by Alex Lidell
That got Shade’s attention. A growl escaped from deep within the wolf’s chest as he hopped down to the floor and circled.
Good enough. “Take care of her when she comes,” River said, heading to his own room. “I’ll keep out of your way for as long as necessary.”
A flash of light blinded River in the next moment. “Wait,” Shade said, now in fae form. He rolled his shoulders, the muscles coiled so hard that a fine tremor raced over his skin. “Is her life in danger?”
“If you mean at this moment, then no—she is more sore than injured. If you mean later, in the arena, when she needs to use the magic I can’t pull out of her, then yes.” River made himself say each word. “She could use a friend just now, though.”
“She has a friend,” Shade said, blocking River’s path. “I’m looking at him.”
River’s nostrils flared. “Did you not hear me? Leralynn is hurt, and I’m the one who bloody hurt her.”
“Then you should be the one to bloody fix it.” Shade’s words were ragged, each a struggle against his instincts.
“I don’t know how to fix it,” River hissed.
Shade flinched as the door opened behind River to admit the girl and Coal. River didn’t need to turn to know how red the girl’s eyes were, how she leaned on Coal when she walked. Shade’s breathing grew harsh, his heart racing so fast that River could hear it. “You are hers as much as I am,” the wolf shifter murmured nonetheless, as Leralynn headed right for her bedchamber. “And you can fix your own messes.”
A flash of panic seized River’s chest. The bloody male was serious. He was going to leave. “Shade—”
“I’m meeting Tye for lunch early,” Shade said, stepping away. “I don’t imagine we’ll see you at the dining hall.” Before River could protest, a flash of light had Shade shifting into his wolf and loping out the door as quickly as his powerful legs could carry him.
Turning slowly, River faced the last being left in the common room and debated whether enlisting Coal’s help might still be possible.
Coal cocked a brow.
Right. River might as well find a sclice and ask the Mors rodent for advice. “Excuse me,” he said, and squaring his shoulders, he headed to Leralynn’s bedchamber.
Only to stop outside her closed door, his limbs suddenly numb.
Stars. River had gone into battle without his heart racing as quickly as it did now. His hands were clammy against the doorframe. His knuckles rose to knock, then fell to the door handle instead. There seemed little point in requesting permission—River already knew he wasn’t welcome. Drawing his last fortifying breath, he opened the door and stepped into the room.
Leralynn stood with her back to him, the sunlight slanting through the window silhouetting her curves. Her boots and pants lay in a sandy pile on the floor, the long tunic of her uniform reaching just below the mounds of her backside. He realized he’d never seen her pale, smoothly muscled legs before, and his mouth went dry. Her arms, already braced to pull off the garment froze in mid-motion.
“If you are looking for more sand to throw at me, it’s on the floor,” Leralynn said, pulling her shirt off and reaching for the washbasin beside her. Red, sand-scraped patches covered her back and arms, now bare but for thin undershorts and a chest band. A long, thin cut wound along the groove of her spine and circled like a tail along her lower back.
River’s chest squeezed painfully. He’d done this to her.
Striding up behind her, River dipped a small towel into the washbasin. “I’m not apologizing,” he said, dabbing the moist cloth carefully against the first of the scrapes. Leralynn flinched and River’s left hand braced her abdomen reflexively, his fingers spreading wide over her smooth stomach. Her skin warmed under his hand, the muscles clenching as he dabbed the cuts, no matter how gentle he tried to be. Stars, she was small. Especially now, standing disrobed with her back to him, the top of her auburn head barely brushing his collarbone. River’s palm alone covered most of the girl’s torso.
“Thank you for clearing that up,” said Leralynn. “For efficiency’s sake, I suggest we skip the so-called instruction tomorrow and move directly to dragging me along the ground.”
“If I thought it would help, I would do so in a heartbeat.” He pressed the wet cloth against a raw patch of skin on her shoulder blade, biting the inside of his lip when she flinched. The fingers of his bracing hand traced tiny circles on her abdomen, a feeble attempt to distract the girl’s mind from the sting. Breathing in slowly, River savored her lilac scent, now mixed with sweat, soreness, and musky stubbornness. “There are very few things I wouldn’t do if I thought they’d help you walk out of the Citadel alive.”
