Page 68 of A Legacy of Wrath and Reckoning

“Holt,” Zylah whispered. A plea to stop. To keep going. For both. Every moment beside him had been an exercise in control, to not send every thought and feeling down their bond, but to know he still wanted her, even like this, had her rolling her hips in time with him.

She knew what he would see: cheeks flushed with arousal, nipples peaked beneath the fabric of her tunic, the scent of her desire that she had no hope of hiding from him heavy in the air. But if she hurt him, if she caused him more of that pain she’d felt the night before—he rocked her again, tongue lapping at the pulse point on her neck, a low sound of approval rumbling through him at the little gasp she made.

“I don’t want to think about what we were to each other,” he said between featherlight kisses against her neck as if he knew where her thoughts had taken her. “Only this moment with you now.” He moved up to her mouth, tongue sliding between her lips as he rocked her faster, her body aching with need before he pulled back again, eyes fixed on hers.

“I want to see you come undone just like you did in my dreams.” He rocked her again and Zylah was already close, so close to what he wanted. What they both wanted, sparks dancing along her skin everywhere he touched. “I don’t want it to just be a memory,” he told her hoarsely. “I want it to be real.”

So did she. More than anything. Wanted to feel his weight on top of her, his skin against hers, to feel him pulsing inside her. Her back arched, muscles tightening, and she couldn’t help the emotions that slipped from her, the love, couldn’t help the way it weaved between the two of them, around them, cocooning them both.

“It is real,” she whispered, fingers tangling in his hair as she returned his kiss just as wildly, just as claiming, just as possessive. So much emotion swelled in her chest, fighting back tears as he brought her closer and closer to the edge of what they both craved.

“Come for me, Zylah.” Holt’s commanding tone pushed her over the precipice, wave after wave hitting her as Zylah broke apart in his arms. The intensity of her release stole her breath, any sound she made swallowed up by his kisses as she turned boneless in his embrace.

He rocked her through the little tremors that followed, and she knew it must have been an effort for him not to move his hips against her, to not take what he needed for the release he must have craved so badly, too. Zylah reached for him but he caught her wrist, pulling it behind her back and grasping both wrists gently together with his hand.

He lowered his mouth to one of her breasts, lips warm even through the fabric of her tunic. “Letmebe selfish,” he murmured. “Let me walk out of here covered in the scent of you, the sight of you like this in my arms.”

Zylah hummed. “I’m trying to think of a logical argument, but you’re making that a very difficult task,” she rasped as his teeth grazed over her nipple.

Holt’s chuckle rumbled through her chest, his lips paving their way up her throat to her mouth in a hot, claiming kiss.

“Arioch is on his way back,” she told him breathlessly, their kiss already heating her blood.

Holt pulled back gently, eyes roving over her face. “Then I get my wish,” he told her with a warm smile, easing her off his lap and depositing her in the blankets, the haze of what they’d done still clinging to every part of her. “I’ll get everything cleared away.” He was on his feet before she could protest, subtly readjusting himself in his trousers before Arioch’s footsteps crunched in the snow outside the cave.

Zylah ran a shaky hand over her hair, shrugged her cloak over her shoulders, and pulled the fabric closed. She made quick work of tending to her eyes with Deyna’s balm, fastening a fresh cloth before the Seraphim could greet them, hoping she didn’t look as pulled apart as she felt.

“It’s a beautiful morning,” Arioch said cheerfully as Zylah rose to greet him. He handed her a yellow alea blossom that she inhaled deeply, certain her cheeks were still flushed.

“It is,” Holt agreed as he sent the last of their blankets away, back to the Aquaris Court, Zylah presumed, his eyes roving over her face. He reached for her again, nimble fingers making quick work of fastening the stays on her cloak like he couldn’t help himself, and Zylah couldn’t hide her smile.

“I’ll take the first shift.” She wrapped her hand over his, held out the other for Arioch, and began their second day of travelling south through the mountains.

Their return to camp was without issue, Holt and Zylah continuing to move in turns. They weren’t willing to take any chances with being tracked, and the spell they’d once used was no longer an option since Holt had told her Aurelia would be following it too closely.

Zylah couldn’t help but wonder if Ranon and Aurelia didn’t already know their precise movements, but Nye had reassured her before about how heavily the camp was warded. They were escorted to the general’s tent upon their arrival, two soldiers positioned either side of the entrance offering a stern nod to each of them.

Nye stood beside Okwata at a table in the centre of her tent, both of them poring over schematics and what appeared to be a modified version of the explosives they’d used for the attack on the mine. Despite her exhaustion, Zylah forced herself to make introductions before sinking into a chair and rubbing at her temples.

“You’re a long way from home, friend,” Okwata said warmly to Arioch.

“You know my kind?” the Seraphim asked, taking in the sparse details of the tent, his attention lingering on the shadows that flickered at Nye’s feet.

“Your kind, but perhaps not from wherever you call home.” Because Okwata and Ahrek weren’t from their world, either, from what Zylah could ascertain, but she kept quiet, fingers pressed against her temples.

A knowing smile brightened Arioch’s face. “Ah, a fellow traveller.” And a potential friend, Zylah hoped, because Arioch could do with a few of those after so many years alone.

Holt’s fingers grazed her spine as he stood beside her, inspecting the contents of the table laid out before them. One hand reached for a prototype, the other traced lines on the schematics, and she wondered if she’d imagined his brief touch.

“You need to get these as close to the courtyard as possible.” It wasn’t a question. He’d been inside the palace more than any of them, his most recent stint not included. “These pillars are merely decorative. But these,” he added, dragging his finger in a zigzag through the centre of the courtyard, “Are load bearing.”

“That solves our quantity issue,” Okwata told him, noting something down on another piece of parchment.

Nye peppered Arioch with questions before excusing them both, insisting the Seraphim pay a visit to Deyna to get checked over. The constant evanescing had caught up with Zylah, her threads reaching no farther than the entrance of the tent, but they were safe here, she reminded herself, though she noted the way Holt hadn’t removed his sword since their arrival. At least one of them was prepared. Zylah didn’t think she could get up from her chair even if she wanted to.

“Your trip was a resounding success,” Okwata said, wheeling himself around to her side of the table and placing a vial before her. “Don’t tell Ahrek I told you so, but the severed hand almost had him running out of camp.” He winked at Zylah playfully, flicking his chin at the vial.

Zylah palmed the glass, inspecting the inky contents. “I suppose we should have sent it with some kind of warning.”

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