Grave of Words (Fall of Under Book 2)

by Kathryn Ann Kingsley

  “I care about you, Rxa.” She hesitated, her voice wavering. “And the extent to which I do scares me. I don’t…I don’t know what it means.”

  “In all my five thousand years, Ember, no one has ever seen my face. Not until you. I trust you, little dove. I have opened my doors to you, and I have invited you in. I—” He paused. He placed his thumb against the hollow of her chin, and he cringed, as if he dreaded saying something. “I don’t want to scare you any more than I already have, Ember. But I have not felt this way for someone in all my years. I do not know what I would do if one of those cretins tried to harm you.” She watched his fangs extend slightly as he grew angry for a moment. “And it would only be an attempt, I promise you that, before I ripped them apart.”

  With a chuckle, she leaned in and kissed him again. “There you go being romantic again.”

  “I could do something else to be romantic.” He wrapped an arm around her lower back and pulled her hips closer to his. “But you are still quite sore from last night.”

  She shrugged a shoulder and nipped playfully at his lower lip. He shivered beneath her touch. He was so responsive. For all his teasing about how much she enjoyed being touched, it was clear he reveled in it as well. To never be kissed, and to think that was normal? It broke her heart.

  She wandered her kisses to his ear and nipped at the lobe. He groaned low. “Ember, don’t tease me…”

  “I’m a hunter. A graedari. I’ve been trained to fight. Do you think one brawl with you would break me?” She let her whispered words flow across him, and she felt him shift eagerly beneath her. Reaching between them, it was her turn to shiver as she found him already ready and eager to go. “And besides, I think you like being teased.”

  He tilted his head back, resting it against the tiled step that surrounded the tub on three sides. Lifting his hips into her touch, he let out a breathy sigh between parted lips.

  She wrapped her fingers around him, feeling the way his length fit against her hand. She had no one to compare him to, but to her he felt perfect. She stroked him slowly, watching his face as she did. Watching the pleasure she brought him. “I’ll admit I don’t know what I’m doing.”

  “You are doing—just fine.” He groaned. “Who am I kidding? More than fine.”

  “Sit on the edge.”

  He didn’t question her. He didn’t hesitate. She didn’t imagine he would. He shifted, climbing from the tub to sit on the lip, leaning back against the wall, watching her with lidded eyes. The desire, the eagerness, the need on his features spurred her on. She shifted forward, kneeling between his legs, and let herself explore him in earnest. By the Grandfather, he was gorgeous. Lines of yellow ink ran along his body in lazy arcs and swirls. A third of his body must be covered in the writing, if not more. The tips of his hair were damp from where they had been in the water, sticking to his chest as the moisture beaded and ran down him.

  Tilting her head down, she licked a drop of water from his chest. His muscles rippled and shifted beneath her as she did. Reaching out, he rested a hand on her shoulder by the base of her neck, tangling in her hair. He wasn’t pushing her. Wasn’t rushing her. But he seemingly always wanted to be touching her.

  “You’ll have to give me pointers, you know.” She smirked as she bowed her head to lick up another line of moisture from him.

  “Happily. Take your time. Don’t do anything that doesn’t feel right. Do only what you enjoy.” He rested his head against the wall and watched her from half-open yellow eyes that had grown dark with lust. “First mistake…is when people do this feeling like they have to, not because they—” He broke off in a choked noise as she ran her tongue up the length of him.

  It was her turn to shiver. As she repeated the motion, tasting him, enjoying the way he felt against her palm, hot, throbbing, and hard like velvet over stone, she bit back her own noise. “I don’t think that’s going to be a problem,” she whispered.

  It felt like a fire had been ignited in her body in that one moment. She didn’t understand why. She knew men enjoyed this kind of thing—she wasn’t an idiot. She had been through enough sanctuary towns and taverns to see plenty of it herself. But she could never, ever imagine it might feel like this.

