Page 137 of Shattered Jewel

I rip my attention away from untying him long enough to meet his bloodshot eyes. “I need you to go help Sasha,” I say, my voice cracking with the weight of what I’m asking.

“Butterfly … I’m not leaving you.”

“Sasha can’t handle the Scourge Sovereign alone,” I urge, still shaking as, at last, I free his arms. “And she can’t fucking die. I won’t allow it.”

The words come out stronger than I feel, masking the terror that threatens to paralyze me.

Every muscle in his body tenses as he processes the situation. Cav glances down the archway for a split second before locking eyes with me again. His thin lips press together in a firm line, and I know he’s made his decision.

And right then, I know I’m in love with him..

Cav is willing to put his manipulative and self-preserving ways to the side in order to do as I ask.

He grunts as he pulls his arms loose, then slides off the wooden plank, his legs less stable than mine.

So I catch him, then kiss him. Hard, quick, desperate, and deep. “I love you.”

I breathe against his lips, tangling my fingers in his dark mop of hair. He stiffens in shock for less than a second before reciprocating with the same frenzied urgency, a hand moving to my bare back while the other cups my face.

“Elara…” His voice is a husky whisper against my lips. His eyes search mine, probing for truth while guarding his own. He brushes his thumb against my cheekbone, tender, restrained. “I love you, too. I shouldn’t, I can’t, but I do. And it’s the most dangerous move I’ve ever made.”

He pulls back just enough for me to see his world in those blue depths: the turbulent ocean of emotion, the storm of conflict.

“I refuse to allow you to die,” I say. “So don’t you fucking do it, either.”

He nods once then breaks away from me. The sight of his retreating figure, the tortured, wounded man who is running into further danger because I asked him to, is almost too much.

The High Sovereign’s enraged shout snaps me out of it and I hurry to Wilder’s side. Muffled yells and the sounds of fists hitting flesh reach me as I stare up at the ceiling above Wilder in near defeat. How am I doing to reach the hooks?

“You can do it, sweetwitch,” Wilder prompts wearily, drawing my gaze. “But you’re going to have to scale me like a goddamned spider monkey.”

“That’s not the first thing I’d like to scale now that I have you back,” I manage to quip, forcing a smirk despite the fangs of panic piercing my gut.

It’s enough to stir Wilder, earning me his trademark grin in return.

I start climbing, using his thighs as a stepping stool and hoisting myself onto his chest. I’m all too aware of the solid muscle beneath me and the gaping wound I’m rubbing against.

“Hang in there,” I tell him, praying my voice doesn’t betray the very real fear lurking underneath my bravado.

He’s so slick with sweat, and I’m so clammy with nerves, that I fumble once, then twice, before I’m able to straddle his shoulders, putting his face directly in line with my pelvis.

His shoulders undulate under my legs, raw power straining against human limits.

And yet, Wilder gives my pussy an encouraging lick, his tongue slipping between my sensitive folds.

It actually manages to elicit a bone-weary sigh from me. The bolt of pleasure reminds me that amid all this violence and almost losing him, we are still, and always will be, carnally connected.

Wilder pulls his mouth away just far enough to murmur a naughty promise.

I gasp at the sensation of his exhales so close, one hand working on the ropes tying his wrists to the hooks and the other having to find purchase in his disheveled mane of hair.

“Wilder—now is not the time.”

The order leaves my lips at the same time I grind myself onto his face.

Quivering now, I give a last yank at the ropes. Wilder drops to the balls to his feet, swinging his arms around to hang onto my ass so I don’t topple sideways from the force of it.

He stumbles backwards slightly, every muscle in his body trembling from exertion, but that doesn’t stop him from giving my pussy a final peck before I slide down his body, my hands trailing over sweat-slicked skin marked by bruises, scars, and cuts.

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