The Darkness of Glengowyn (8 page)

She wanted to tell him she loved him too. But she held back, knowing that declaration would require a serious conversation. In that moment, she didn’t want talk.

“You’re overdressed,” she commented as she set the strip of silk aside and reached for the remaining two burlap sacks, each holding enough food to see them through the day.

She investigated their food while watching him strip from the corner of her eye. He was already hard, much to her pleasure. The sight kept her breathing erratic, even when her stomach rumbled again as the scent of strong cheese rose up to her.

The owls had brought them a round of Glengowyn cheese, two small loaves of bread and some dried fruit and nuts. Lightweight but substantial enough to keep up their energy for the night ahead.

Though, given the energy they’d just used, and were about to use again, they probably could have done with another round of cheese.

Despite his obvious desire and the gentle bump of his erection against her hip, he did make sure she ate some of the food first, popping a small bite of cheese between her lips while she was too distracted by his nearness to think.

She chuckled and allowed him to feed her, savoring the care, the attention. While her people coddled her because of her magic, no one but Einar ever thought to really take care of her in so fundamental and loving a way.

During the second goblin war, he’d done the same, ensuring she ate and drank, watching until he was satisfied she’d consumed enough to continue working. Her awe, the power of the gesture, came from the fact that he didn’t pay any attention to who witnessed his care for her. He didn’t try to hide how he looked out for her.

The most deadly and dangerous elf of Glengowyn, the warrior singlehandedly responsible for the deaths of hundreds, maybe thousands of enemies, so feared even his fellow soldiers stepped carefully around him, took the time to care for her and only her. The contrast and his lack of concern for what others thought of his actions were the tipping points for her, the moments that sent her from desire into a deep love she’d never been able to overcome.

After making sure she ate enough cheese and bread to keep her stomach from growling again, she insisted Einar eat as well. It didn’t escape her that he didn’t eat while he focused on her. So she returned the attention, making him sit on the bed as she handed over chunks of cheese and dried fruit. Only when she was satisfied he’d had enough to curb his own hunger did she allow him to set the remaining food aside and take her into his arms.

His kiss was hard, with an edge of desperation, as he pressed her back into the mattress. As if the short time they’d been apart had seemed longer. He cupped her breasts in both hands and she arched beneath him, moaning into his mouth when he pinched her nipples into hard little peaks. He wasn’t rough, but he wasn’t delicate with her either. The strength of his callused fingers rubbing over her skin drove her wild.

She reached for his cock, but he grabbed her wrists and stretched them up over her head, pinning her with one large hand while the other returned to her breast.

He kissed his way along her jaw to her ear and murmured, “You can touch soon. I need my fill first.” Then he gently bit her lobe.

She shivered in reaction. Her ears were actually quite sensitive—most elves’ were—but Einar knew exactly how much pressure, how much pain to inflict to bring her the most satisfaction. Using his teeth, he tugged her lobe just enough to make her gasp, then nibbled his way down her throat, savoring her skin.

Almost without meaning to, she jerked her hands against his hold, the desire to return his caresses, to run her nails across his skin was so strong. He held her in place easily, and his strength, his control of her body might have been intimidating from any other man. But with Einar, she felt safe and loved, even as he drove her to mindless desperation.

His mouth slipped across her collarbone and then his lips replaced his fingers on her breast, sucking the sensitive skin hard. Her hips bucked, rubbing his erection. He growled but didn’t release her nipple or her wrists.

Nuala’s skin sparked with sensation as he shifted to her other breast. She watched him as he licked her nipple in a slow circle, his focus on her body so complete it was breath-stealing. The wet slide of his tongue, the suck and tug of his teeth made the muscles of her stomach quiver. She wanted his mouth lower, yet she didn’t want him to stop his current torture, so she bit her lip and closed her eyes, concentrating on the feel, the sensations dancing over her.

He released her wrists only when he dipped lower. She started to lift her arms, but he ordered, “Don’t move.”

She complied even though she was desperate to touch him. Then he kissed across her waist, along her sides, and she clenched her jaw to keep from screaming. Her skin was beyond sensitive now, and again she rode the edge of pleasure just a hair short of pain. It took what little restraint she had to keep her arms in place above her head, but letting him take whatever he wanted from her, as he wanted it, was a heady sensation she found intoxicating.

She watched him when she could keep her eyes open, trembling as his lips glided across her hip bone, his tongue licking into the crease between her thigh and pelvis. She couldn’t control the way her body writhed under his touch, but he held her hips and kept her in place for the torture.

His breath was warm over her damp curls, turning her ragged breaths to pants as anticipation tightened her muscles. She felt stretched and too hot. So that when his mouth finally closed, hard and demanding over her wetness, she barely held a scream back.

He licked through her folds and dipped his tongue deep into her, mimicking the slide of his cock. She dug her fingers into the mattress above her head to keep from reaching for him. The play of his lips and tongue, working her skin, circling and sucking her clit while she was unable to touch him forced her full focus on his attentions.

Every part of her drew down to a tight center, aided by the brush of cool air over her puckered nipples, the tight grip of his fingers on her ass as he lifted her hips to better his access. She was completely open to him, at his mercy, and knowing he wanted her there drove her past restraint.

She came against his mouth, her hips bucking, her body jerking out of her control. When he continued to lick her, she did cry out, too sensitive to remain quiet.

With the
Shaerta
, her body felt like an exposed nerve. She was overly sensitive and afraid she couldn’t take much more. Yet she did. He forced her into another, almost painful climax, this one deep and resonant.