“As noble as that sounds, the gap between what you think would help and what would actually help is wide enough for a school of piranhas to slither through.” Leralynn finally turned her head far enough to meet River’s gaze. Her eyes still watered from the sand, the lids red and puffy beneath impossibly long lashes. “Why are you here, exactly?”
“Because Shade told me to clean up my own mess.” River snapped his mouth shut, his face heating. He hadn’t meant to say that. Half a millennium of training and fighting, and the crown prince of Slait Court could come up with nothing better to say.
“Your mess can clean up herself.” Raising her chin, Leralynn moved the washbasin closer, trying and failing to hide a wince in the process. “I grew up in a stable, not a palace. I’m used to it.”
River’s chest clenched, his body no longer willing to acknowledge reason as Leralynn slipped from his fingers. He stepped toward her, the single pace of distance between them feeling like an abyss to be leapt blindly in hopes of finding the other side. Grasping Leralynn’s hips, River lifted her from the floor and pulled her into his body. “Having grown up at a palace,” River said over the pounding of his heart as he perched himself on the lip of the girl’s bed, her small weight settled sideways on his lap, “I’m much more dainty about such things.”
17
Lera
My breath halts as River pulls my aching body against his chest, his muscled thighs warm and hard beneath my backside. His tunic scrapes my bare skin, the heat of his body wrapping itself around me with throbbing insistence. I can’t move. The small reserve of bravado that fueled me to walk back to the suite and remove my sand-filled clothes emptied the moment River’s calloused hand splayed across my abdomen.
I close my eyes, taking a deep, shuddering breath filled with River’s clean, woodsy scent. I’ve never been here before, on River’s lap. In his arms. It feels like settling onto a grand, intoxicating boulder. My heart pounds.
It isn’t fair, how easily River carries power. He seems unaware of how large, how dominating, how bloody impenetrable he is. Born to rule, trained to command, chosen to lead elite warriors who can probably stare down armies. I couldn’t so much as stare down Zake a couple weeks ago, and here I am, trying to stand toe to toe with the male who made the Elders Council uneasy. Not am—was. It’s gone now, whatever strength I conjured in the arena, melted beneath the touch of a male who any smart human should fear.
“I was harsh with you,” River whispers into my hair. More a confession than an apology.
If I could move, I’d elbow his square jaw and knee his groin and holler every vile insult I could think of into his pointy immortal ears. Instead, my cheek presses into the groove below his shoulder, nestling beside the large pectoral that pulses with his own rapid heartbeat. His skin is warm and velvety soft, so in opposition to the hard muscle—the hard male—underneath. Tears spill down my cheeks, soaking River’s shirt.
“I’m not crying,” I clarify.
“It’s just the sand irritating your eyes,” River agrees, his left arm holding me against him while his right hand rubs a small circle on the back of my neck.
After a few minutes of soothing silence, I reluctantly pull away enough to peek at River’s face, bracing myself for either the pity or resigned disappointment that I know I’ll find. A
warrior prince looking down at a sobbing little mortal girl.
Except River isn’t looking at me at all. No, River’s strong face is tipped up to the ceiling, his jaw clenched tightly. The light from the window reflects in his gray eyes and shimmers in droplets of silver that line the male’s lower lids. Threatening to spill onto his chiseled cheekbones.
My thoughts scatter, suddenly as irrelevant as tufts of dandelion. “River?” I press my palm against his face, feeling his warm, rough skin. “River, what’s wrong?”
The male lowers his head, his lips pressed into a grim line.
I run my thumb over River’s cheek, over the muscles in his jaw, urging them to relax. “What are you thinking about?”
The apple of his neck bobs for a moment, and I’m certain he won’t answer. But he does. “I’m thinking that it’s been three hundred years since I’ve held someone like this,” he whispers, his eyes not meeting mine. “And that if you wanted to destroy me, all you’d have to do is walk out the door. And that, after this morning, you just might.”
