Page 89 of The Dead Saint

Adrian moved her hand and thrust up, sliding inside her warmth and filling her. She gasped, hands on his chest, staring down into his face.

Don’t look away, he thought. I want you to see what you do to me.

Sorcha rolled her hips, head back, hands on his thighs behind her. Adrian swallowed and gripped her hips, every muscle tense as he watched her—enraptured. He would have given her everything. Anything she asked. Burn the world. Kill the prince. Race across the continent until they reached the ocean and then keep going. Don’t stop. Her body tightened around him as her movements became frantic. Cupping her breasts, Adrian thrust up and massaged her soft flesh, pinching one hard nipple and then the other when she moaned. He hissed when her fingers dug into his thighs, her mouth falling open, brows drawn together as her release hovered.

“Come for me, Sorcha,” Adrian whispered. “I want you more than I’ve ever wanted anything in my life.”

The orgasm ripped through her, and she bit the back of her hand, muffling her cries. Her other hand dug into his thigh as her rocking slowed and then stopped, her chest heaving as she tried to catch her breath. Her eyes were hazy, face relaxed, and body boneless. He loved to see her this way, without the weight of the future dragging them down, when he was inside her, and nothing mattered more than the way the world broke when she came.

Sorcha leaned forward into his arms with a sigh, her breasts pressed against his chest and body slick with sweat. He rolled her over, letting the furs fall aside. He cradled her head in the crook of his arm as he braced himself over her. He breathed her in, squeezing his eyes shut, committing to memory each sensation she pulled from him.He took his time, filling her slowly, but she tilted her hips up, urging him to move faster.

“We have all night,” he whispered against her ear. “I’m taking my time.”

She groaned, the sound soft and shivering across his skin, as her fingers dug into his waist. “I don’t have all night.”

Without hesitation, he rammed into her, covering her mouth with his and swallowing her cries. They moved together, her knees pressed against his sides. She tensed beneath him, head tipped back, and eyes closed. He wanted this to last, to feel her body tight around his, but he couldn’t stop. He came as she whispered his name, her voice almost drowned out by his breathing.

Adrian. Adrian. Adrian.

* * *

He might breathe and eat and kill after this was all done. He might find another woman to warm his bed at night. But it wouldn’t matter. He’d already be dead inside.

“When did your feelings change?” he asked, needing to know, wanting to hear her say the words.

For himself, he couldn’t pinpoint the exact moment. But he could go back to the first time he’d seen her—surrounded by fire and falling buildings, angry and hating him the moment their eyes met. It had crept up on him. At first, he’d been able to mask it as duty. But now he had to be honest with himself—with her—that it had not only been following orders. The moment in the Silvas when they’d been chased by werewolves, pulling her over the cliff and into his arms, promising to never let go.

I’ve got you.

His stomach twisted, excitement and fear—her acceptance or rejection. When had she come to see him as something other than the monster he was? Her embrace had promised redemption, had shown him a path through the darkness of his own soul—through the hellscape he’d built his life in. Could he be worthy of her after all that? He’d embraced the darkness long ago, time and again, at each turn, taking it in instead of turning it away.

There had been so many situations where he could have chosen a different path. He could have broken away from the prince, the empire. He could have run like Finian. But he’d never considered anything other than what the prince offered. Even now, he knew there were things about himself that would never change—he would always be a monster.

Slowly, they’d built an uneasy understanding, desire lurking beneath the surface, delicate with each other—tentative. He was desperate to preserve it. Desperate not to see a look of disappointment or sadness in her eyes. The fear had vanished, and if it returned, he knew there would be no coming back from it. They would never be able to regain that ground between them. It would be like shutting a door and sealing it behind stone.

“When did my feelings change?” she mused, voice coming from a distance, somewhere deep inside where she examined each emotion one by one. “I’m not sure. I don’t know if I could choose a single instance. You?”

“In the city, as it burned.”

He swallowed, unable to say more, holding his breath and waiting for her to speak again. Sorcha pulled her knees to her chest and wrapped her arms around them, resting her chin on her arms. She considered the shifting lights of the aurora penetrating the canvas, absorbed, and he could not tear his eyes away from this woman who had stolen his heart. She’d run into the wild and carried it with her. He’d followed, unable to resist.

“We can make no promises,” she whispered.

Sorcha hesitated. Her tone held something else, hinted at more. She was holding it back, keeping a secret. She sat up, the furs falling away to reveal pale skin as she studied his face, drinking him in.

“I’m not asking for any.” He adjusted the bedding, the air cold against his skin. “You’ll freeze.”

She reached down and took his hand, placing it on her breast, and whispered, “So, keep me warm.”

Adrian pulled her down to him,covering her mouth with his own, and refused to think of anything other than this moment with Sorcha.

Chapter Twenty-Five

The Black Tomeis had not been the same since Ivo’s death. No one had said anything, but the atmosphere was different. The campfire each night was quieter. The afternoon rides no longer full of conversation. Adrian kept Sorcha closer than ever, but if he was gone for any reason, it was Revenant who stood guard—full of silent judgment and anticipation.

Sorcha kept her mouth shut, pretending not to hear when they called her a witch or worse. If Adrian was within earshot, they kept it to themselves, but sooner or later, the words always came out.

The Androphagoi could be seen from the foothills—growing in size as they neared. Nestled among the snowcapped mountains, it was the home to some of the most dedicated believers in the Aureum Sanctus. The Crimson Cult. She’d never thought of it that way before, but it was the truth. A death cult, revering a dead god and praying to join him as soon as possible. For them, death had never held any fear.

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