  With one more slow drag of her tongue, he growled low in his chest. He made such wonderful noises, she decided. And she wanted more of them. She explored him lazily, taking her time, learning his body. Swirling her tongue around the tip of him, she pulled him into her mouth and moaned against him as the sensation sent a thrill of pleasure rushing through her.

  It was erotic. It was sensual. It was wonderful.

  And the broken sounds of ecstasy he made were more than she could have ever asked for. “Ahh—oh, Ember. Oh, by the stars…yes…yes, please, please—” he begged, his other hand drifting into her hair but not pushing down. Not rushing her.

  Part of her was relieved. Part of her was a little disappointed. I have deep psychological problems. But she could worry about those another time. She began to bob her head, feeling him slip in and out of her and along her tongue. He left no question as to what he enjoyed as he twitched and squirmed, gasped and moaned, muttering husky encouragement the entire time.

  It was so good. He tasted so good. It felt so good.

  Whatever it was between them was more than lust. That was clear now. But the lust wasn’t bad, either. After a few moments, she would pull away from him to explore him with her tongue again before repeating the pattern, taking her time.

  “I—I hate to play the ungrateful pauper—but—I—you’re going to murder me, Ember—I—I need more.” He shuddered beneath her. “You’re already the master of teasing—ah—teasing me.”

  She chuckled and placed a kiss against his length as she watched him. “Tell me what you want.”

  He grinned. “I could show you.” His hand tightened in her hair, just enough that it stung. She tilted her head back and gasped. “Ooh, Ember…you’re so beautiful when you surrender, do you know that?” His voice dropped, growing to a dusky rumble as he leaned forward from the wall to shift closer to the edge of the tub. “Keep those soft lips of yours open, little dove.”

  She knew she had control. She knew she could tell him to stop. But as he pulled her head back down to him, she didn’t fight him. She didn’t put up an ounce of resistance as he encouraged her to take him back into her mouth.

  And she did.

  His slid both hands into her hair, and she could do little but hold on to the tub as he began to show her precisely what he wanted. She shut her eyes, surrendering not only to him but the pleasure that lanced through her, white hot like knives.

  “That’s it. That’s it—ahh. Stroke what you can’t reach with your mouth, beautiful dove. Oh, by the stars, you’re so—this is so good—”

  She moaned against him, unable to stop it. Drifting a hand between her own legs, she began to toy with herself as he pumped her head onto his desire, filling her and relenting. She was still a little sore and tender, but now she had the inspiration not to care. And her body certainly didn’t want to ignore what was happening.

  “I—” He broke off in a roar and he pulled her head closer to his body, nearly threatening to ram himself down her throat. He swore loudly, his body spasming, as she felt him throb and surge. She tasted him. She found she didn’t mind.

  Rxa collapsed back against the wall, groaning loudly, the grip in her hair relaxing as he twitched and spasmed beneath her. When she was done licking him clean, she lifted her head and let out a shuddering breath. “Oh…that was fun.”

  “I could have gone for longer, but the sight of you touching yourself…I couldn’t help it.” He flashed her a sated smile. “Besides, no point in making you suffer on your first time.”

  She raised an eyebrow at him. “Where was that sentiment last night?”

  “On vacation.” He slipped back into the water, and before she could react, he had her pressed against the opposite side of the tub, his lips crashing against hers a
s he kissed her with a devouring passion. His hand slipped between her legs, quickly finding her own need. Growling in approval, he tilted his head to deepen his embrace.

  When his tongue invaded her mouth, she once more surrendered to him, moaning as he deftly toyed with her body, sending arcs of pleasure crashing through her once more. She was already close, and he was so damned skilled!

  Five thousand years of practice, she supposed he would be.

  All thoughts raced from her mind as he brought her body to a crescendo, lighting her nerves as if by lightning as she arched into his touch. He broke the kiss only to let her breathe, watching her with heavy lidded eyes once more as she writhed beneath him.

