A Kingdom of Flesh and Fire: A Blood and Ash Novel

by Jennifer L. Armentrout

  Those eyes blazed like heated honey, beautiful and consuming. Neither of us spoke as his chest rose and fell, his breaths as rapid as mine. His muscles were rigid as he held himself in check. I knew that was what he was doing, because I was still connected to him, open to him for longer than I had ever been open to anyone, and I no longer felt the gnawing hunger. What I felt was rich and smoky, and nearly as intense. My breath hitched, and I burned even more.

  His lips parted, and the tips of his fangs appeared. The bite tingled so sharply that a shivery wave crashed through me, causing my thighs to squeeze, and my hips to twitch.

  Casteel’s eyes closed as he drew in a ragged breath. “Poppy…” There was a wealth of need in that one word, in my name. I trembled. Then his eyes opened again, and they were nearly luminous. “You’ve already given so much of yourself, done so much for me,” he said, and I thought he spoke of more than just my blood. His mouth lowered, and the anticipation swelled. He stopped mere inches from my mouth as his hand curved around my hip. “Let me do this for you. Let me take away the ache.”

  My heart clamored even as my entire body went tight. I needed to say no. There were a hundred different reasons for that. But that wasn’t what came out of my mouth in a husky voice that was not mine. “But what about your ache?”

  A fine tremor coursed through him. “This isn’t about me.” His hand drifted over my stomach, to where my skin was bared at the left hip. “Let me thank you the only way I can right now. Let me show you my gratitude.”

  I could barely breathe or think. I pulled my senses back, thinking that would help clear my mind, but my desire still beat at me, in tune with my unsteady heart. And I realized that I was still the fire. I still wanted, right or wrong, just like I had this morning, which felt like an eternity ago.

  I was vaguely aware of my head moving in a nod, and then Casteel’s chin dipped, and his lips grazed mine. He turned me onto my side, away from him, as he stretched out behind me. Confused, I looked over my shoulder at him as he shifted onto his elbow and met my gaze.

  “You’re so brave,” he murmured, tugging me into the cradle of his hips. The robe had slipped, and there was nothing but his breeches between the curve of my rear and the hard length of him now. I bit down on my lip as he skimmed his hand down my thigh, lifting my leg up, just enough for one of his to slide between mine.

  He drew his hand up my side, over my arm, and then moved back down. “And strong.”

  The robe slipped more, seeming to follow his hand. I looked to see that the material had parted even more, exposing one breast. Warmth suffused my cheeks when I saw the evidence of my desire in the turgid peak. His hand closed over my breast, drawing a gasp from me as his thumb swirled over the nub. My back arched into the touch, into him.

  “So generous,” he rasped, sliding his hand down lower, below my navel and over my bare hip then lower still. His fingers met the wetness gathering there, and then he cupped me. His touch was like a brand as he idly drew one finger over the very center of me in light, playful strokes that caused my entire body to twitch. He continued with those featherlight touches until I thought I would stretch beyond my skin, that I surely would ignite, and then he sank a finger inside me. My head kicked back against his chest as a breathy sound escaped me. “So fucking beautiful,” he gritted out, withdrawing his finger until he was almost free of my body and then inching it back in.

  He angled his hand so his thumb danced over the sensitive bundle of nerves as he continued to stroke with that long, talented finger of his, pumping it slowly in and out, taking more and more of my breath with each thrust of his digit. He worked his other arm around me, folding it across my chest. He palmed the too-tight breast as he worked in a second finger, stretching me, feeding the fire even more.

  I cried out, pressing against his hand, against him. His breath came in rough bursts as I turned my head to see him watching his hands, watching me lift and grind against it. I slipped into the balmy sensation, falling maddeningly into it. Reality fell away. I hadn’t been the captive. He hadn’t been the captor. We weren’t partners in an agreement, each using the other. It was just us, his skilled fingers and hands, the warmth of his arms, the glorious tightening within me, and when he trembled, cursing as I rode his hand, rode the hard length that pressed against me from behind. It was all those things, and the sudden thrill of power and control.

