Page 29 of Claws of Death

A wicked smirk curls his lips, and before I can remind him there are six people next door who could overhear us if he makes me scream, Myron lowers his head between my legs and licks straight through my core.

My hands snap to his hair, fingers digging into the black waves like I’m a drowning woman and he’s my anchor, and his chuckle dances along my wet flesh like an overture to the pressure of his tongue following a heartbeat later.

This time, I squeal, thighs shaking in his grasp and pleasure coiling tight inside my belly.

“You’re fucking beautiful, Ayna,” he hums, lips brushing my folds in idle kisses. “And you taste like a Shaelak-given miracle.”

I want to touch him, want him inside of me when I come. But when I tug on his shoulders, urging him to fill me with his hard length, he shakes his head.

“Fuck me, Myron.”

My plea drives a shudder through his body, but Myron merely lets go of one knee to guide a finger to my entrance. It’s not what I wanted, but I don’t complain when he adds a second finger and slides them in, pumping slow and hard in time with my quivering muscles while he keeps licking and sucking.

The room brightens in a streak of silver light a moment before I splinter with ecstasy, and a part of me wonders if that was him or me or if we are being attacked, but Myron’s relentless tongue pushes me farther over the edge until I forget I exist at all, and his touch is the only thing I live for.

Ayna

When Clio picksus up half an hour later, my body is still tingling with lingering pleasure, and the cocky grin on Myron’s face makes me wonder if this is the same brooding male I met all those months ago. It’s a good look on him, though, seeing him with something other than worry or anger defining his features.

I loop my arm through his, savoring the closeness while simultaneously wondering when I’ll get to return the favor and sit him down in that exact same chair to?—

“Don’t want to hear it,”Kaira interrupts my thought before I can get to the interesting part of how exactly I want to—“Really,don’twant to hear it, Ayna,”she repeats,flashing me a glance that is as unreadable as the ones she’s been shooting Herinor since he put on those fancy fairy clothes Recienne’s court provided.

“I wasn’t aware I was leaking thoughts,”I respond in my mind, wondering when exactly the training Astorian has been giving us will kick in. He hasn’t taught us much apart from how to cut off mental intrusion by forming a shield around the mind the way we would around our bodies, but I never learned how to physically shield, unlike Kaira, who seems to have a naturally built-in wall when it comes to her thoughts.

Perhaps training with Clio will help me master both sorts of protection.

“You were practically screaming your romantic plans at me,”she retorts, and part of me is glad Astorian isn’t around to witness what my head can’t stop thinking about. Myron’s cock in my—“For fuck’s sake, Ayna. Stop it.”

An involuntary giggle escapes my mouth, earning me confused glances from the Crow males and our human companions.

“Just because you haven’t had fun with the Crow warrior of your choice doesn’t mean my thoughts about mymateneed to be chaste.”

That gives her pause for a moment, but a hint of something shimmers through our connection that gives me an idea of how little chastity her own mind knows when it comes to Herinor. She slams down her shield so fast I don’t get to see if those are memories or daydreams, and almost bumps into the male walking in front of us.

Herinor stops in his tracks, hand on the hilt of his sword, spinning around so fast he ends up at a foot’sdistance from the Flame, and I try not to chuckle at both of their surprised faces as Herinor realizes no one is attacking him, and Kaira scrambles to get out of his proximity.

“Still haven’t made up your mind if you want him?”I tease, keeping my face straight after all, but Kaira steps around the Crow, joining Clio at the front of the group, asking questions about the glimmering stone the palace is made of instead of deigning to respond to me.

I turn my attention back to Herinor just in time to catch him exchanging a glance of exasperation with Silas, who is shaking his head at him.

Whatever is going on between Kaira and him, they better figure it out.

“Recienne is waiting for us in the dining hall,” Clio informs us, leading the way past the throne room to a set of carved, wooden double doors framed by a pair of fairies in black leathers. Whether they are palace guards, military, or the king’s personal guards, I can’t tell. “I spent the time you took to get ready to remind him of why we’re all here and that old grievances have no place in this gathering.” Her gaze lands on Royad, moving from Crow to Crow until it ends up on Myron as we stop right by the door. “We are no longer enemies. You all would do well to remember, too.”

She’s my friend. Of course, she isn’tmyenemy, but I can see the tightness in the Crows’ shoulders as they nod one by one, Myron the last of the group to add his agreement.

“We have a past that makes alliances difficult, yet I’ve come to call you my friend.” Astorian appears from the side corridor, clothed in black finery that makes him appearevery bit the courtier even with his warrior’s body. There’s the look again—the same one they exchanged when we saved the male from his cell in Erina’s dungeon.

Find one, find both,Myron said to Astorian then. This time, the conversation is wordless as Myron nods at him like they’ve been to Eroth’s Veil and back together.

Astorian returns the nod, a faint smile on his lips. “Just remember that when you speak with Recienne tonight.”

Without another explanation, he opens the door with one hand, taking Clio’s with the other, and together they lead the way into a marble-tiled room with a long oak table large enough to host twenty or more guests. The skirts and long, wide sleeves of Clio’s jade chiffon dress billow like on a phantom wind as the two fairies make their way down to the head of the table where King Recienne is lounging in the largest chair, surveying the room.

His gold eyes scan our party with a flicker of amusement, snagging on the two humans and lingering there for a while as he takes in Andraya’s older features.

“Please, sit.” With a wide gesture of his arm, he invites us to join him, and a part of me recognizes the danger he poses, even when so expertly hidden behind a nonchalant veneer. This is the king who kept the Crows in check, won a war against them, locked them up in a forest?—

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