“No!” Petúr shook his head. This wasn’t happening. He couldn’t lose her. She was his. His other half. His mate. “I can’t lose her.”
“Petúr,” Wyndi said.
“Shh…” He placed her cold hand to his cheek. “Save your strength.”
“Petúr. I’m dying.”
“No. No you’re not. You’re not going to leave me.”
“I don’t have a choice,” she said in a soft murmur, tears streaming down her cheek.
Inside, he was dying. “Yes you do. Stay with me.”
“Bind yourself to her,” said Bell. “It’s the only way.” Petúr glanced at her with questions. He didn’t know how to do what Bell was suggesting. “You are of the line of the Delphi. Grandson to the fallen King. His blood runs through your veins. You can bind your magic and your life-force to hers.”
“I don’t have magic,” he said.
“You do. How do you think you fly without wings?”
Petúr looked down into the face of his woman, his darling woman. His heart, and felt the symbol on his chest start to burn, pulling forth the power of his love.
“I,” he said, locking his gaze with Wyndi’s, “am Petúr the Just. First born and only son of Illia the Fair. Prince and rightful heir to the Seelie Sidhe Fae throne.” The outer ring on his chest caught fire, lighting as if it were a fuse, moving on to the next ring, and the next, giving him reserves of strength he’d never known before. “I bind myself, giving all that I am to the only woman I will ever love, Wyndi, my darling woman of heart.” The stylized sun, which sat atop his heart, in the middle of the three rings, exploded into bright light and radiated out into the room, causing an orange tint to overtake everything.
“Now. Do it, now,” Bell said as she pulled the sword free of Wyndi’s chest.
Petúr placed his palm over the bloody gash. “I give you my life,” he said. “You will not die.”
Heat enveloped him, ran down his arm, and rushed out of his palm, connecting with Wyndi’s chest. She gasped. Her body arched, then lifted off the ground.
“Don’t break the connection,” Bell said in a rush. “No matter what.”
Keeping his hand in place, he felt the same wrenching pain he experienced as a boy when the symbol was branded into his chest. He gritted his teeth—the veins in his neck and forehead showed the strain. Wyndi moaned. Her eyelids closed. Her skin was so pale; he could see the light tracery of her veins. Frail. So frail. He steeled his will. Inside, he kept chanting the words, you will not die.
Wyndi levitated off the ground. He stood, going with her, hand planted firmly on her. Up, up, they floated. Wind swirled around them. Strands of pure gold streaked through her autumn colored hair, highlighting the temples. Light erupted from her chest and rushed through his spread fingers, causing a kaleidoscope of colors to dance around them.
He felt her heart stop. “No!” he screamed.
A sensation struck—an electrical jolt. Thump-thump. Relief almost pulled him under in a maelstrom of powerful emotion when he felt the beat once more. The wound beneath his palm vibrated, as if the flesh were knitting together. Wyndi pulled air into her lungs, her chest expanding with the effort. Then, blessedly, thankfully, her eyelids fluttered open.
Petúr stared into the most extraordinary blue-gold eyes he would ever see. Her liquid blue irises were swirling close around the dark disc of her pulsating pupils, graduating out into shades of golden sun.
“Petúr,” she said, staring up into his face. “I love you.”
He wanted to laugh. To cry. Scream thank you to any deity who’d listen. But he kept his hand in place, refusing to break the connection in the slightest.
When the wind stopped, followed by the disappearance of light, then the heat and the pain in his chest leaving also, Petúr took her fully into his arms, clutching her body to him, burrowing his nose into her hair and taking in her scent—cotton candy, mixed with spring time rain.
While their hearts beat in time with one another, Petúr whispered, “I love you too, Wyndi Darlingheart.”
Epilogue
Petúr took his woman down in a slow tumble, spreading her gloriously nude body out before him on the silken sheets of his bed. It took two days of aftermath to clean up. Vibe had to change Cromwell’s memories around for the second time, and everyone helped the techno twins put more electronic safeguards around Neverland. Of course, he still had a reckoning yet to come with Grapple, and a portal to find, but….
He placed a kiss to the arch of Wyndi’s foot, listening to her little squeak of pleasure. Petúr wasn’t going to waste another minute of time. Kissing, licking, he worked his way up between her thighs, coming to heaven, pink and glistening, waiting for him. Closing his eyes momentarily, he breathed in the delightful scent of arousal, feeling her elegant fingers twine within the strands of his hair.
When he licked, she moaned, spreading wider for him. “God,” he muttered. “You’re so sweet.”
Twirling her clit around his tongue, she shook.
“Oh, yes,” she uttered in a breathy entreaty.
He wouldn’t have thought it impossible, but his dick grew even harder.
Lick. Swirl. Nibble. Suck.
“Petúr, don’t stop.”
“Never,” he said, going into that Neanderthal mode of speak. “Won’t stop.” He lapped at her feminine juices, going back to her little clit, nipping, sucking.
“I’m going to….”
“Come, baby,” he managed around one twirl of her flesh with the tip of his tongue.
She shook, then exploded, body whiplashing. He tasted her pleasure, drinking it in, keeping up the pace with his mouth, teeth, lips, and tongue, working her to a quick second climax. Pride and possessiveness whirled through him. Pride—for giving her the pleasure. Possessive, because she was his.
After she came for him a third time, he slid up her body, mouth working her flesh, first sampling her right, then her left nipple, dining on the ripe little berries. And when she scraped her nails up his back, arching her wet core into him and wrapping her legs around him, he couldn’t wait any longer.
His hands cupped her face. “I love you.”
“I love you too, Petúr,” she said.
Their mouths melded together, teeth clashing, tongues gliding around each others, his cock pressing toward his goal.
When he felt the tightness of her body, he shook. He’d never experienced anything as exquisite. Not wishing to hurt her, he thrust again with restrained force. The swollen head of his dick made entry. Heaven help him, she was the sweetest of fires. He absorbed her moans and shakes, taking them as his, forging forward with his hips, feeling the tight clench of her feminine walls ripple around him—heartbeat beating in time with his.
“Just a little bit more,” he said.
She wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him closer, until they were chest-to-chest.
“Don’t hold back,” she said.
“I don’t want to hurt you.”
“You won’t.”
The wall holding in his control crumbled. He surged forward. Her body shuddered and took him until he was breaking past her virgin barrier, pressing all the way to the hilt and rocking against her.
“Oh, God,” she uttered, breaths coming hard in time with his groan.
In and out. Slide and rock. Hips pumping. Bodies working. Her luscious breasts pressed into his chest. Her delicate hands mapping the hollow of his spine. When her warm, wet little pussy fluttered and clenched, everything slowed down and became this woman. His woman. Her smell. Her taste. The feel of her. The heat. Bliss. Love. Lust. Connection. They were connected, body and soul.
She rose to the top, he going with her, breaths harsh and ragged.
“Petúr!”
“Wyndi!” he shouted out, falling over the edge of pleasure, releasing himself inside her warmth. With her delectable body quaking in his arms, he gripped onto her tighter. “You’re mine.”
“Always!”
T
he matching symbols on their chests sparked, light flying out and around them—pleasures fireflies.
Transcended.
They were transcended into a place of joy, and peace, and love. Everything changed. The room and the bed they were in fell away. Petúr’s ears twitched, hearing the sounds of nature. He could feel the wind whipping over their entwined bodies. The warmth of the mid-day sun shone down upon them. Beneath them, green grass and wild flowers in colors of the rainbow bloomed. Dew sparkled on tender leaves….
He wanted to ask if she saw and felt what he was experiencing, yet he was so lost in the pleasure and the absolute love, and so entranced in the moment, he failed to speak.
When their heartbeats slowed, and their breath returned, paradise vanished. He blinked. They were in his bed—in his room at the castle. Sweat glistened upon the angelic face of his satisfied woman.
“Petúr,” she said, her voice the sweetest of sounds to his ear.
He brushed his lips over the pulse in her throat then rolled her atop him. “Hmm?”
She lifted her head. The silken strands of her hair created a curtain of autumn and gold around his face as his hands slid down her back and over her ass.
Wyndi locked gazes with him. “I know where the portal is.”
The End
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Rise of the Lost Prince Page 11