  He started to angle his body so there was space between us, but I’d given in to the fire. I reached back, curled my fingers around his hip, and dug in my nails in a silent demand.

  Casteel obeyed.

  He submitted with another curse and a brief, hot pass of his lips across the curve of mine as his fingers plunged harder, deeper. I rocked against him, and there was no rhythm as we both moved and strained. The curl low in my stomach spun and spun—

  “Poppy, I—” He broke off as I placed my other hand over his, holding him to me as I worked him.

  And it happened—the tightening and curling, all of it unraveled, stroking out through every limb. I moaned as release powered through me, as I shuddered around his fingers, and he shuddered against me, still moving those damn digits of his and eliciting every whipping wave of sensation he could until my hands fell away from him, and I went limp. Until his breathing steadied against my cheek. Then, slowly, he eased out of me.

  His hand didn’t move far though, instead gliding up and stopping just below my navel. He tugged the halves of my robe closed with his other hand, holding it in place just below my breasts. There was something about the act that seemed…gentle.

  Slowly, I became aware of a dampness against my lower back and the upper swells of my behind. I tipped my head back and to the side.

  His head rested on the pillow behind mine, his features relaxed in a way that I’d only seen when he slept. Those eyes of his were heavy and hooded as his gaze met mine.

  And then the strangest thing occurred. Pink crept into his cheeks as he shifted his hips away from me. “Sorry,” he said thickly, a boyish grin appearing on his lips. “That wasn’t supposed to happen.”

  I looked down. There was a spot along the front of his pants that was a darker black. Damp. My cheeks colored as my gaze flew to his.

  “That hasn’t happened since…” The grin turned sheepish, and between that and the faint blush staining his cheeks, it was like seeing someone totally different. “Well, that’s never happened before.”

  “Really?” I asked, surprised by the throatiness of my voice.

  “Really.” His gaze searched mine. “I didn’t want—I mean, of course, I wanted that. I wanted more. I always want more when it comes to you.” The hue of his eyes brightened once more, and my toes curled. “But I wanted it to be about you.”

  Gods, there was also something so tender about the way he said that. “It was about me. You tried to put space between us.” I turned my head away, my gaze falling to his hands. “I’m the one who didn’t allow that.”

  “And I liked that.” A pause. “A lot. Obviously.”

  My lips twitched.

  “Who knew you could be so demanding,” he continued, and I rolled my eyes. “I also liked that. Obviously.”

  I grinned.

  His exhale was soft, tickling the back of my neck. “What you did for me? Offering to feed me? I know that had to be scary.”

  It wasn’t. Not really.

  “And I just want you to know that I…” He cleared his throat. “There really aren’t words, other than thank you.”

  I stared at his fingers and the tendons of his hands, searching for some hint of regret or shame. I was sure the embarrassment would come later when I saw Kieran, but I didn’t regret offering my blood to Casteel. And like before, I didn’t wish that what happened afterward hadn’t. It didn’t feel shameful or wrong. It had felt natural, as if some inherent knowledge said that it was common for that level of intimacy to come from feeding. To give way to more. That if I’d grown up in Atlantia, that if he and I were different people, w
hat we’d shared afterward would be common. Once again, it felt like…like the ground we held had changed and shifted under us.

  “You don’t need to thank me.” I closed my eyes. “It was my choice.”

  Casteel eased his arm out from under me, and the bed shifted as his weight left it. A languid warmth settled over me as I watched him make his way to where his bag lay at the foot of the bed. He pulled something out and then disappeared into the bathing chamber, closing the door behind him. I heard the faint sounds of fresh water from pitchers being emptied into the basin. Water splashed, and I wondered how he was able to withstand the coldness of it.

