Page 57 of A Dawn of Gods & Fury

The seams allow just enough daylight to spot his still form, lying face down on a cot, a charcoal wool blanket covering the bottom half of his bare body. My pulse races as I approach, so eager to see him that I nearly trip over the folded stack of leathers laid out on the ground next to his weapons. One of the camp servants must have cleaned his clothing for him.

I reach for his shoulder, but hesitate. Maybe I should let him sleep another—

“You would make a terrible cutthroat,” he croaks, humor lacing his voice.

I climb onto the cot and cover his body with mine. “I agree, I’m a far better thief.” I tease the back of his neck with a soft, open-mouthed kiss, earning his hum of contentment. Meanwhile, I slip my dagger from its sheath and replace my tongue with the blade, pressing just hard enough for him to feel the sharp prick. “But I’m a quick learner.”

His deep chuckle vibrates in my core. “I stand corrected. You simply have a different method for getting close.”

I abandon the weapon to the ground. “You came to the rift without me.” I can’t help the accusation in my tone even as I lay another kiss, this one on his shoulder. His skin smells of fragrant soap. He must have bathed in the river earlier. Hopefully not with Abarrane, but I don’t ask. Modesty isn’t something these Islorian immortals waste time on.

“You needed your rest.” He pauses. “Besides, you had your bedfellow for the evening.”

His voice is unreadable. Is he upset with me? “I fell asleep there while the wisps were healing him. And if you saw what they did to him—”

Zander turns abruptly, cutting off my words with a kiss. “Relax. I know who your heart belongs to,” he whispers, rolling his body until he’s on his back beneath me.

His breath hitches as our lips find each other in the dim light, his desperation palpable as he deepens the kiss with skilled strokes of his tongue.

“You’re not wearing anything,” I manage to get out.

“And you’re wearing far too much. Though that can be easily rectified.”

Our mouths are a messy tangle as his hands make quick work of laces and buckles, helping me out of my elaborate vest and the rest of my clothes until they’re in a scattered pile next to his.

I climb back onto him, our bare bodies flush, the strain of his hard length pressed against my apex. No one has ever made me feel the way Zander does, like I could never get enough of him, like the simplest touch—even his fingertip along my shoulder—might set every one of my nerve endings on fire at any given moment. Now, my entire body tightens with the anticipation of feeling him inside me again.

Until I sense him wincing through our kiss.

I pull back. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” He leans in to capture my lips again, but I move out of reach.

With barely a thought, I weave a light globe with my affinity. It swells, drenching the tent in light. I pull the blanket away, to reveal the bloodied cloth tied around Zander’s thigh.

“It’s nothing,” he dismisses. “Just a hag caught me off guard, but it’s healing.”

I grab one of his daggers from beside the cot and slice off the bandaging with the honed blade. A deep, yawning gash across his leg stares back at me. “Zander!” My face must be filled with horror. It’s no longer bleeding, but it’s far from healing itself. “Why didn’t you ask the casters to fix this?”

“Because there were others far worse who needed attention.”

“Ugh! It looks serious! And painful! And … and … Why are you all so goddamn stubborn!”

He flops back on the cot with a grunt.

Drawing on threads of Aoife, I begin knitting his flesh back together, pushing aside his complaints and my frustration so I can concentrate on the task at hand. When I’m finished, only a thin silver line remains.

Zander lies so still, I wonder if maybe he’s asleep, until his Adam’s apple bobs with a hard swallow. “You shouldn’t deplete yourself for me.”

“I haven’t depleted anything. And you’re welcome,” I add in a clipped tone.

His head rolls and hazel eyes shine bright in the globe’s glow. “Thank you.” His crooked smile stirs flutters in my stomach and melts my annoyance.

“That is why I don’t want you coming to the rift without me.” I trace the ridges of his taut abdomen. A more exquisite male body, I have never seen.

“I will keep that in mind. Now, where were we?” Reaching down, he wraps his palm around his length and strokes himself a few times, igniting a fresh wave of warmth and anticipation inside me.

Strong, rough hands seize the backs of my thighs. He yanks me upward, his forearms straining as he lifts me onto him. The feel of his tip against my center draws a gasp from my lips. It’s followed closely by a cry as he pulls my hips down, sinking deep into me.

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