  When she calmed and stopped panting so much for air, he kissed her again. The violent need had subsided, leaving only a gentle tenderness. She returned the gesture. Warmth filled her, not only from the hot water—not from what they had done—but from him.

  Whatever this was between them was going to grow into a name very soon if she weren’t careful. Whatever this was between them was going to blossom into something very dangerous.

  But who was she kidding…?

  It was already too late, wasn’t it?

  He climbed from the bath, helping her out, and they toweled off and changed into their night clothes without a word between them. He took her hand and led her to the bed in the adjoining room, climbing in and pulling her close.

  They fell asleep like that, nestled together, her head resting against the crook of his shoulder and an arm draped over his chest. The blanket was heavy over them. The bed was warm. And it smelled of him.

  It was only as she drifted off that she admitted to herself what she already knew was true.

  I’m falling in love.

  29

  Ember woke up alone. There was no one in the bed beside her. Frowning, she stretched, and groaned as her spine popped a few more times. Maybe he was making breakfast. But she didn’t smell the coffee or anything else. Climbing out of bed, she pulled on a bathrobe from the dresser and went looking for him.

  It took her several minutes of wandering around the house before she heard his voice. He was standing outside on the stone walkway, facing toward the lake, and it sounded like he was talking to someone.

  “—oh, I understand…believe me.”

  She didn’t see anyone else there. Not even Cricket. Who was he talking to? Probably himself. He’s insane, don’t forget. He’s just been more lucid the past few days.

  “Do what you like. Kill as many as you can. Do you think I’ll stop you?” He chuckled. “Please. Once my business is concluded at the Temple, I’ll join you.”

  Silence.

  “Oh, yes…do send my regards.”

  She stepped outside through the partially open door. “Rxa?”

  “Hm?” He turned to face her then smiled when he saw her. “Oh, hello, darling. Did I wake you? I’m sorry.” He reached a hand to her, beckoning her closer. She walked up to him and let him pull her into an embrace. “I went outside to, eh…take a phone call.” He scrunched up his nose. “It’s hard to describe.”

  “Who were you talking to?”

  “It’s complicated.” He kissed her forehead. “I’ll explain on the road. We need to go.”

  “But…Rxa, please. We don’t have to do this.” She placed her palm to his cheek. “Please.”

  “I wish I could obey. I really do. But they’ll kill you and imprison me before long, and I have to see this done. I have to destroy this place.” He turned his head to kiss her fingers. “Get dressed and gather your things. It’s time to ride south. I’d let you stay here until I did the deed, but…I can’t protect you. I won’t let you out of my sight.”

  “I don’t have a choice, then. I’m back to being your prisoner.”

  He sighed. “Don’t think about it that way, little dove. Please don’t. Think about it as…your continued chances to talk me out of my war.” He smiled faintly and kissed her fingers again then nipped at her playfully. “And other things.”

  Dread welled in her stomach, his attempts to cheer her up failing miserably. She rested her head on his chest, and he held her close. Their time at his lake house had been such a nice reprieve from the truth—from his war. From his violence and hatred. “There has to be another way.”

  “I know. And I’m sorry. But this must happen.”

  “I’ll never accept that. I’ll never accept that destroying an entire world is the right course of action.”

  He tucked her head beneath his chin and stroked her back with one hand. “When you and I reach the Temple of Dreams, and you see the kind of games that Aon is willing to play, you’ll understand. You’ll see what the Ancients have created, and you’ll join me in burning it all down. I promise.” He stepped away from her. “Now, go on. Get ready. I’ll go fetch the horsie.”

  Shaking her head, she went back inside to do as he asked. She knew he wouldn’t hesitate to tie her up and lash her to Cricket if she fought against going with him. And honestly, what he was saying wasn’t wrong. If she went with him, she might be able to change his mind.

