Page 91 of Untethering Dark

Time lost all meaning as she danced in the moonlight to der Schwarzwald’s song, silvery caress illuminating bare skin. Every worry and care fell away—the poachers, their Wiedergänger masters, Johanna, Suri, the other rangers. This washermoment, no matter the circumstances that hastened her to it.

She was aware of Gudariks’s approach long before she ever heard or saw him—Winter already fusing itself deep in hermarrow. He climbed the hill, but kept a respectful distance, just at the corner of her eye, quietly watching her dance.

Sinking into feeling and sensation, Astrid closed her eyes. She had an audience now, and it spurred each swaying motion and invigorating spin. She wanted him to watch her. To stare and be driven into desperate need. The more energy they went into this with, the more powerful the spell.

She danced for the forest,

She danced for its king,

And she danced for the winter night,

Drawing the power it brings.

Round and round she spun, keeping in time to the drumbeat of her heart, that music on the wind, no tune perceptible to mortal ears, but it was there in her bones, thrumming deep and melodic. And from the corner of her eye, she watched Gudariks’s massive, long-limbed form sway to that same beat. He heard it, too.

Gudariks stood closer now but just outside her ritual circle, waiting to be invited in.

White bone gleamed in the moonlight, dark fur drank in the shadows, and two red eyes glowed hot like freshly stoked embers. The monster of the forest had come to offer himself to her, a willing sacrifice at her altar.

She held out her hand.

Long, clawed fingers enclosed around it.

With an enthusiastic tug, his witch pulled him into the ritual circle painted thick upon the ground. He stepped over, careful not to disturb the markings. The scent of blood and arousal thrilled his olfactory senses, every nerve ending on alert, primed for a banquet of pleasure.

“Liebe.” She stretched on her toes, craning her neck to press a kiss to the underside of his jaw. Save for the blue rune work and ribbon tying off the loose braid dangling over her shoulder, she was completely bare. He touched her lightly, afraid to smudge it.

Astrid drew his arms around her waist. “It’s a hardy paint. It’ll withstand.”

“I could’ve watched you dance all night.”

“Could you have?” she teased, canting her hips forward, pressing against his length, which was more than ready for the task to come. “Allnight is a long time.”

“Not with you.”

With a toothy smile, she drew him down to the ground, and he lay back, propped up on his elbows. Watching, waiting, as she picked up a wooden bowl and dipped her fingers in, the tips coming away dark blue. She crouched beside him.

Icy fingers painted his body in slow, loving brushstrokes.

“This will untether and transfer your energy to me.” Long, brown lashes dusted pale cheeks as she bowed her head to the task.

He tilted his head, greedily feasting his eyes upon the stunning landscape of her form. Every soft slope and curve. The flexed, muscled thighs and gentle sway of breasts as she leaned to mark his chest. The urge to pull her onto his lap and bury himself in her sent a throbbing jolt through his cock, but this night was not about him and what he needed. It belonged to Astrid, and he was her supplicant.

So he kept his hands to himself.

But his words. Those he’d unleash with fervor because he knew his witch liked when he used them.

“What’re you smirking about?” She glanced up, mouth quirked.

“I don’t know what you mean by smirking. I don’t smirk. Or smile, for that matter.”

Without lips, and his upper palate being all bone, little was left in the way of facial expression.

“More of an attitude, and it’s rolling off you plenty.” She playfully swiped a finger down the length of his face, no doubt leaving a blue streak, and he had a hunch that was more about sass than ritual.

Sitting up, he slid his hands across her thighs, hungry for the warm heat at their apex. “Just thinking about all the filthy things I might say to get you hot and unraveling on top of me.” A vibrating thumb circled around her most sensitive bit, while another two—claws retracted—delved inside. He snaked an arm around her hips, holding her steady as pleasure stole the strength from her limbs.

Her eyelids fluttered closed as she muttered a curse. “Gudariks,” she breathed, tipping her head back, arms going lax across her knees. The bowl, forgotten and dropped, splattered blue paint across the snow.

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