing it were my tongue teasing her mouth instead. For two days I have thought of nothing else. For two days I have been tortured by her nearness. Her scent. Her essence.

  She captures my mouth, sucking my lip between hers. The world melts away. Nothing exists beyond the sensations assailing my body. Of Kyra’s mouth possessing mine. Without breaking the kiss, she crawls onto my lap and straddles my thighs. Her fingers thread through my hair, pulling me closer, her tiny nails digging into my scalp.

  With a groan, I praise the ancestors for blessing me with such a lusty mate, then slant my mouth over hers. The kiss deepens, growing harder and more desperate as she explores every inch of my mouth with a passion that rivals my own and leaves me breathless.

  Whimpering against my lips, she grinds her hips, rubbing her sex against my shaft. Ulda help me. It’s all I can do to keep my hands on her waist and not succumb to my primal urge. To give her control when all I want to do is throw her on the ground and rip her clothes off with my fangs.

  This female is a miracle I do not deserve. And now that I have tasted her sweet lips, how can I deny our bond?

  How will I ever let her go?

  Chapter Eighteen

  Kyra

  I can’t get close enough. Rogar is an amazing kisser. And his smell? God, it’s intoxicating. He’s like the most addictive drink—smooth, sweet, and perfectly balanced, yet the more I sip, the drunker I get. I’m so turned on, so lost in the heat of his hard body pressing against mine, that I can’t think straight. The weight of his hands on my waist holds me steady over his cock. Every grind of my hips against his hard-on has me on the brink of release.

  And his mouth?

  Possessive. Lethal. Devastating.

  He kisses me as if I’m the only woman who matters. The only thing standing between him and salvation. As if he’s tasting more than my mouth, more than my body, but delving deeper into my soul, reaching into all the lonely places I’ve tucked away inside me and tried to forget.

  It should scare the crap out of me. But the Kira undulating her hips over an orc’s cock is not the same Kyra who methodically plans every stage of her life. This Kyra is ruled by instinct, driven by an animalistic need directly tied to this male. A connection that turns my body into an inferno of raging need. I’ve never been with anyone like Rogar. I’ve never felt anything close to the sensations pumping through me. And although he’s hard as stone and bar
ely holding on to his control, he lets me set the pace.

  Which is sexy as hell.

  What would it take to shatter that iron-grip restraint? To push the mighty king to the brink of carnal insanity? I so want to find out.

  I break the kiss and drop my hands to his shoulders, my fingers fumbling with the ties of his tunic. There’s way too much fabric between us. I want to feel skin. I want to feel the warm press of heavy muscle against my breasts.

  The intense look in his eye has me practically orgasming on his lap. How can one man exude so much sex appeal with just one look?

  He lowers his head, his hot breath brushing the pulse point beneath my jaw. His tongue laps the spot. A moan escapes me and my head drops back, giving him access to my throat. When his mouth latches on, sucking the sensitive skin, my hands shoot through his hair, locking his mouth to my neck as I stroke his ears.

  His big body shudders beneath me, a growl rumbling against my throat. His ardent response spurs me to caress the pointy tip with the pad of my thumb. Rogar’s fingers dig into my waist.

  His ears are sensitive.

  I ride up against him. “I have the wicked urge to suck your ear.”

  Another shudder rips through him, which makes me want to unlock all of his erogenous zones and drive him wild with pleasure. I love the power I hold over this dominant male.

  His mouth finds mine again, and this time, he’s calling the shots. One calloused hand slides up my back, holding me in place while the other scorches a path to my breast. There’s an urgency to his touch. An urgency I match breath for breath. My sports bra falls away, and before I can question how, Rogar strokes my nipple in time to the thrusting of his tongue.

  My body takes over, moving to a rhythm he controls with every flick of his magic tongue or rub of his skilled hand.

  I’m yanking at his shirt, moaning into his mouth. Something cold and wet nudges the back of my neck.

  What?

  A soft bark precedes the rank breath blowing into our faces.

  We pull away. The haze of what nearly happened between us is slow to dissipate but quickly replaced by the shock of having a huge warg’s face inches from my mine.