Page 94 of Heirs of the Cursed

As their lips joined in a kiss, their chests exploded with the force of shooting stars, with forbidden emotions older than the universe. He kissed her as no man had ever kissed her before: soft and wet and hot and passionate. She longed for his closeness and wished to embrace him until they were an eternal and unique whole.

Heat surged through her body like a burning wave of fire the moment his tongue caressed hers.

Fast and energetic . . .

A perfect storm.

Naithea shuddered at the first touch of their tongues, emitting a deep sound from the back of her throat that he devoured with his lips. When they were a tangle of arms and mouths, the commander deepened the kiss, holding her as if his life depended on it, and they both trembled with pleasure.

There was no pain, no grief, when being held by him. But as Ward’s hands fell away from her face, the lack of his touch felt devastating. The startled frown that had contracted her face disappeared as soon as the caresses resumed, descending her arms toward the wound Fawke had inflicted with his dagger.

Warmth grew on the palm of his hand, until it seeped into every bone of her body. Between ragged gasps, Naithea lowered her gaze to admire the blinding light that poured from his fingers. It didn’t burn, not entirely, but enough for the pain of her wounds to be a forgotten feeling.

When Ward pulled his hand away from her arm and the light flickered out, Naithea stared at her now scarred skin, where only dried blood and the shimmering stardust remained.

He hadhealedher.

Naithea watched him do the same with her thigh, while his free hand moved toward her waist. A sweet moan left her lips as they halted over her ass, lifting her from the ground. She clung to Ward’s shoulders and wrapped her legs around his waist, confident that he wouldn’t let her fall. Feeling small and light in his arms, Naithea accentuated her already desperate kisses to keep him from stopping.

He walked toward the bed of feathers, kissing her as if she was the air he needed to breathe. Ward laid her back on the golden and green pillows, taking a step back to admire her. But it wasthe swollen, red lips from the kisses that Naithea thought would lead the commander to his own undoing.

And she’d embrace doom, as long as it was with him by her side.

“You’re not undressing me, Commander.”

Ward cursed under his breath at the provocation. “You’re hurt. I don’t want to be the cause of more pain.”

“Don’t make me beg again,” she pleaded.

It wasn’t guilt or desire of survival what made her want him.

It wasn’t that he’d healed her nor chosen her above everyone else . . .

Naithea wanted him desperately, as much as he wanted her.

She saw him halt to admire her, as if the Triad didn’t exist, as if Naithea was the only goddess Ward was willing to pray to. Her life had been hell. She’d been used, taken and discarded. But at that moment, deep in their hearts, this felt right.

“Come here,” he commanded lovingly.

Naithea stood upright on the mattress, moving forward until she was facing him. Even kneeling on the bed, Ward was incredibly tall. Her breathing quickened again, nervous of what was about to happen. At last, she would surrender to the Commander of Death.

“No.” Ward shook his head and lifted her chin with his finger, as if he’d read her mind. “Tonight, I’m yours to do whatever you desire with me, or to do nothing at all.”

She looked at him in awe, but in his midnight-blue eyes she found nothing but certainty and determination.

No one had ever cared enough for her to understand how much that meant. Not once had she been in control. Not of her magic, not of her life, not of her body. Maybe she wouldn’t for the next centuries, but that night . . . That night, her body was her own to do with as she wished.

Naithea ascended her hands to the laces of Ward’s leather shirt. Undoing them one by one until he was completely undressed, she revealed the hard muscles that marked his stomach, the lines over his hips that were lost beneath his pants, and a strong chest that rose and fell with each deep breath. She held back a soft moan and glided her hands over his body, outlining the scars with her fingers before lifting her head to meet his closed eyes.

Her caresses strayed to his lower abdomen and continued to trace a path along his skin.

Naithea fiddled with the laces of his pants, her heart pounding.

Her throat suddenly went dry as she found him completely naked before her. Beautiful and perfect, not despite butbecauseof the scars that told the story of his life. As she lowered her eyes, Naithea’s eyes widened at his hard, thick manhood. Ward noticed the concern on her face, and with a quiet chuckle, he cupped her face in his hands and kissed her.

Their bodies pressed together, breathing agitatedly as their lips moved with despair. Naithea found herself back among the softness of the pillows, tugging her garments off her body with nervous longing, and quickly lifted her face at the lack of Ward’s weight on her.

He was looking at her intently with those deep eyes that had tortured her since their first encounter. Ward clenched his hands into fists at his sides as he scanned her naked body for the first time. The wounds on her stomach, arms and back—the result of Madame Dimond’s punishments—had healed but there were still small scars everywhere.

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