My chest tightens. Pulling my legs up beneath me, I rise onto my knees, straddling River’s lap, and bring my face in line with his. Up close, his short brown hair looks tousled, with fine grains of sand hanging on disobediently curving strands. I brush the sand away, letting my fingers linger on River’s tense brow. “I’m half-naked.” I reach for a small smile. “It is highly unlikely that I’ll be walking out of this room just now.”
River’s gaze finally touches mine, his eyes so full of need and fear that I don’t recognize the hard quint commander behind them. Raising his hands, he pushes my hair away from my face and down my back, detangling it gently with his fingers. The slight tugging is divine against my scalp. Then his calloused palms trace the length of my neck, my shoulders, my aching arms.
My skin tingles, each touch of River’s fingers leaving a trail of warmth.
“We aren’t going back into the practice arena tomorrow,” River whispers. “Or ever. Not like that.”
I swallow. “Why?”
River’s voice is raw. “Because I won’t risk you hating me.”
I grip his eyes and lean in, my nose almost touching his. “Coward.”
A startled growl vibrates through his chest.
“I’m not walking away from you, River,” I say, keeping my face where it is, my heart pounding. “And you sure as hell aren’t walking away from me.”
Before he can reply, I press my lips against his, feeling his caught breath all the way through me. Cupping River’s rough cheeks, I deepen the kiss, claiming his mouth—claiming him—with an intensity that has him gasping.
River’s hands still, his whole body going rigid before suddenly waking with a surge. He pulls away, his eyes wide as his broad chest heaves. “Leralynn,” he whispers, his free hand tangling in my hair as he tips my head back and captures my lips with his own.
My scalp tingles, River’s command of my mouth and body taking on his usual warrior’s confidence. His power. The longing of three hundred years in each strong, skilled stroke of his tongue. One hand cups the back of my head, the other tracing a hot, rough path up my bare side, covering my wrapped breast, tracing my collarbone, then hooking around my waist and pulling me closer.
I feel his hardness rise beneath me and suppress a gasp. His woodsy scent, his taste—masculine and strong—fill my senses. I melt into the warrior, my aching body surrendering to his control as prickles of what can only be River’s magic caress my skin.
As if in response to that yield, River palms my hips with both hands, pulling me closer still, possessing me, as our hearts thunder together. Hard. Harder still. Until only the need to draw breath pulls us apart.
My mouth is as sore as the rest of me when River, Coal, and I walk toward the mess hall an hour later. With my first-trial uniform still filled with sand, I’m wearing my normal training outfit—black leather pants, tall boots, and another one of Autumn’s perfectly fitting jewel-toned tunics, this one a rich plum. Cutting my eyes to River, I find his dark hair brushed back into perfect place, his eyes once more an opaque gray.
If a kiss leaves Tye grinning roguishly and Shade quietly pleased, River seems like a male who’s just stepped away from mortal combat, the energy rolling off him intense enough that even Coal gives us a wide berth.
My own body fares little better, my emotions and needs and logical thoughts waging a silent war of their own. Kissing River felt like welcoming an avalanche, the aftershocks of which still make my chest tremble.
Just as we approach the door, Tye and Shade are making their way out. I set an intercept course, but Coal lays a firm hand on my elbow, his eyes unyielding. “Give Shade the rest of the day, mortal,” he says quietly, steering me away. “You aren’t injured, but you are sore and he smells that well enough. He smells River on you too. Adjusting to his instincts is more difficult than you can imagine.”
I sigh but wait until Tye and Shade are out of sight before following River and Coal toward the meat table.
“First Trial,” Malikai’s too-loud voice rings through the hall, his pale eyes on River as he stretches his long legs into the walkway, ankles crossed. His black hair is pulled back in a low bun, accentuating his sharp widow’s peak. “I need my dirty dishes carried off. Trot to it.”
The hall goes silent, except for an errant spoon that rings once against a saucer. My muscles tighten, the tension in the room suddenly thick enough to choke a bear.
Malikai wiggles his ankles expectantly.
With all eyes on him, River turns to the male, looking down at Malikai from his greater height. With River’s broad shoulders and cut jaw, he seems to fill up the hall, the Citadel, the world. A prince, no matter what uniform he wears.
