by Imogen Sera
As he searched, he contemplated Maggie’s life compared to that of Juliette’s. Maggie’s house had been miserable; empty, cold, devoid of laughter and light. Juliette’s house had been decidedly welcoming, despite the fact that she too was married to an awful man. Her sisters made the difference, he was sure. Juliette had them to turn to in times of hardship and need, while Maggie had no one. She had tried to turn to him, but he’d failed her.
He never would again.
A week went on this way, his mind going to darker places day by day. If Maggie had been attacked and eaten by a wild animal, that wouldn’t leave any trace of her. If she’d been killed and it was covered up, he would never know. He just couldn’t understand how he could have absolutely no sign of her.
He decided to branch out from the route; perhaps she’d gone the wrong direction. This resulted in no leads, either, until he came upon a run down tavern in a tiny village.
“Maggie?” a tall woman asked, overhearing him talking to a pretty barmaid. “Maggie was here.”
He turned from the barmaid, annoyed at her look of dismay as he did.
“Please,” he said, ushering the woman to a table with him, “tell me everything you know.”
She looked at him strangely, assessing him. “What’s it to you?” she asked.
“She needed me,” he said, “and I didn’t know until recently. I’m trying to find her.”
The woman nodded, eyeing him skeptically. “I’m Hilda. What’s your name?”
“Caelian,” he said without pause.
“You’re sure you’re not her fucking husband?”
“No,” he breathed, “no. Did she tell you about him?”
“She did,” the woman said. “She was leaving him. Looking for you.”
He nodded.
“I found her just out front,” she nodded to the door, “screaming, a drunkard on top of her with his hand down her dress.”
He hissed in a sharp breath, trying hard to keep his composure. “When was this?”
“A week ago. I threw him in the fucking street,” she said, and then spat on the floor. “But Maggie was in a state. Starving, filthy, she didn’t know what she was doing or where she was going.”
His jaw clenched. “What happened?”
“I helped her a bit. I hate to see a woman roughed up by a man. When she left she was fed and clean, with a new horse. I can show you which way she went from here, if you’d like.”
“Yes,” he said. “I don’t think she was going the right way.”
She offered him something to eat, but he declined, eager to finally have a sign of her. She’d survived the first week, surely she would be alright after another one. He was coming for her.
Hilda followed him outside and wished him well. He pressed a gold coin into her palm, thanking her for assisting him, and for assisting Maggie.
“It was nothing,” she said, but pocketed it all the same. “Take care of her,” she said.
He nodded, then turned from her and strode a distance away, ignoring her gasp as he stripped his clothing off. He shifted right there in front of her and took off, eager to find his Maggie.
A familiar dark shadow on the horizon came closer as he flew, and before long he was flying alongside Tarquin. They couldn’t communicate when shifted, but Caelian had enough sense to know to follow him. He followed him back to Arnes, back to the palace, wondering all the while why he was needed, frustrated at being taken from his task for so many hours.
When they arrived and had shifted again, Tarquin said nothing beyond suggesting he get some rest. Caelian glared after him, confused, but deciding to trust in his brother who never did anything without a reason. He sighed heavily, exhausted, and started the climb up the stairs to his bed chamber.
.....
Maggie was in Caelian’s bedroom. Mira hadn’t said as much, had suggested that it was an unused room when she’d shown it to her and then left, but Maggie could feel him there. He scent clung to every surface, and when she had seated herself at the desk, nervous of the bed for some reason, she had found the letters she’d written tucked in the top drawer. Each was folded neatly but creased deeply, as if they’d been unfolded and refolded hundreds of times.
He had a stack of blank parchment there, and without thinking she began to write. Dear Caelian, it said, and then underneath that, I love you.
She stared at it for a minute, unsure why she’d written it. She missed him and cared for him, but she hardly knew him, she reminded herself. She couldn’t possibly love him. She crumpled the paper into a ball and tossed it into a small trashcan.
She looked, again, at the stack of letters she’d written him. That was something, surely; he had saved them. But she couldn’t work out why he had stopped writing. Perhaps he’d heeded what she’d written to him numerous times: Move on with your life, I’m not worth this.
She sat on the edge of the bed, nervously. The room was sparsely decorated, though, and her choices for sitting were the hard desk chair or the bed. Exhaustion threatened to overtake her. She felt as if she were intruding.
A sharp knock at the door made her jump, and then stare, terrified. The door swung open to reveal only Mira, though, alone with a small cup in her hand.
She passed it to Maggie, saying something about a preventative and saturating. Maggie had no idea what she was talking about, the events of the day overwhelming her, her eyes struggling to stay open. Mira ensured Maggie swallowed the drink, and then retreated to the door.
“Get some rest,” she said. “Truly. You look awful.”
