Page 59 of Flight of Fate

Myron’s hands claim my hips, securing me against his front as he turns us over so he’s kneeling between my legs on the bed. With a moan, I arch into his touch, relishing each featherlight kiss he places along the side of my neck. And his teeth?—

A curse escapes my lips as he bites down on the side of my collar, tearing the button open with one efficient tug, but my hands are there, fumbling open the buckles along the front until my thin undershirt is the only thing separating me from his touch. With a growl, Myron releases my hips, hooking a talon that must have slipped through his attention into the collar ofmy shirt and ripping it open straight to the waistband of my pants. The fabric peels away, leaving me bare, and Myron takes full advantage as he sits up, looking his fill of my heavy, aching breasts before swiping a gentle finger across them.

“My beautiful Crow,” he whispers, awe melting with desire, with a raw need so forceful my palm burns as he pours his emotions into me through the bond.

I reach for his shirt, sliding it over his head, then the front of his pants, unlacing the leather until I can shove it down, freeing his cock. Myron’s breath stutters as I guide him to my entrance, his entire form trembling with restraint, but he doesn’t move an inch as I take his face between my palms, kissing him gently, deeply.

“No one but you,” I remind him as I slide over him, letting his hard desire sink into me.

Myron isn’t breathing, pulse raging in his chest so hard I can hear it over the gushing of my own wild blood. Like honey, his tongue melts against mine, and as I nip at his bottom lip, moaning at the deep fit of him within me, Myron unleashes himself on me.

Hard thrusts combined with reverent kisses. I’m afloat with the potency of the emotions building within me. Not just the pleasure coiling tight in my belly with every time his hips meet mine, fingers curling around my thighs as he lifts me a few inches to take me even deeper. On his chest, the mate mark lights up under my touch, lines of stardust glimmering between us as he drives into me like he can’t bear an inch of distance between us.

When I come undone, Myron is right there to catch me, his groan of release tearing through the small universe we’ve formed for us alone, shredding it into a million stars.

Thirty-Six

Ayna

“What doyou mean you don’t have news on the antidote?” Queen Sanja’s amber gaze is nothing I want to be the mark of as she sends it across the elegant low couch table like she’s ready to spear the King of Askarea alive and roast him over an open fire.

To his credit, Rogue bristles only slightly before regaining his control and quirking a brow at her. “The healers haven’t made any progress. The vial has limited contents. We’ve put the experiments on hold until we have a more solid idea of how to create an antidote.” Leaning toward her, he reaches for her belly, stroking the roundness gently even when his tone remains fierce. “I’m not going to waste what little of the poison we have left on wild guesses.”

Wild guesses seem what our little group has become most adept at over the past weeks. All the theories about Ephegos and his intentions. The locations and potential movements of Erina’s legions and spies. Not to forget the God of Darkness, maker of the Crows and my far ancestor. I gag on the mere thought of someone who shares my blood willing to sell me to a traitor of his own creation.

Better focus on the easy things in life, like picking a side in this conflict about whether or not we should pursue the experiments regarding the antidote.

“It doesn’t need to be an antidote,” Clio throws in. “The poison would do the trick. If we could douse the Flames and the Crows with it during battle, we’d even the field the way they tried with us.”

She’s right. We all know she’s right, but even Herinor hasn’t been able to come up with memories of the recipe for the Guardiansdamned serum that has caused so much misery for me and mine.

“The healers are even more clueless about how to make that one. Flame blood, yes, but the other ingredients…” Rogue muses, getting up from his perch on the edge of the black brocade chair in his study where we’ve been sitting for half an hour, comparing notes and gathering our combined knowledge about the drug. Anything that might help us unlock the riddle is welcome, but even knowing the effects it evokes in the different physiques of human, Crow Fae, and Askarean Fairy hasn’t been of any help.

Sanja sweeps her long, shiny black tresses back over her shoulder, running a hand down her sternum as she stretches her spine, the strain of pregnancy clearly weighing on her, and Rogue’s stern features soften. Within the blink of an eye, he disappears mid-step toward his mahogany desk, reappearing seated beside Sanja on the couch. With a careful pair of arms, he pulls her closer. Tori and Clio both smile while the rest of us try not to stare at the display of mately concern. Silas clears his throat, looking anywhere but at the Fairy King and Queen, Kaira opting for the gardens below the narrow balcony leading from the simple yet elegant room, and Herinor folds his arms across his chest, studying the loose thread at the sleeve of his tunic withsudden interest. Royad starts murmuring with Myron, both of them standing behind my chair.

“Anything I can get you?” Rogue murmurs, already using his magic, summoning a tray with a glass of water, a cup of herbal tea, judging by the smell of it, and various cookies and salty snacks on three different plates. He sets it down on the table, fingers of his other hand resting on the now-moving belly.

“He’s kicking again,” Sanja groans. “If he’ll be anything as active as he is now when he’s out, we won’t sleep for a decade.”

I can’t hold back a chuckle. I have no idea about younglings, but if their child has any resemblance to either of them, it’s going to be a handful.

As if remembering he’s supposed to play the role of the war-waging monarch, Recienne straightens, hand sliding from the purple velvet gown covering his mate’s abdomen. I smile widely at him because this moment, private as it might have been, gives me an idea.

“The antidote would be a great way to increase our chances in open battle. As would be the poison.” The map from last night flashes before me, all those locations of hidden troops lying low. “But even if we figure it out, it might be too late to use in battle and not enough quantity to affect an entire army.”

“I don’t believe I’m following;” Rogue says, adjusting the gold-threaded cuffs of his black tunic.

In my palm, I sense Myron’s presence, his encouragement, even when I can’t see his face with him remaining behind me.

With a wave of said hand, I gesture at Sanja’s belly. “The Crows loyal to Ephegos may fight for what they believe is their right, following a traitor who will sacrifice any of them easily if it serves his own interest. But they don’t have what you have.”

Rogue’s brows rise up so high I wonder if they will disappear into his hairline. “And what’s that, Ayna?”

My lips spread wide, smile becoming impossibly broader. “A family. A future filled with life and love.” Myron’s hands settle on my shoulders, squeezing gently, and warmth fills me as I can see that future clearly before me. Sanja and Rogue with their little one, Clio and Tori, the doting aunt and uncle. “You have something to fight for, Rogue, and something to lose. Tavras, on the other hand, has no true motivation to go to war other than a megalomaniac king and his Crow friend. I doubt Tavrasian soldiers are eager to march into battle at all with the kingdom thriving the way it is.”

“Ephegos can give a surprisingly convincing hate speech,” Herinor points out, and none of us needs to be reminded of the memories Kaira dug up from the male’s mind.

“You say that like it’s an excuse.” The cold edge in Kaira’s tone shuts him up immediately.

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