  I wiggled my toes against the blanket bunched at the foot of the bed, thinking I should rise or at least pull the blanket up, but I was too comfortable to make the effort. My eyes drifted shut, reopening when I heard the door open. Casteel strode out, wearing only those loose cotton pants that hung indecently low on his hips. I shouldn’t look, and I definitely shouldn’t stare, but I soaked in the sight of the lean, coiled muscles of his abdomen and the defined lines of his chest and shoulders. His form was evidence of years spent wielding a sword and using his body as a weapon, but to look like him…

  It should be forbidden.

  Casteel caught my gaze, and his full lips curved. The dimple in his right cheek appeared.

  And then the left one.

  “I like that,” Casteel said.

  “What?”

  “You looking at me.”

  I watched him toss the rolled-up pair of breeches into his bag. “I’m not looking at you.”

  “My mistake, then,” he murmured, the dimple in his right cheek remained. He straightened, and the muscles along his spine did interesting, fascinating things.

  I waited for him to tease me about what we’d done, for him to point out that yet again, and twice in one day, I’d proven myself wrong when it came to him.

  The teasing never came.

  He disappeared from my line of sight, and I somehow managed to not turn and watch him. A handful of moments passed, and then the bed dipped under his weight once more. Surprise whispered through me. I should’ve known the moment I saw him in those pants that he wasn’t leaving the room, but I guessed I hadn’t expected him to stay. It was so early in the day, barely noon.

  Reaching down, Casteel grabbed the blanket and tugged it up over me—over us—and then he snuggled in behind me like he had before.

  Silence stretched, filling the room, and then he said, “Can I…can I just hold you?” he asked, and I’d never heard him sound so uncertain. “There are things I should be doing, and I know we’re not in public, and I know that what we shared doesn’t change anything, but…can I…can we just pretend?”

  My heart thumped heavily again, and I didn’t know if it was the effect of the feeding or what we’d done afterward. Or if it was the softness of his request, the vulnerability in it, and the feeling that things had shifted even more between us. It could’ve been all of those things that led me to say, “You can.”

  Casteel’s exhale was ragged, but he didn’t move. When I looked over my shoulder, his eyes were closed, his lips parted. I wondered if he was all right. “Casteel?”

  Thick lashes swept up, revealing extraordinarily bright amber eyes. “I…I didn’t think you’d let me.”

  Lying my head back down, I wet my lips. “Should I have not?”

  “Yes? No? I don’t know.” Casteel moved then, slipping one arm under me and the other around me. He tugged me close, sealing my back to his chest. “No takebacks now, though.”

  I allowed myself a small smile as I sank into his embrace, his warmth. And I permitted myself one other thing.

  I let myself enjoy it.

  Chapter 27

  Pulling one of Casteel’s clean tunics over my head, I looked down at myself and sighed. Between the too loose breeches and the oversized shirt, which nearly reached my knees, I looked a bit ridiculous. But the plain black shirt was far better than the too-heavy sweater.

  We hadn’t dozed that long, maybe a little over an hour before I woke to find him propped up on his elbow, watching me. When I asked what he was doing, he simply responded with, “Enjoying the scenery.”

  I’d blushed a thousand shades of red, and he’d smiled before lowering his head and brushing his lips over my forehead. Then he’d said that he had an idea, and that was how I ended up in the baggy breeches and one of his shirts.

  Glancing at the oval mirror before leaving the bathing chamber, I caught sight of the side of my neck. The patch of skin around the two red puncture wounds was faintly pink. I touched the skin, finding the area tender but not painful. When I left the bed, I’d noted that the shadows under Casteel’s eyes were gone, as was the sharpness to his features. It was amazing how quickly my blood had affected him.

  It was also amazing how his bite had affected me.

  The moment his mouth had closed over my skin and the initial pain of his bite vanished, it was like tumbling into a world where the only thing that mattered was him and the feel of him drawing a piece of me deep inside him. What Kieran had shared with me before about heartmates hadn’t mattered. The realization that Casteel had possibly kept the truth of Spessa’s End from me because he either feared I would share what I knew if captured or he hadn’t trusted me with the information until I was far enough outside the Ascended’s reach was no longer a concern. Neither was the shock of learning about the Joining. There had been no shame over being trapped between Kieran and Casteel as Kieran had been all but pinned to the wall by Casteel’s need. I’d become a flame, and none of that had mattered.