Maggie looked around the room miserably. “He stopped writing,” she said quietly, unsure how the words slipped from her mouth.
Mira sighed heavily. “I don’t know any details, Maggie, but I promise that Caelian will be glad to see you.”
Maggie nodded, and a moment later the door was shut. She crossed the room back to the bed, and as she sat on the edge she saw that it was unmade, that the sheets were still rumpled from where Caelian had slept. She could hardly stop herself as she peeled back the blankets and laid there, face down, her cheek pressed against his pillow.
She covered herself in his blankets and his scent. Exhaustion overtook her a moment later.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Maggie awoke to warmth and softness. She was more comfortable than she’d been in weeks, in months, although she wasn’t quite sure why. A scent enveloped her, something so lovely and so familiar, and as she pressed her face into her pillow and inhaled deeply she remembered where she was.
She looked up through sleepy eyes.
Caelian was standing at the foot of the bed, a formidable figure. He gazed strangely at her, his hands balled into fists by his sides. She sat up quickly and pulled her hair back from her face, watching him all the while. Her heart pounded. He had stopped writing to her, and until now she’d assumed there was some explanation beyond him no longer caring for her. But his normally friendly face was so severe, the curve of his jaw so harsh without his usual smile.
“I’m sorry,” she began, “I didn’t mean to fall asleep, I shouldn’t have been in here.”
He shook his head slightly but his position and expression remained the same.
Her face faltered as she climbed out of his big bed. “I did write, but I didn’t hear anything. I didn’t know where to go. I shouldn’t have—”
He shook his head again and took a purposeful step toward her.
Her eyes were wide and her heart was pounding. He wouldn’t say anything, wouldn’t assure her that he still wanted her. Her heart ached as she looked at him, his handsome face, his bright eyes, his messy hair and beautiful mouth. She had pushed too hard, she had told him to get over her, told him that she could never be his. Of course he would listen to her, and now she was reaping what she’d sown. He wasn’t happy to see her, that was clear, and his tense expression and balled fists made her want to run.
“I’m so sorry, Caelian,” she murmured, taking a step backwards so that her b
ack was against the wall while he approached her. “I shouldn’t have come here, I shouldn’t have presumed—”
He was in front of her then, and he put his big hands on her shoulders. She brought her hands up in front of her face, defensively, not realizing she’d done it until he looked at her with sorrow. He released her shoulders immediately and took a step back.
“Maggie,” he breathed, reverently. “You’re really here?”
She stared at him, her eyes wide and heart pounding, her hands still up in front of her face.
He fell to his knees in front of her, reaching for her hands before deciding against the action at the last moment. His hands were stretched awkwardly up in front of him, so Maggie reached down with one hand to complete his action. He shut his eyes, inhaling deeply, and pressed her much smaller hand gently against his cheek.
“I’m so sorry,” he whispered, his eyes still shut, his cheek still against the back of her hand. “I was sleeping- sick- under a spell. I didn’t get any of your letters until I woke up, and then I left right away to help you, but you’d already gone.”
Caelian looked up at her then, and Maggie’s chin quivered at the intensity of the emotion in his eyes.
“I was so afraid, Maggie, I scoured every inch between your town and here, I didn’t know what happened to you and I—”
The tension in her chest eased as he spoke, and she found herself holding his face in her hands, her thumbs running over his cheekbones and jaw and lips. He shut his eyes again, his expression peaceful, as if he relished her touch. Her hands moved up to tangle in his hair, her fingertips rubbing gently along his scalp. She could remain like this forever, she thought to herself, with Caelian’s masculine scent surrounding her, his handsome face before her, his head solid under her fingers.
He stood then and pulled her to him, and this time her hands wound around his neck. One of his hard arms encircled her waist, holding her close, and the other snaked around her and cupped the back of her head in his big hand. His breath was warm on her face, his huge body was hard and hot around her, his blue eyes were intent on hers.
Her chest moved shallowly, and she couldn’t decide if she was excited or terrified as he held her. Their faces were inches apart, and he bent to close the gap, slowly, but paused right before his lips brushed hers.
“You left him?” he murmured.
“Yes.”
“And you’re not going back to him?”
“Never,” she breathed.
“So I don’t need to feel guilty,” he said, then closed the small gap between them then, pulling her tight against him. All at once his lips pressed against hers. She made a tiny sound of surprise, then relaxed into him and kissed him back, kissed him to heal the ache of months apart from him, kissed him like his soul fit next to hers, just so.
Her tongue wound with his as she pulled him to her, desperate for his touch, trying to keep him close enough that she would never have to fear for him again. Her clothes were too bulky, too restricting, too much, but she couldn’t bear to take her mouth from his to remove them. She found her hands at the hem of his shirt, pulling it up, running her hands over his hard back and abdomen. She ran them up, along him, movement constricted under his shirt, but touching everywhere she could reach. His chest, his back, his arms around her all the while. Her hips sought him unconsciously, and she wasn’t surprised to feel the hard length of him pressed against her front.
