Page 206 of The Iron Flower

I’m deeply embarassed, not understanding what I’ve done. Not knowing enough about men to figure out my error.

Yvan’s grip on my hand loosens, and his fierce expression falls away, quickly replaced by a look of mortification. “I’m sorry, Elloren,” he says, his voice strained. He holds on to my hand, gentle now, the sadness and conflict in his eyes deepening. “I just want to lie down...with you.”

I nod, and Yvan releases my hand, refastens the top button of his shirt and reaches down to pull off his boots.

I glance down at my clothes. Like his, they’re mussed and smell of sweat and blood.

Ariel’s blood. The blood from her wing.

It all crashes back into me. That horrible place. What they did to Ariel. How we were too late.

Too distraught to care about modesty, I pull my tunic off over my head, then unfasten my long skirt. I throw the clothing roughly into the corner, wanting to burn the bloodstained garb to ashes. I kick off my boots and slide the Wand into one of them, now clad only in a thin camisole, pantalettes and stockings.

I blow out the lamp on the table, wishing I could snuff out every horrible thing in this world as easily.

When I turn back to Yvan, he’s sitting on the edge of the bed, quietly watching me as firelight flickers over the room. I walk over to the bed and slide around him on it, lying down and getting under the covers. I settle in, staring at his back as sadness and grief overtake me.

Ariel.I want her back. I want everyone back.

Yvan turns and places his hand gently on my arm.

We remain like that for a long while, lost in thought and mutual sorrow. My eyes grow heavy, and I’ve just surrendered to letting them fall shut when I feel Yvan sliding under the blankets facing me, his hand finding my waist.

I reach up to caress the edge of his face, careful to avoid the gash, and can make out his eyes closing in the firelight. I stroke my hand through his silken hair, and his breathing deepens.

He pulls me close and brings his lips to mine, kissing me gently, his fire sparking as he traces a slow line down my back with his fingertips, his warmth shivering through my lines and setting off an ache deep inside me. I can sense him holding himself back and giving in to something powerful all at the same time, as his fire quickly rouses to a ravenous stream.

Yvan’s grasps hold of my waist as our kisses rapidly deepen in hunger, his fire and my fire lines surging around each other.

“I love you, Elloren,” he breathes against my mouth before bringing his full lips insistently back to mine. My body arches toward his as he grips me close, and I lose myself to the feel of his fire coursing through my affinity lines and his long, hot body pressed against mine.

Yvan’s breathing quickens as I twine my tongue around his, his fire pulsing through me in a decadent rush as he takes his time kissing me, his deft hands trailing along the length of my back.

We kiss for a long time, caressing each other, losing ourselves to the mounting fire.

Then I slide my leg over his, and Yvan’s breath hitches. He slips his hand just behind my knee, groaning into his kiss as he pulls me even closer. His seductive heat whips through me, filling me with the irresistible desire to merge with him completely.

Both of us are breathing heavily when Yvan slowly slides on top of me, still kissing me passionately, both of us completely lost in this unexpected heaven in the middle of hell.

As Yvan moves against me, I can feel how much he wants me. I wrap my legs tightly around him, and he gasps, his fire giving a hard flare as he kisses me deeply, his fire and his body making me as dizzy as the Tirag.

He draws back a fraction, his breathing ragged. His eyes are molten as he looks down at me, my skin glittering emerald in the firelight.

“You’re so beautiful,” Yvan breathes. He traces his finger along the neckline of my camisole, fingering the top button. He glances back up at me as if silently asking for permission, gauging my reaction to his brazen touch.

My breathing quickens as he traces a line down the buttons until he reaches the sliver of naked skin just below, his graceful fingers sliding under the fabric of my camisole.

I gasp at the sensation his touch creates on my bare skin, a trail of delicious sparks. Yvan slides his hand higher until he reaches just under my breast, hesitating, his eyes flicking back toward mine.

I reach up, curl my arm around him and pull his lips insistently back to mine, kissing him as his hands explore my body, working their way under my clothes. His fire surges as I caress his back and feel along his taut muscles, his sharp shoulder blades. Wanting to feel more of his skin, I tug at his brown woolen shirt, freeing it from his pants.

I’ve just pulled his shirt free when he abruptly pushes himself off me and rolls onto his back, his breathing hard and ragged.

“We can’t...” he says, shaking his head firmly side to side, as if attempting to wake himself from a dream, his hand coming up to clutch at his head. “We can’t do this.”

I lie there, my heart thudding, a heated longing for him pulsing through me.

He’s right. We’re literally playing with fire. We aren’t thinking. We’re both traumatized by the day’s events, looking for escape, for comfort.

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