  But now?

  Now, there was embarrassment when I thought of Kieran—the wolven who must have known about the tradition. Something Casteel had never told me about because it hadn’t been relevant for him to do so. The marriage was temporary. An act that I wasn’t sure was as innocent as Casteel made it out to be—at least not most of the time. But I didn’t feel shame for what Kieran had witnessed. I didn’t know if I was supposed to, but it didn’t feel like something to be ashamed of. My reaction to Casteel was natural, and even if what came afterward when Casteel expressed his gratitude was foolishly reckless when it came to my heart, it had also felt right.

  Flushing at Casteel’s apparent lack of control, I scooped my hair out from the tunic’s collar, leaving it down. He’d said that had never happened before, and I couldn’t fathom why he’d lie about that. The fact that it’d happened with me was inconceivable, but there was an odd sense of power there, too, one as old as time itself. The kind of power that I imagined Miss Willa and the women at the Red Pearl, the ones who worked there and were patrons of the establishment, had mastered.

  Hearing Casteel’s footsteps in the bedchamber, I tore my gaze from the mirror and slid open the pocket door.

  Casteel had managed to change his clothing. Somewhat. He’d donned his breeches and boots, but the white tunic still dangled from his fingertips. Something about the hard lines of his chest and stomach were utterly fascinating, but my earlier boldness had left me.

  “So, about my idea,” he said, lifting the shirt over his head.

  “I’m half afraid to ask.” I moved to the terrace doors. He’d opened one after we woke. Warm sunlight spilled across the tile floor.

  His laugh was muffled as the shirt slipped over his head. “I’m wounded.”

  With his back to me, I grinned. “I’m sure you are.”

  “Completely.” Facing me, he left the shirt untucked. “Since it’s early in the day, I thought we could take a little field trip.”

  Excitement bubbled to life as I shoved up one long sleeve. “To where?”

  “I thought you might like to see the real Spessa’s End.”

  I opened my mouth to ask if he truly trusted me with what I saw, but I managed to stop myself.

  His gaze flickered over me. “What?”

  “I would like that,” I said instead.

  Casteel’s head cocked as he studied me f
or a moment, almost as if he didn’t believe my answer. “I’m glad to hear that.” He came forward, stopping in front of me. “But there is a caveat.”

  “What is that?” I asked as he lifted my arm.

  He folded over the edges of the sleeves, forming a cuff. “We continue to pretend.”

  My heart skipped a beat. “That you’re just Hawke?”

  “And you’re just Poppy.” He rolled up the sleeve, halting just below my elbow. “Want the sleeves higher?”

  Knowing that he was asking because of the pale scars on my inner elbows, I nodded.

  There was a glimmer of approval in his eyes as he tucked the sleeve so it was above my elbow. “We don’t spend the rest of the afternoon thinking about the past.”

  “Or worrying about the future?” I said.

  He nodded as he motioned for me to lift my other arm. “We will just be Hawke and Poppy. That’s all.”

  I watched him roll up the other sleeve. “No one else will treat you as Hawke. They won’t see me as Poppy.”

  His gaze lifted to mine. “No one else matters. Just you and me.”

  Another skip of another beat. There was no denying that it would be incredibly ill-advised of me to pretend anymore. It blurred everything, and pretending…well, it didn’t feel like that to me. But there was also no denying that I wanted exactly what he offered.

  And since when did something being foolish ever stop me?

  Besides, I wanted to see Spessa’s End.

  Telling myself that was the main reason, I nodded. “I agree to your conditions.”

  The dimple appeared in his right cheek. “So, it’s a deal?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then we must seal the deal,” he told me. “And do you know how Atlantians seal a deal? They do so with a kiss.”

  “Really?” I asked doubtfully. “That sounds incredibly problematic.”

  “Perhaps.”

  “And it also sounds like a lie.”