Page 72 of Kingdom of the Two Moons

“Who did this?” His voice is hoarse as he looks at the remnants of the scars the iron-tipped whip left—cute mementos all over her back that will only disappear with the help of a very, very talented healer, thanks to the iron.

She looks over her shoulder. “None of your business.”

He steps up behind her, sinking one hand into her long hair and pulling her head back, his large canines scraping her neck. She closes her eyes, a moan escaping her as this feeling evokes the memory of totally different teeth sinking into her.

Fuck. No, not again. Not now!

To hell with fucking Caryan.

“You’ve already had me,” she whispers. “Twice.”

“You said you’ll be going away,” he groans into her ear, his calloused hands starting to circle her nipples again.

“Touching a witch unasked is a dangerous thing,” she snarls, but he keeps his hands there.

“I know, but I like to play with fire. You better holdon.”

With those words he slams his remarkable hardness into her all over again, driving in so deep she almost sees stars.

She grabs the edges of the table, her nails shredding wood, the material groaning at the impact before it gives way under her fingertips. She stifles a cry when he pulls back out and drives into her again. And again. Even deeper.

She arches her back as he licks the sweat off her neck and shoulder blades. A guttural moan escapes his throat, which drives her over the edge. She goes limp, collapsing on the table. He grabs her hips as he keeps pushing into her in ruthless, sharp thrusts.

And just when she thinks she’s too tired to keep standing, his calloused hands find the spot between her legs.

The forgotten kings of the Abyss spare her.Elven lovers.Not as rude and irreverent as angels, but just as potent and thorough. She comes again, this time with a cry that makes him come too. She collapses on the table, him on top of her, spending himself inside her.

Afterward, she takes another bath, soaking in the hot water and watching the flickering candles throw shapes of monsters crawling over the wooden ceiling.

He steps up to her, a long sword in his hand, black as the night, cabochons embedded in its pommel.

She sits up straight, looking up at him wide-eyed. Meteorite ore. A material from another world. The only thing that could cut even through celestial magic, not to mention every other form of magic.

“Where did you get this?”

“I traded it,” he says. His voice is as rough as his hands, his eyes clarion, catching the flame.

“It can’t be. They are gone. The portals closed… the weapons destroyed.”

He shakes his head. “The weapons from back then were destroyed, yes. But they came back. They’re lying low in the Black Forest.”

Her mind catches on the wordthey.Nefarians.Hellborns. Sub-breeds of an elven race from another world. Basically high elves who formed bonds with shadow demons from the Abyss. Connections so deep the demons’ magic left traces of it in their own bloodline, causing the offspring to be born with huge, black, taloned membrane wings and claws.

Legends say they were born after the angels had come to this world. That they are the result of a power imbalance because the angels were too dominating. Too powerful, so the demons intervened, merging their bloodline with that of the high fae.

Blair read a similar theory once about where the witches came from—from an alliance with demons, high fae, and dragons, but no one really knew, and most of the books were written in languages long forgotten.

She frowns at the black sword in his hands, brimming with danger. Meteorite ore is deadly for every fae, not only angels, and her own being wants to bare her teeth and hiss at it.

The Nefarians entered this world back then through a portal, bringing meteorite ore with them, knowing its value and how to craft it into weapons. They allied with Gatilla and the elves from Palisandre and traded the ore for a place in this world as they rebelled against the angels.

And swept the soil clean of them.

Afterward, though, her aunt and the elves broke their word and hunted the Nefarians down almost to extinction because they feared their aerial units and strong warriors. Some of the surviving Nefarians fled back to where they came from, and with the portals closed, Blair never thought it possible that they’d return one day.

Everything made of meteorite ore was destroyed before the Witch War, her aunt made sure of that. Abyss, Caryan himself had led the raids on Palisandre’s armories, cleaning them out one by one. Due to the toxic energy meteorite steel emanates, one that weakens magic in its direct proximity, Palisandre kept them at the outposts and never in the cities. Big mistake.

Water splashes as Blair rises, foam dripping over her lush figure as she holds her hand out. The smith obediently puts the sword init. Blair weighs it in her hand. It is heavy—heavier than it looks—as if its dark nature adds to its heft.

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