He didn’t give her time to come down from her orgasm before he replaced his mouth with his cock, rubbing the tip of his erection through her folds, teasing, taunting. He stared at the place where their bodies came together, and she followed his gaze, unable to look away as he held himself at her entrance without actually sliding in. She wanted to beg, plead for more, but she couldn’t find her voice.

His expression and focus were fierce, and all for her. That more than anything allowed her to take his torture. But she couldn’t stop her hips from jerking in a vain attempt to force him closer.

When he finally pressed the heavy, thick tip of his erection just inside her, she jerked again. He looked up, his eyes dark as he held her gaze.

“Mine,” he growled, his voice a harsh pant.

“Yes,” she answered, though only a hint of sound got through her clenched teeth.

He eased inside her another inch. The slow entrance kept all her attention on her own body and what he was doing to her. She couldn’t get away, couldn’t distract herself with any other sensations. He forced her to feel each inch of his cock, the stretch of her passage, the friction of his velvet-hard skin pushing deeper. Never had she been so aware of every jump and sizzle of her nerves, every brush of air, each pulse of her heartbeat. So that when he finally filled her fully, she was almost ready to come again.

He set a steady, deliberate rhythm, pulling almost out before sliding back in. He didn’t move fast, he didn’t fuck her hard, he kept to a relentless pace that drew out more sensation than if he’d slammed into her. And her orgasm this time was so deep, so complete, so long, she lost all sense of the world around her, of everything but Einar.

By the time she came back to herself, his mouth was on hers, his kiss both sweet and desperate as he finally increased his rhythm, pounding hard to an orgasm she felt along every inch of her own body. He pumped into her several strokes after he came, as if he was no more in control of his body than she was of hers.

She took advantage of his release to finally lower her arms, bringing her hands to his face, holding him there as she savored the brush and play of his tongue with hers. Finally, he lifted onto his forearms and looked down at her. The love, the intensity in his expression was worth everything to her.

Whatever the future held for them, she would hold this moment and his love close to her soul forever.

They spent the rest of the morning in soft caresses, eager kisses, heat and powerful need. Nuala indulged all the desires she’d kept locked tight in her heart for the long centuries, sucking, licking, tasting, fucking, savoring every inch, every ounce of his body. They barely spoke, and while she didn’t know why he remained quiet, she knew for her part, she didn’t want to risk breaking the spell, allowing reality to intrude on this ideal time. To speak would be to admit her love, to admit things had changed and there was no going back.

So silently she loved him, pleasured him and allowed him to be her world for the few hours they had, the only time they might ever have once news of their fall reached the king and queen.

She buried that fear deep, hiding from it while she anchored herself to the present and her love for Einar.

Chapter Eight

Nuala rolled into Einar’s arms after a light doze, feeling rested and sated in her soul. He stared down at her, his dark eyes thoughtful, his expression quiet.

Now what?
she thought. She loved him. They’d defied their king and queen. Already she could feel the threads connecting them binding tighter. They couldn’t stop the process now. The
Shaerta
was too strong between them. A reaction only possible when two were in love. She’d managed to step away from this love once. Now, that was no longer possible.

“We’ll be banished,” she said, surprised how matter-of-fact her tone was, how easy it was to say aloud after avoiding those very words for the last few hours.

He nodded.

“Will they…?” She swallowed. “Will they impose the
Or’roan
?”

She was no different from the other elves. The thought of ending forever, of joining the traitor she’d killed in black nothingness, terrified her. Never to move on to the next plane or see another life… Horrifying prospect. It was why the punishment was so powerful among her people. They all feared it. Which was one of the many reasons the sovereigns had imposed the
Or’roan
on the traitors.

By loving the Darkness and risking her magic, she’d put both herself and Einar in the same position as the traitors.

“They may,” he said after a quiet moment. “Mainly as a statement to others who might dare to defy them. It depends on how angry they are with us.”

“We’ve never been sure how this would affect my magic. Maybe it won’t be so bad? Maybe they won’t have to punish us, after all.”

Desperate dreams, she knew. The queen had made her position on this clear when she’d ordered Nuala to stay away from Einar, to never bond with him. There would be no mercy.

His firm mouth tilted up at one corner. “We’ll be banished, but maybe they’ll resist cursing us. Either way, you’re worth it to me.”

Her throat tightened with emotions she tried to suppress. Though why she felt the need to hold anything back with Einar, she wasn’t sure. “As long as I’m with you, even if we can’t travel to the afterworld together, I’ll be happy.”

He gathered her close and kissed her.

At sundown, they dressed and returned to the roof, hiding behind the parapet as they studied the streets. Noman’s Land had been quiet all day, something that surprised Nuala. She’d expected at least a human patrol after the night of fighting. But the streets remained eerily silent. Not even random squatters or sentries made themselves known.

They waited for a carrier owl until well after full dark, silently keeping vigil. She wanted to talk more, to make sure he was prepared for the consequences of what they’d spent the day doing. Could he really just abandon all he’d ever stood for—Glengowyn, protecting the sovereigns, defending his people? All of that…for her?

And there were his inner demons, the topic they’d avoided all this time. The brutal killer he became in battle. Some called him a berserker. She knew that wasn’t the right description. He wasn’t overwhelmed by bloodlust, killing indiscriminately. What happened to Einar was scarier, colder, more methodical. A type of battle madness never seen before among the elves.

There was no name for it. But the berserker title added weight to his position as bodyguard to the royal couple, so he didn’t try to deny the rumor. Neither did he comment on the suspicion that he was the only elf capable of killing other elves. She knew better than that too—from her own experience now. But again, the whispers added to his legend. Something she was sure the queen and king encouraged.