by Rhyll Biest
The thought kept pounding him like a club. But the solution, the solution Hakan kept pressing, was to ask Valeda more questions about her brother. She would know his every weakness. But while she might pretend to be cold and remote, fully unreachable, she bled like any other demon and could die.
Just like she could die if he interrogated her about her brother or messed up healing the wall in her mind.
But he was getting ahead of himself since she’d not yet agreed to allow him to try.
He wiped his face and took leave of his fellow healers to go in search of Valeda. The hellhound pack padded after him. Should he make them stay at camp? No, Valeda would just have to get used to the way they followed him around.
Their tent was empty. He frowned. If not in the tent, where would she be? He inhaled deeply. Her freshest set of tracks led in the direction of the roller derby track. He paused. When had he gained the ability to do that? To sort old tracks from new just by scent? He met Tane’s glowing gaze and the hound looked away. Screw it, that was something to ponder when he was less exhausted. Forcing his heavy legs to keep moving, Adriel made his way to the track, but even his sensitive ears couldn’t detect Valeda’s voice, nor, when he scanned the benches, did he see her.
‘Karma.’ He nodded to the she-demon with the bandaged knee. ‘Have you seen Valeda?’
Her eyes widened. ‘Yes?’
Why was she saying it like a question? ‘Is she here?’
She pointed at the track.
No, no way. He swung around and stared. Poised on the pivot line, tail raised high and head lowered, was Valeda. She wore some kind of nurse uniform, and the silver letters plastered on her green backside read ‘Bite Me’.
He grinned. Any time, princess.
But how in shit was she playing already? It should have taken weeks for her to learn to skate well enough to play. Ah, he forgot—knowledge demon. Plus, she had no doubt been thoroughly spurred on by the thought of making him eat his words. He would happily do so, as long as he got to eat her afterwards.
Bite me, indeed.
The thought of what she might taste like had been hijacking his thoughts on a regular basis ever since that massage he’d given her. Every time he closed his eyes to sleep, the image of her perfect, round arse ambushed him. It was torture.
When Missy forced Valeda into a rock wall there were laughs from both teams, and there was more laughter as his wife grabbed her crotch and mouthed ‘fuck you’ at the blocker.
Oh, she had been learning, all right. What had she once told him? That she was adaptable. The proof was before him. He took a seat on the stone bench and the hellhounds flopped down at his feet with sighs, Rongo butting his leg for a head rub. He absently dug his knuckles in behind the hound’s scaly ear.
As Rongo sighed in bliss, he watched the Muffzillas try to form a wall around Valeda, but she was too agile for them and scored more points, only calling off the jam to prevent Pesty Lence from scoring.
Nice work. His bride knew how to keep her head and control the jam.
But then, that was kind of her problem, her love of control. She was so unwilling to give it up.
Rongo butted his hand for more attention.
The next jam started with the Muffzillas forming an impenetrable wall, leaving Valeda to fight her way through the pack.
When Foxy and Madam Dirty Deeds threw everything they had at Valeda to slow her down, he thought she’d crack, but he was wrong. Even when the jam grew scrappy, with players falling all over the place, Valeda held her nerve and called the jam off in time to stop the Muffzillas from scoring. Beneath her petite frame and icy manners lay an inner core of strength. She was terror on wheels, fearsome and merciless—everything he admired in a she-demon.
As she was sent off for tripping, his princess grabbed her crotch and mouthed obscenities, hollering the most adorable smack talk he’d ever heard as she passed the other team. Spark jumped to her feet to take her place, skating to the track in what looked like Valeda’s clunky pink skates.
Breathless, cheeks flushed, Valeda pulled a sliding stop to halt in front of him. She grinned as the hellhounds raised their heads to give her an indignant look. ‘You just witnessed my gnarliest moment on eight wheels.’
He smiled. It was the first time he’d seen her excited about anything, living purely in the moment rather than worrying about maintaining control. It suited her. This had to be what she’d been like before she’d traded her heart. ‘You kicked arse, princess, and here was me worried you’d get booty bumped into the next dimension.’
