Page 19 of Wings of Cruelty and Flame

“Something tells me life with you won’t be boring either, husband,” she replied, her voice a low purr.

Shit, she knew how that word affected me. She was playing dirty. I clenched my jaw so I didn’t beg her to do with me as she wished.

You are the commander of the Legion of Fyrevein, a bastard prince but a prince, nonetheless. You flew into hell and barely dragged your way out by the tips of your fingernails. You walked through fire and smoke and blackened clouds—and survived. You wage battles in the eternal war. You will not be ruled by a five-foot-nine woman with pretty eyes and a wicked smile.

She rose from the pillows she’d splayed herself across and threw her leg over my lap, sitting astride me. “You seem distracted.”

“Ameirah,” I bit out, my traitor hand rising into her hair, grabbing a generous fistful of beautiful strands. My cock ached, straining towards her, and she shifted her position until the heat of her rested over me. My stomach hollowed with a breath. “Where did you learn this art of seduction?” I asked, a little breathless. Who was I kidding? She ruled me so entirely I was in awe of her queenliness.

“Books mostly,” she replied with a soft laugh. Even that sound charmed me, made my heart quicken. My other hand grazed her side and then I was gripping her hip, the supple softness of her like heaven on my fingertips as I crashed my mouth into hers.

The groan she made fell across my lips and I devoured the taste of it, kissing her hard until her mouth parted on a gasp, until I could burn the taste of her into my tongue. Her hands fell on my shoulders, sending a zip of fiery need down my spine into the base of my cock when she dug her fingernails into my skin.

“If books taught you this,” I breathed, “I should fill a library with them.”

“I can show you which ones I read,” she murmured, one hand sliding into my hair, sending shivers across my scalp. “You might find them informative.”

I laughed, my eyes creasing. I did that a lot around my new wife—laughed. It felt good. Everything about her felt good. Before I could respond to that scathing remark, she kissed me, plunging her tongue into my mouth and kissing me with a ferocity that made my heart pound.

“Do it,” she gasped, dragging her mouth from mine.

“Hm?”

“Have I addled your mind, sweet husband?”

“Thoroughly,” I agreed, sliding my hand along her back beneath her white dress. I wanted to see the rest of her ceremonial dresses. I felt robbed of the sight of her in the gold and green fassiya I’d had made for her, along with half a dozen others. Her father had turned down all but the dress she wore today. I should have realised then that he was an asshole.

“You were drawing my blood to fool the… what did you call them earlier? Vultures?”

“An apt description, trust me,” I said, slashing through the haze of desire, searching the bed for wherever the knife had ended up. I didn’t even have a memory of discarding it so I could touch her. “This will sting, dearling.”

“Just get it over with,” she huffed.

“I hope you don’t speak those words when I finally take you,” I remarked with a little smirk, bowing over her arm so I could clearly see where I cut.

“Stop teasing me.”

The gruffness in her voice made my smile deepen. I made the cut fast and shallow, blood instantly running down her arm, spotting the beautiful fabric of her dress.

“The black sheets seem like an oversight,” she commented.

“Yes, thank you, I realised that.”

She snorted, and if I hadn’t known the cut must be stinging like crazy by now, I wouldn’t have thought she’d been in pain. That was worrisome; my wife was able to mask her pain. I pressed a hard kiss to her temple and slid her off me, getting a clean cloth.

“Keep this pressed to the cut,” I told her, pressing it to her arm. I’d cut high enough that it would be easy to hide, the slice close to the crook of her elbow. “When the blood stops, I’ll bind it. You’ll have to keep it hidden, or the rumour mill will go into overproduction.”

Her eyes sparkled despite the pain. She was enjoying this. “What vivid imagery. What does the rumour mill produce?”

“Horseshit mostly.”

Her laugh was sweeter than any music. I kissed her cheek, letting my mouth linger, soaking up her warmth, her floral scent. “Tomorrow, I’d like to meet your wyvern. Introduce them to Makrukh. He’s grumpy with new people, but he’s a sweetheart deep down.”

Ameirah pulled away from me with a laugh so low and bitter it hit me like a slap, jarring. “What wyvern?”

“Your wyvern…” I frowned, the light feeling in my chest turning to lead. I didn’t like the way she put distance between us, didn’t like the tight, guarded expression that replaced her amusement.

“An abomination like me isn’t permitted to bond with a wyvern.”

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