Page 151 of The Crimson Walls Of Algorath

“Where did you go?”

“I wanted to go back to get you.” She swallowed hard. “But we ran. We went to Bindhe and flew south, hoping Melia would not look on the other side of Brulus Lake and search instead near the mountains.”

Azriel’s mouth was taut. “Did she find you?”

“No.” Ariadne reached up to run her finger over the annuli of his horns. “I asked Kall to find Razer. He did. Then he argued about letting me come back to Algorath alone. I won.”

He snorted. “Of course you did.”

Ariadne flicked his chin. “I seem to see us both sitting here, safe.”

A slow grin spread across Azriel’s face as he looked down at her. “You’re very right, my love. I’ll never doubt you.”

“Good.” She sat up to press her mouth to his again. “Now take me into that hut and show me how much you missed me.”

Stilling, Azriel pulled back, his brows pinching together. “I don’t think I can change back just yet.”

Something flared to life in Ariadne as he spoke. She searched his midnight blue face, taking in the gentle red glow of his eyes. It did not matter what form he took. He was Azriel. He was her husband, and she loved him more than her heart could stand. She pulled him back to her, brushing his lips with hers before saying, “I do not think I care anymore.”

Azriel scooped Ariadne into his arms, his side screaming in protest from the strain, and carried her to the hut. No one around the fire said a word, though he caught sight of Liulund elbowing another fae and grinning as he pointed at them. Magic shimmered through the air, encasing the hut, and he silently thanked Phulan for her foresight.

He had no intention of making this a quiet undertaking. There were weeks to make up for with his wife, and while he wouldn’t be able to cover them all at once, he’d certainly try.

Kicking the door shut behind him, Azriel set Ariadne on her feet and began his venture. She turned to face him fully, and heat rushed through his veins as her eyes roved over his body, drinking in his every facet without fear or hesitation. That she saw him—truly saw him—even in this form made him need her even more.

In an instant, he was on her, fingers unbuckling every piece of dhemon armor strapped to her body. It fell away, revealing her body and every way it’d changed since he last saw her. Though her Caersan blood had made her naturally lithe and muscular, it was nothing compared to the way she looked after training every waking moment for weeks. Her strength emitted not only through her body but through the hardiness of her mind. He wished he’d been there to help her gain the power she radiated, but now, he had the privilege of basking in her light, and he’d never demean such dedication.

Yet it was when his hands slid over her bare back that he froze. No lumps of scar tissue rolled beneath his fingers. No jagged lines met his touch. “What…”

Ariadne tilted her head back to look up at him. “I asked Phulan.”

He swallowed hard. Though he’d never asked the mage to remove his own scars, she’d been forced to do so to heal him in other places. The removal was every bit as terrible as when he’d received them. Once again, Ariadne proved she was stronger than many—himself included.

She didn’t let him linger on it and distracted him by tugging at his shirt, unlacing the neck to fit his horns through the opening. Her fingers swept across his broad chest, and for the first time, he felt uneasy. Like her, he didn’t look the same. Didn’t feel the same. Didn’t move the same. Only, in his case, it wasn’t for the better. His muscles had shrunk, and though they hadn’t disappeared completely, it’d take time for him to return to the state he’d been before Algorath.

But she said nothing, and gods bless her, she didn’t linger on any part of him too long until she reached the still-healing wound in his side. Her touches grew soft, but her gaze hardened. She dampened a cloth in the water basin in the corner and cleaned around it. A sly smirk curled her lips.

“I know what will help with that,” she said, voice husky as she turned her attention to his face, carefully peeling blood and dirt from every surface she could reach.

Despite her touch, his gaze dropped to her throat. Yes, he’d drank from Raoul in the midst of the fight, yet mage blood could never have the same effect as a Caersan’s. Rather than speak on it, he guided her to the basin of warm water and a stack of washcloths. He pulled her underclothes free of her body and dipped a cloth into the water, then began his worship.

Kneeling before her like the queen she was, Azriel cleansed her skin from the time they’d been apart. With her before him now, he made slow, sensual work of each stroke along her perfect curves, following his path with his lips to remind her just how much he loved every inch of everything she was. Each time he wet the cloth, the water remained clear—another gift from the healing mage outside.

He unfastened her trousers and pushed them down with careful hands, relishing the way she swayed beneath his touch. Muscles shifted under her fair skin along her hips and rippled along her legs. After covering every inch of her with his attention, he dipped his mouth to kiss a line from her hip to her inner thigh.

“Are you certain?” he whispered, looking back up at her. He’d stop. The moment she told him she couldn’t continue with him in this form, he’d stop. They’d have their chance to continue another time.

Ariadne’s breath hitched, and then she shifted forward, lips parted. “I have never been more certain in my life.”

It was all he needed to hear. He eased her legs apart and slipped his horns behind her knees. She let out a surprised gasp as her thighs spread wide, her weight dropping into the curves on either side of his face. With one hand bracing against the wall, he stood again.

Ariadne let out a squeal of a laugh, her fingers grappling for something to hold onto and finding nothing but his hair. He grinned and, glancing up to find her head brushing the ceiling, adjusted to a higher wall.

Then he feasted. He stroked and prodded with his tongue, savoring the perfect taste of her. Each lick drew from her the one sound he could gorge himself on. Her moans lit an inferno within him, spurring him on.

He slid a hand up her side in a blind search until he palmed her breast. She arched into his touch, and he grazed his fingers over her nipple before rolling it between his thumb and forefinger. Another soft gasp had his cock throbbing behind his trousers. But not yet. He wasn’t finished with her yet—as if he’d ever truly be finished indulging in her.

Sucking on her soft bud, he brought his free hand around to her wet sex and slowly slid his fingers over her opening.

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