  And now, every second she stayed at Rxa’s side could be an extra second Under might continue to survive. The insanity of it all made her laugh sadly as he walked into the bedroom. She slumped down onto the bed, putting her head in her hands.

  What was she supposed to do? She wrapped a hand around the necklace she wore, squeezing the sigil of the Grandfather. Her gods might be dead—but she had no one else to pray to. No one else to hope might hear her.

  Grandfather, help me. Give me strength. Show me the path I’m meant to walk. What do you have in store for me? Why has this all come to pass? Why must I feel this way for the man who is meant to be my enemy?

  What fate do you have in store for me?

  For us all?

  Pain.

  Dirt. It was around him. Under his fingernails. In his mouth. Gritty, earthy, and all-consuming. It pressed on him, as if drawing him deeper into its grasp. It was damp. It was cold. He could not see. It surrounded him, crushing him, returning him to the darkness from which he came.

  He clawed. He could barely move. But he would not be devoured by the dirt. One thing spurred him forward, and one thing alone. Blood was in his mouth, mixing with the taste of the wet earth.

  Why? Why was he made to feel all this? What had he done?

  Rage.

  He should be dead. Dead by their designs. Left to molder, abandoned and forgotten, in the cold, dark, heavy dirt. His pain should have been over. But it continued, unfathomable and unforgivable.

  He had done nothing wrong. He deserved none of this. He had been loyal, dedicated, and honorable. Not once did he play the games of his peers. Not once did he manipulate. He was paid this cruelty for one reason and one reason alone—because they found it amusing.

  It had to stop. It had to be repaid. Justice had to be served for what they had done to him—to everyone. They had to be destroyed.

  Suffering.

  And that was all life was. That was all life ever had to offer. Anything that pretended to be otherwise—love, friendship, kindness, happiness—was only a trick to lead to a more spectacular fall. Especially here. Especially because of them.

  Them. Those who were truly to blame. Those who were truly the designers of all their woes. The masterminds and puppeteers behind all the death, the loss, and the pain. The memory of her face flashed before his eyes. Taunting him. Needling him. Twisting in his gut.

  It was all their fault.

  Hatred.

  Pure and raw, it was the fire that made him fight the cold weight of death around him. That was the true motivation that spurred him forward, out of this place, and away from the worms and maggots that would eat his rotting corpse.

  Inch by inch. The rocks and the pebbles broke his fingernails, twisting them back, peeling them off. Pain lanced through his hands as they became little more than bony tools.

  He did not care.

  How dare
they? How dare they leave him for dead? How dare they toss him aside? How dare they bring him back from the grave to make him endure more of their torment?

  They had to pay. They had to suffer.

  Everyone had to die.

  He did not know how. He did not particularly care.

  For he would claw his way from this place of death. And he would bring more in his wake.

  Bloody. Broken. Torn. Empty of anything in his mind but pain, and rage, and suffering, and hate. That was all he was. That was all he would ever be. Finally, after an eternity, his fingers touched open air. Thrashing, struggling, clawing, desperate, he finally felt the weight on him release.

  Wind. It touched his damp cheeks. He coughed. He tried to push the dirt from his mouth and his lungs. Fingers that were worn to bony stumps went to his face, wiping the muck from his eyes. He found something there on his cheek. A mask.

  He threw it aside. It was useless to him. A mockery. A lie. A twisted, awful game meant only to cause grief and agony. For their twisted amusement.

  Finally, he could breathe. Finally, air filled his lungs. He spat, trying to clear more of the dirt from his mouth. Kneeling, he stared down at his palms. At the blood and bone and rent flesh.

  At the yellow ink that ran up his forearms.

  But that wasn’t all. It felt like there were things in his mind. Like bees. Swarming, and loud, and moving. They weren’t quite voices. But they were there, all the same. He gripped his head.

  Maverick screamed.

  To be concluded in

  “Ruin of Fate”

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  Also by Kathryn Ann Kingsley

  Fall of Under: