Page 13 of The Bloodstone Oath

“You could never.” She took him deeper, inch by inch, until he filled her completely. Sparks danced behind her eyelids. Root met flame; Lyra’s life-vine twined with Ignis’s ember.

They found a rhythm that felt older than kingdoms. Kaelor entered and withdrew himself slowly at first. She savored the slide, the way his gaze worshipped every tremor in her face. Her breasts bounced with each roll of her hips; Kaelor rose to capture one in his mouth, teeth grazing, and she cried out.

“I need more of you,” she begged. She begged. His grip tightened just shy of bruising and he obliged, hips thrusting as the wet succulence of their bodies joining echoed through the alcove. Pleasure coiled tight, each thrust fanning the flower at her core into a bloom alight with fire.

She felt the climax building, bright and sharp, but a flicker of pain speared her temple, sudden and vicious. The Bloodstone’s distant pulse jolted, claiming her attention with malignant delight. A migraine bloomed behind her eyes, but still her body raced toward release.

“Selara?” Kaelor’s voice wavered, sensing the change.

She shook her head, desperate. “Come to me,” she bade.

With a last surge he drove down, grinding against her. Ecstasy detonated, a white-hot bloom that arced through every vein of her body. She shuddered, muscles clenching around him; that was all it took. Kaelor thrust up, once, twice, thrust again and spilled with a broken muffled cry as his heat flooded her.

They collapsed together, panting, limbs tangled. Sweat cooled on their skins as the night breeze threaded through the vines. For a suspended instant nothing existed but the hum of crickets and the afterglow shimmering through exhausted nerves.

Then the Bloodstone exacted its price. A needle of agony lanced Selara’s skull, bright enough to steal breath. She flinched; Kaelor immediately slid an arm under her shoulders. Raised welts appeared across her collarbones, red lines that throbbed like fresh burns.

“Easy, I have you.” He cradled her, voice a soothing rasp. “Breathe.”

“It is punishing me,” she gritted, tears springing. “I cast aside my first vows.”

He pressed a cool leaf to her temple. “Look at me. Count with me.”

She obeyed, inhaling to the count of four, exhaling to the count of four. The migraine’s edge dulled but did not vanish; the welts darkened, angry marks shaped like branching roots.

Kaelor cursed under his breath. He reached for his discarded tunic, wiped sweat from her brow, then settled the cloth between her skin and the gem. “We will fix this. There is a Flameforged ritual I found in the old books, it can draw off the excess power without harming you.”

She managed a shaky laugh. “You are looking for remedies for our passion?”

“I like you alive,” he shot back, but kissed her forehead.

She rested her cheek on his chest, listening to his heart slow from thunder to strong, steady thumps. The welts remained, tender but bearable. She traced one curving down toward her sternum. “Lyra’s vines scarred by Ignis’s kiss,” she murmured. “Earth paying tithe to fire.”

He threaded their fingers. “Then the next vow should mend the balance, not scorch it. Let me bring Emberhold’s healer tomorrow. We will try on a smaller stone first; prove it is safe.”

“Tomorrow,” she echoed, eyes drifting closed despite the ache.

Kaelor shifted, reaching for his cloak to drape over their cooling bodies. Moonlight spilled along his arm, painting gold over soot and scars. She admired that arm now, bruise and all, and felt a fierce tenderness bloom. “If Veyla sees us like this,” she whispered, “she will draft treaties in the shape of our imprint.”

“She already tried,” he muttered, rolling her carefully onto her back so he could check the rising welts. “This time she gets nothing but a closed door.”

A distant horn signaled the changing guard. Reality seeped in around the edges of moss and bloom. Selara sat up slowly, dizziness edging all around her. The welts would bruise purple by dawn. The migraine lingered but surrendered its knife to a dull hammer.

Kaelor helped her dress, fingers gentle at each fastening, but he knew better than to touch her more. When he settled her robe, he stared down at her. “I am sorry the gem hurt you.”

“I am not sorry for what led to it,” she said, reaching out to a tree trunk to steady herself. “I have always feared its appetite, but tonight it has shown me something words cannot express.”

He retrieved his own scattered clothes. Together they stepped from the curtained vines into starlight. Cool air kissed sweat-damp skin. The courtyard remained empty, though Selara sensed eyes in distant shadows. Her brow furrowed. The Rootborn could not know she had broken her priestess vows.

They walked separately, yet together. Each few steps she sensed him glance down at her, checking her stability but not daring to touch her further. The care made her throat tighten with unexpected emotion. She had given him her body; now he guarded the ache that followed.

Near the main walkway they paused. Selara fingered one raised welt. “Lyra has finally joined with Ignis,” she said softly, invoking the old parable of the sun goddess and the moon god who renewed the same valley for eons but only joined together for this purpose. “But they know they must temper the heat or all will burn.

Kaelor caught her meaning. “Then I will learn temperance. Help me cool the forge before the steel warps.”

She smiled, weary but sure. “Tomorrow.”

They parted at the corridor’s fork, exchanging a final, lingering look spiced with nectar and smoke. Selara watched him stride away into the gloom, broad shoulders haloed by Ignis’s red light. On her chest the Bloodstone thrummed, no longer ravenous but wary, like a predator sizing up a rival. She pressed fingers to hertender collar, feeling fresh welts twist the skin, and whispered to the gem, “You will not decide how I love.”

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