She ducked her head, her cheeks flushing an even deeper pink.
‘I need to talk to you. Are you finished here?’
Something he couldn’t identify stirred in the marine depths of her eyes. ‘Let me change and I’ll walk back with you.’
He held his breath but she disappeared behind a rock to change.
Crap. Modesty was a bitch.
***
When Valeda returned she caught Adriel staring into the distance, his skin drawn taut, sharpening his cheekbones and highlighting the hollows of his eyes. Exhaustion pinched his mouth and nostrils. Her smile died. ‘What’s wrong?’
He blinked and focused on her. ‘What?’
‘You look exhausted.’ Even his armour looked dishevelled. It hardened her resolve to help him.
‘I’m just low on juice. Walk with me.’
Hellhounds at her heels, she fell in beside him and was taken aback by the light limp in his step. He’d been injured and was unable to heal himself? ‘So?’
‘Heavy casualties at the border today.’
The hollow cavity of her chest ached. She liked these she-demons, and she didn’t want to see them slaughtered. Or him. Instead of fannying about roller skating, she should be disembowelling her brother. Claws raked her insides and she winced. But how to lure him? ‘I’m sorry to hear that.’
He nodded then seemed about to speak but hesitated.
She raised her brows. ‘What?’
‘Nothing.’
He’d been about to ask her once more about her brother. Pain danced over her skin and she rubbed at a sore spot on her thigh.
He spotted the action and grabbed her wrist, nostrils flaring as he caught sight of what she’d rubbed. ‘What the fuck is that?’
‘What?’ She followed his gaze. Ah. The bruises on her thighs from where she’d fallen during training.
He framed the ugly blue-and-red mark with his fingers. ‘It’s the size of a horror bird egg. Did one of the other players thump you?’
She shook her head. ‘No, it was just a fall. Well, repeated falls.’
He frowned. ‘I don’t think it’s such a good idea for you to play derby. You have a thin hide.’ His voice was husky.
Valeda was about to make a sharp retort, but the words got lost as Adriel’s finger softly traced the outline of the bruise. ‘Take it easy. Don’t kill yourself trying to master derby in a week.’
She nodded, throat tight as he trailed his finger higher up her thigh. Her gaze met his. ‘Two seconds ago I could have sworn you were dead on your feet.’
‘We both know I have exceptional recuperative powers.’ He drew a love heart on her hip. ‘Especially when provided with sufficient external motivation.’
She raised her brows. ‘That’s what I am? External motivation?’
‘You have no idea how you looked when you grabbed your crotch and told Arvalis—’
Her face flushed. ‘That wasn’t really me, I was just fitting in.’
His lips twitched. ‘So you’re a crotch-grabbing chameleon?’
‘I guess.’
He shook his head. ‘You’re wrong, that was you, just a different you than what you’re used to.’
‘I don’t think so.’
He gave her a look. ‘You’re free here to be whoever you want to be. You don’t have to be the perfect princess. You can do whatever you want, like whatever you want. And if you want to be hell on eight wheels, an
d grab your crotch and fling nasty words, you can do that too. You can even,’ he stroked her thigh, ‘get it on with whoever you want.’
‘Whomever.’
He blinked. ‘Did you just correct my grammar?’
She shrugged and her tunic slipped off one shoulder. ‘Good grammar’s sexy.’
He grabbed her by the waist and pulled her flush against him, hungry eyes fixed on her bare shoulder. ‘Are you toying with me, princess?’
Lilith, he had a grip like a bear. Unable to take her eyes from his face—the way one dark strand of hair trembled above his brow as if afraid to touch its ferocity—she drew a heart in the centre of his steel chest plate. ‘Maybe. Though I never joke about grammar.’
He drew a deep breath. ‘You smell so good I can’t even think straight,’ he muttered. His head tilted and a ghost of a smile curved his lips, eyes intent on her face, curious as if he’d never quite seen her properly before. His heavy lids, the midnight lashes veiling his gaze, stole her breath.
She drew back, not at anything he did but simply from habit.