The apple of Malikai’s neck bobs as he swallows, and he raises his chin.
Coal’s hand, which I hadn’t realized was gripping my wrist, tightens further, firm as a shackle.
“Of course,” River says calmly. He bows and strides over to Malikai’s table, picking up a heaping plate of discarded bones and filthy napkins.
Malikai holds up a hand, halting the prince in mid-motion. “On second thought,” the third trial says, the corners of his mouth curling. “I would like the female to tend to me.”
“You are welcome to like anything you want, sir,” River says mildly. “It little means you will get it.”
Malikai’s grin dissolves. “I’ve issued an order, First Trial.” The words are low, the threat in them sending a jolt of fear down my spine.
Plate still in hand, River straightens, his movements too slow and controlled to be safe. I’m not sure what happens to fae who disobey orders from their theoretical superiors, but having glanced at the whipping post outside, I’m not eager to find out. Even with my blood still simmering from the practice arena, the thought of anyone harming my males makes acid crawl up my throat.
“Did you hear me?” Malikai says.
River’s eyes flash dangerously.
“I can take care of dishes as well as the prince of Slait can,” I say. Pulling away from Coal, I stride across the silent dining hall in hopes of unraveling this disaster before tempers spill into fists. River’s muscles are coiled as I take the dirty plate from his hand and carry it over to the counter, where I saw the others dropping their trays for the kitchen staff.
“Damn clumsy of me,” Malikai sings behind my back. “I’ve spilled the wine. Fetch that rag beside you and mop it up, will you, human?”
Right. This game. Taking one of the kitchen towels from the counter, I return to Malikai’s table as carefully as if I were walking through a field of booby traps, lest River and Coal lose their tentative grip on the violence brewing beneath their skin. The others in the hall have stopped even pretending to eat, and now watch the confrontation playing out with the morbid fascination of one watching a rider cling to a rearing horse—simultaneously dismayed and unable to turn away.
I make myself smile at Malikai. A jest, that’s all this is. Both
ersome, and perhaps malicious, but a jest nonetheless. Wiping up wine spilled on a table is, after all, hardly the height of humiliation. Laying the towel over the puddle, I watch the rich liquid soak into the white cloth, turning it pink.
Malikai’s hand tips a second glass, this one closer to him.
A harsh intake of breath that I’m sure is Coal’s echoes through the hall, but I just mop up the new mess without comment, humming a tune to myself as I do.
A third glass tips, this time making the wine run off the table and onto Malikai’s lap, soaking his trousers. The male grins, spreading his thighs. “Keep cleaning, human.”
My breath catches. Before I can utter a word, a hand clamps over my wrist and a familiar metallic musk fills my nose.
Coal takes the towel from my hand. “What did you need, exactly, Malikai?” Coal’s voice is very, very soft, his blue eyes brimming with a violence that makes my mouth dry. “I’ll be happy to assist you from here.”
18
Lera
Malikai freezes for a heartbeat, his gaze flicking from the wine-soaked towel, to his own soiled breeches, to the deadly warrior now standing before him with a single brow cocked in question.
Let it go, I beg the males, my pulse pounding in my ears. Enough.
Malikai grins, showing sharp canines. “Ah. Coal, isn’t it? I’ve heard of you.”
“I’m flattered.”
“Sir.” Malikai clicks his tongue. “I’m flattered, sir. That’s the proper address. No matter, I’ve more pressing questions I’ve been meaning to ask you, specifically.” He stretches slowly, interlacing his hands behind his head. Keeping Coal waiting. Stars. The rules of the Citadel’s hierarchy must be ironclad indeed for Malikai to feel safe when most sentient beings would be hunkering down from the murder lurking in Coal’s blue eyes. Malikai jerks his chin at Coal’s hand. “Give the rag back to the girl. You are much too valuable for mopping up spills. I understand you’ve firsthand experience of Mors—experience that all at the Citadel would benefit from knowing. Tell me . . .” Malikai pauses to lick his canines. “Tell me, did your keepers fuck you while you were there, or were they not into that sort of thing with livestock?”
