Page 69 of Of Sword & Silver

“Why do you hate me?” I rage, punching his shoulder. It should hurt, but he’s right, I don’t really feel it. “Can’t you see I need you?”

“I see it alright,” he says darkly. “I’ll give you what you need, Kyrie.”

He takes me by the throat, turning my head to one side and pulling me close until I’m flush up against his body.

“Oh gods,” I sob. “Yes.”

A moment ticks by and he’s shaking against me, and I’ve never wanted anything as badly as I want this impossible, stubborn, rude male.

I wrap one naked leg around him. His cock jerks as my inner thighs rub against it, the water sloshing around us. I try to line him up with my entrance as his lips travel down the side of my neck.

Then his mouth covers the wound on my shoulder, sucking it so hard that I scream.

And immediately black out.

23

KYRIE

Pain pulls me from sleep and I sit up, gasping for air.

“Relax,” a deep voice says.

The Sword’s sitting in a cane chair at the edge of the bed. Dark circles tug at his eyes, stubble climbing along his jawline like he hasn’t slept or shaved in days.

Confusion clouds around me, and I tug the thick quilt up to my chest.

“What happened?” I ask, my voice hoarse. “Where are we?”

A strange look crosses over his face at my question. I swallow, feeling like I should remember something… anything about how I got here.

“We’re in the inn above the pub in the village we saved from the manticore—Mossbury, they call it. It’s around…” he drifts off, glancing past me at a window. “It’s before dawn.”

“Dawn?” My scattered brain clutches at that. “How many days did I lose? How long until the midwinter masque?”

“Ten days. You were out for two.”

“Fuck.” I collapse dramatically back onto the bed, then wince because my fucking shoulder is hurting like hell.

“You’ve had a rough time of it. We can afford to lose another day.”

His voice sounds far away.

My shoulder. His mouth on my shoulder.

Heat rushes through me as the memory slams into my consciousness.

The manticore’s stinger, the poison that made me… well, ready to fuck the Sword until I died of it.

Unless I’m remembering incorrectly… the Sword was just as into that idea as I was.

A slow smile spreads across my face, and I flutter my eyelashes at him.

“I doooo remember,” I tell him. “I remember everything.” My gaze drops to his hips, and I wiggle my eyebrows meaningfully.

“Oh, do you?” he asks acidly. “Do you remember me holding back your hair while you threw up so much bile we thought you were going to die?”

I pause, pursing my lips. That explains the disgusting taste in my mouth.

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