Page 45 of The Brute and the Blade

"Always," he replies, just as raggedly. And wrapping one massive arm around my waist, he launches us over the edge into empty space.

Time seems to slow, stretch, the stars wheeling above us as we plummet earthward. The wind howls past, snatching away Grok's roar and my scream as I cling to him, hands fisted in his tattered tunic. I bury my face in the corded column of his throat, breathing him in like he's the last good thing in the world. Maybe he is.

I brace for impact, for pain and the sudden blotting dark...but shockingly, it never comes. Instead, with a bone-rattling jolt, we crash through wood and rope, spars and scaffolding cracking and giving way around us. We hit in a tangle of limbs and curses, tumbling across the muck of the outer ward in a hail of shattered timber.

For a terrifying instant, I think the fall has killed Grok. He lies so still beneath me, eyes closed and face lax. But then he groans, a deep, pained sound, and coughs wetly. "Gods damn," he rasps, one eye cracking open. "Remind me...to never do that again."

A choked, semi-hysterical laugh punches out of me and I pepper feverish kisses over every bit of his dear, dazed face I can reach. "No," I agree wildly. "Next time, we take the stairs."

Gingerly, wincing at every twinge and strain, we untangle ourselves and stagger to our feet amid the ruins of the collapsed scaffolding. By some mercy of fate, the ward is empty, the guards drawn off by the disturbance on the battlements. But it won't last. Already, running steps and shouted orders echo from the keep.

"The gates," Grok says urgently, jerking his chin across the ward.

Following his gaze, my heart leaps to see the dark bulk of the gatehouse looming in the distance, portcullis raised and heavy oaken doors standing open. If we can just make it across the ward before they get organized enough to lower it...

I nod sharply and grab his hand, adrenaline steadying my wobbling legs. "Let's go."

We take off at a dead sprint, leaping debris and darting down narrow passages between buildings. It feels like miles, an eternity of gasping breaths and the slap of feet on cobbles, but I know it's only moments before we burst out into the open space before the gates. I chance a look behind, dismay spearing through me at the sight of armed men pouring out of the keep, fanning out in pursuit.

"Faster!" I hiss, but Grok's already driving forward, hand like a vice on mine. Above us, along the battlements, archers assemble with the sharp slither of arrows nocked to bowstrings. My guts turn to ice. We'll never make it.

But then Grok roars a command, the words lost to the blood thunder in my ears. And like an answer to a prayer, from outside the gate comes an answering bellow, a rumble of hoofbeats and a thicket of bristling spears as a wedge of ogre warriors charge into view.

My galloping heart fairly stutters with relief and hope. Grok's men! They came for him, for us. Some still cling to their mounts while others race forward on foot, and as they flood into the ward with weapons swinging, the archers' focus shifts, giving us the opening we need.

With a last gasping effort, numb legs churning, we hurl ourselves through the gate, across the lowered drawbridge and out into clear air beyond the walls. As my feet hit thick green turf I nearly stumble, pain and elation and exhaustion crashing over me in an overwhelming wave. But Grok's arm locks around my waist, keeping me upright as he half-carries me onward, calling out to his warriors to fall back, to cover our retreat.

Somehow, impossibly, no arrows perforate my back as we stagger into the sheltering darkness of the forest verge. No charging hoofbeats of pursuit, no whoosh of a sling stone ending our flight with blunt finality. It seems unreal, unbelievable, that after so much fear and fighting we could just...get away.

We trek through the woods until the sounds of pursuit fade to silence, until the adrenaline starts to ebb and the pain of abused muscles makes itself known. Finally, when it feels like I can't take another step, Grok guides us into a small, well-hidden cave.

The moment we're out of sight, he hauls me back into his arms with a low, desperate sound. His mouth crashes over mine, hard and hungry, and I open for him with a needy whimper. We cling to each other in the darkness, hands roaming, relearning the shape and feel of the beloved body we'd each feared lost forever.

"I need you," Grok rasps against my lips, his deep voice cracked and raw with a vulnerable ache that takes my breath. "I need to feel you, taste you, breathe you in." His massive hands tremble as he frames my face, calloused thumbs brushing my cheekbones with infinite care, like I'm something precious, cherished. "I was so afraid, Lily. So afraid I'd lost you before I ever really had you."

My heart clenches at the naked emotion in his eyes, the gleam of unshed tears. How long has this powerful male, this fierce ogre warlord, hidden such tenderness inside him? How badly have I misjudged him, misjudged my own heart?

"I'm here," I whisper fiercely, surging up to press a fervent kiss to his lips. "I'm here, Grok, and I'm not going anywhere. Not without you. Not ever again."

He growls into my mouth, a low, needy sound that vibrates through me like a second heartbeat. Those big hands skim down my neck, over my shoulders, mapping every dip and curve until he reaches the tattered hem of my shirt. With a swift, impatient tug, he rips the flimsy fabric away, baring me to his avid gaze.

"Beautiful," he rumbles, voice gone hoarse and ragged as he drinks me in. "So damned beautiful, my Lily, my heart."

Oh gods, the heat in his eyes, the raw reverence and aching hunger, steals my breath and sets my blood to boiling. I've seen Grok in the throes of battle-fever, lost to the berserk fury of his kind...but it's nothing compared to the intensity, the immensity, of his passion now, focused solely on me.

It's humbling, exhilarating, and I arch into his touch like a flower seeking the sun as his huge, warm hands mold over my breasts. He groans as if in pain when my nipples peak under his palms, the dusky tips hardening to aching sensitivity from the lightest brush of his skin on mine.

"Always yours," I breathe, the words tearing from my throat on a ragged gasp as he dips his head to take one straining bud into the searing heat of his mouth. His tongue swirls and flicks, sending lightning streaking through my veins, gathering in a molten pool low in my belly. "As you're mine, Grok, my heart, my—oh!"

He nips gently and pleasure spirals tighter, hotter, whiting out my vision. But the, the words, the truth I've held back for so long, wells up inside me, fighting free of fear and insecurity.

"I love you," I gasp out, tears springing to my eyes, my hands fisting in his wild mane of hair. "I love you so much, Grok, so much it terrifies me."

He goes still, so still that for a breathless, brittle second I'm sure I've ruined everything. That I've scared him, repulsed him, with the depth of my wanting, my weakness. The forbidden yearning of a human girl for a beast, a brute.

But then he surges up to capture my lips again, kissing me with a desperate ferocity that sears my soul. "Lily," he rumbles against my mouth, and his voice cracks on my name like it's a prayer, a plea. "My Lily, my beloved. I love you too, gods, I love you so much it unmakes me."

Joy, sharp and bright as a blade, pierces my heart, shatters the last of my defenses. I kiss him back with equal abandon, winding my arms around his neck as if I can anchor him to me by sheer force of will.

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