He pressed his forehead against hers, staring into her eyes. “Can I touch you?” he murmured, his eyes blazing and his breath ragged.
She nodded wordlessly with wide eyes, and a minute later they stood before each other, shirtless. They came together again as urgently as before, his hot skin on hers the most delicious thing she’d felt in her life. Each nerve ending inside her was alive, each inch of her cherished by him as his mouth wandered from her lips to her jaw to her neck. She stood, unsteadily, clinging to him and clutching him to her, memorizing the feel of his hard shoulders under her hands, of his hot tongue trailing down, down her neck.
He dropped to his knees in front of her; his lips kissed slowly down over her collarbone, across her pounding heart, and along her breast. Her breath caught in her throat as he kissed her nipple directly, and then came in great panting gasps as he began to lick and taste and tease her there. When his sweet mouth closed over it and sucked, she couldn’t stifle her moan, couldn’t stop the frantic way that she wound her fingers through her hair and pulled.
“Please,” she breathed, but she wasn’t entirely sure what she was asking for. Her insides were on fire, hurtling desperately toward the edge, and all she knew was that she needed him touching her, over her, inside of her.
He looked up at her as he turned his attention to her other breast, watching her as he moved his hands down to cup the curves of her bottom. He reached for the laces on her pants, widening his eyes as if asking permission, and when she repeated a tiny “please,” he pulled them down quickly, helped her step out of them on her shaky legs, and then she stood bare before him.
He took her ass in his hands again, bare flesh in his hands this time, still kneeling before her. He pulled her toward him gently, studied her with blazing eyes, before diving between her legs. She gasped as his tongue found her, right away, the fire building inside her only stoked by his mouth pressing against her, his lips kissing hers, his tongue circling her clit. Her legs buckled from the sensation, but he held firm to her backside, pulling her closer and closer until she could feel every tiny movement he made.
Her legs swayed again, and a moment later her lifted her, easily, his mouth still pressed greedily between her thighs. He deposited her gently on top of his desk, parchment scattered under her back, but all that existed to her was this exquisite man and his talented tongue.
She felt a finger at her entrance, paused there, and she thrust her hips unconsciously, wildly, needing anything inside of her. He slipped it in, moving easily through her slick folds, and between his finger thrusting into her and his mouth licking, flicking, sucking on her clit she lost herself. Her walls clenched around his hand; her head hung back, unseeing; her mouth called his name; all as she trembled under his ministrations.
He held her hips tight while she came, not letting up until she stopped shaking. Her eyes found his, after a moment, and she saw hunger there.
She reached for him and he helped her off the desk, and cradled her to him from his place on the floor. She could feel his erection straining against his pants, could feel the slick sweat on his chest as her cheek lay on it, still recovering. Once she’d collected herself she reached down to touch him through the thick fabric, and her frustration at not being able to grip his length disappeared as he removed his pants. A small gasp came from her at the sight of him; he was enormous. Her hand wrapped around him, softly stroking down the length of him, and he lifted her against him, her wet core pressed against his hard abdomen. He carried her across the room and deposited her on his bed.
He climbed on top of her, covering her with his massive form, his delectable pressing her into the soft mattress. His cock pressed against her as he kissed her hungrily, his hands tangled in her wild hair and his hips rocked slightly; a promise of what was to come. Each movement made her yearn for him, so close to her but not yet one with her. She reached down, took hold of him, and pressed his head to her entrance.
He pressed his forehead to hers as he slid into her, agonizingly slowly, allowing her to adjust to his thickness and length. He murmured something to her, but she couldn’t understand it, couldn’t focus on anything except the perfect way he filled her, the divine way he moved inside her. His thrusts were tentative and slow at first, but when she bit at his shoulder and begged him to fuck her hard, he complied. She clung to his shoulders as he pumped faster, rubbing against her clit each time, and before long she was trembling again, then clenching and spasming around him. He came soon afterward, grunting slightly as his seed spilled into her, his eyes still hungry for her.
; They lay together afterward, sweaty bodies pressed against each other, limbs tangled and soft kisses placed anywhere they could reach. Maggie couldn’t remember a more lovely happiness, couldn’t remember ever feeling more complete than she did right then. She turned her face to press her lips against his hard chest, and when she looked up at him, he was watching her as if she were the whole world.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
The sun was setting as Caelian awoke, and the familiar despair that had gripped him for months came back to him. It was chased away when he realized that he was holding someone, and was banished forever when he remembered the events of the day. Maggie’s sweet head was on his arm, her lovely face pressed against his chest. He’d faced her as he slept, his arms wrapped around her, and now he raised a hand to gently cup her sleeping face.