He cocked his head further, slumberous gaze riveted to her lips, still smiling his curious, predatory smile despite the line of puzzlement forming between his brows. It hit her then—she loved his predatory side. She would not have him any other way than he was, a hunter forever chasing her down and mauling her with kisses. The thought tugged at the corners of her lips.
He raised his brows. ‘What?’
The combination of his voice, a deep well of sensuality, and his tone—all lazy confidence—fuzzied her thoughts, told her she wanted nothing more than surrender, to let him have his way to do whatever he wanted to do. She was bound to like it. ‘Nothing.’
‘Good.’ He cupped the back of her head and went at her, his lips tasting, teasing, dragging and drugging, the onslaught so proprietary and domineering she couldn’t stop her head from tipping back. All her muscles melted, and a smothered sound escaped her, chased by a thousand long-buried feelings all suddenly unleashed like a pack of hellhounds, a poorly trained, indecorous pack that refused to heel, sit or stay.
And yet the feeling was sweet, so sweet, even with her heart thousands of miles away, and it was hers. If she had her heart back, would she feel more? Would she sink so deeply into that sweet, delicious pool of naked vulnerability that she learned to like it?
She revelled in the rasp of his tunic against her skin, the hot, hard line of his jaw beneath her fingers, the scrape of his stubble. When they broke apart, their breathing ragged, she traced the contour of the hellhound tattooed on the side of his skull. Her finger grazed an open cut and he winced.
She frowned. ‘Forget about my bruises, you need to heal yourself.’
Studying her lips with unfocused eyes, he nodded absently. ‘Later.’ His gaze dropped lower, to her neckline. ‘Can I get a look down that tunic?’
She breathed a soft laugh. ‘Maybe inside our tent, Captain Exhibitionism.’
His eyes widened and her brain momentarily tapped out as his keen gaze focused one hundred per cent on her. ‘Are you sure?’
She nodded, and while she couldn’t shake the feeling of being stripped-down, naked and vulnerable, when his head lowered and they took a second dip between each other’s lips, it still tasted like victory.
***
Adriel dragged her inside the tent, his heart pounding hard enough to rattle the cage of his chest. Now, it was happening now.
Her and him.
Inside the tent.
This minute.
He tasted her mouth once more, just to make certain she really did taste like snow berries and hot sex, excitement whipping his blood as she melted into his arms. Before she almost immediately stiffened again with a glance at the still-open tent flap.
He tilted her head back his way with a finger under her chin. ‘Hey, who are you looking for? I’m gonna get a complex.’
She gave him a stern look then abandoned his arms to drag the tent flap closed. ‘I’m not as shameless as you yet; I need a little privacy for these things.’
‘What things?’ He held his arms open and she crept back inside them.
‘Can I whisper them in your ear?’
‘Actually, talk is overrated so why don’t you just show me?’ His hands roamed her back and the swell of her buttocks, and he shivered as her hands swept across the terrain of his shoulders before gliding down his arms to take in the shape of his biceps. She was reading his form, reading him, finally stroking his skin the same way he imagined she stroked a book cover.
How was he ever going to get through this? Her wanting him, wanting his hands and mouth on her, and him wanting hers on him, and not lose control? How did he keep his inner beast trapped in its box? Lilith knows, he didn’t want the thing popping up in the middle of what they were doing. ‘Take things slow,’ he whispered in her ear, even as he caught the scent of her lust bleeding into the air.
She gave him a questioning look.
‘It’ll help me block the transformation curse.’
Understanding shadowed her eyes and turned them a darker shade of navy as she watched him. How had he found her? Of all the she-demons in Hell, how had he found one so brave, so daring, that his curse meant nothing to her?
She gave him an uncertain smile. ‘Why are you staring at me?’
Instead of answering, he leaned into her, took her mouth and tasted her soft lips, testing the warm slickness of her and trying to capture her essence through them. But, no, he was being selfish, and in that moment there was no-one he wanted to please more than her. ‘What do you want?’ he whispered in her ear.
She looked at him blankly. ‘What do you mean?’
‘How do you want this,’ he stroked her cheek, ‘the first time between us, to be?’
‘Oh, that.’
‘Yes, that.’
She blinked at his gentle teasing. ‘Well, I’m a slow thaw but … I guess I just want to do whatever you want to do.’
Her tone was so very vulnerable, more than a little uncertain. Behind all the ice and the shields, his winter princess was fragile and soft. But it only made her more beautiful, more special, to know that she showed her real self only to him. Him alone. ‘I’m in no rush. As I said, the slower the better. Whatever you’re comfortable with.’ He kissed the crown of her head.
‘Okay.’ She stood on tiptoe and brushed his lips with hers so softly it dug out another spoonful of his heart.
Piece by piece she was laying claim to it. Why did he pretend otherwise?
Her delicate hand took him by the jaw to tug his head lower where she could plunder his mouth more easily with her lips plumped by passion. He was so hard it hurt, and yet the happy sounds of discovery she made as she took advantage of him kept his hands by his sides. Let her take control; he’d allowed her so little freedom so far. An acid tide of shame and self-loathing rose within him at the memory of how he’d chained her, questioned her and threatened her.
He had made her weep tears of blood.
Yet she forgave him all of it.
He shuddered as her lower body grazed his thigh. She was undoing him while at the same time tying his muscles in knots. He supressed his heat and need so he could allow her time, allow her small hands to explore the contours of his arse with a boldness he would have once found difficult to credit her with.
***
Valeda sighed. He really did have the most amazing arse she’d ever laid hands on. Admittedly she hadn’t fondled many buttocks in her time, but she was sure, almost certain, that his were award-winning.
And he just let her fondle him.
Allowed her do it.
Like it was a perfectly normal and acceptable thing for her to do.
The last thing she’d suspected of him was patience, but how wrong she’d been. With a deft movement she unbuckled his chest plate and let it drop to the ground with a soft thud. ‘That’s better.’ She ran her nails down his sides, feeling his lean muscle through the tunic.
&nbs
p; ‘What’s better?’ His gravelly tone had deepened and his words were slow as if her touch had drugged him.
‘This. For taking inventory.’
His body jerked as she unbuckled his broadsword belt. She deliberately allowed her hand to graze his inner thigh.
‘Inventory?’ His lids were heavy as she let the belt drop.
‘Yes.’ She drew the word out, made it as languid as the flow of blood thickening in her veins. ‘I’m taking inventory of what’s mine.’
He held still, but standing so close to him she felt the labour of his lungs as he drew a deep breath. ‘Yours, huh?’
With a hand on her shoulder and a swift step, he’d swung her around to reverse their positions. She gasped as he buried his nose in the curve of her neck while his hands found her breasts through her tunic. In revenge she stroked one hot, hard flank before gripping it, burying her fingers deep, as his chest pressed hard against her back.
‘I guess I better take inventory too, then.’ He nuzzled her neck.
‘Well, all right, maybe inventory sounds a little too proprietary. Let’s say I’m studying you then.’
She tugged at his tunic and he helped her by unfastening the shoulder buttons, allowing her to twitch it off.
She took a step back to stare at his healthy, sleek animal fitness, the bronze skin so smooth and gleaming it invited her touch.
‘Is this part of the study?’
‘Yes it is. Turn around.’ She allowed a bare, peremptory tone to creep into her voice.
Once more he obeyed her and her breath caught at the sight of his naked body turned away from her, the aggressive flare of his shoulders above his lean waist and hips, his well-proportioned body.
She stepped closer and rested her cheek between his shoulderblades, inhaling deeply, drawing in his masculine scent. Was this a weakness she could afford?
Her hands tightened around his hips. So what if she couldn’t afford it? Had she not denied herself companionship for centuries? Suffered the loneliness of not living among her own kind? Why should she not have this one thing?
Her hands slid from his hips to caress his abdominal muscles, and she savoured the way his breath hitched and his spine stiffened. Both made her body feel heavy and languorous, as though drowning in syrup. It was strange how lust struck so suddenly but then buzzed around in sleepy circles, slow and heavy as a pollen-laden bumblebee.
