Page 104 of Forged in Flame and Shadow

Fuck, she feels so good. So hot and tight around me as I plunge into her again and again. It drives me wild the way each thrust undoes her a little bit more, her moans morphing into urgent shouts as she gets close to climax.

I try to secure the moment in my memory. The feel and sight and smell of her. The salty-sweet taste of the sweat on her skin and sultry beauty of the sounds she makes. I wish this time would stretch on forever—keeping me in the minutes I’m connected to her as closely as I can be, knowing she’s safe and happy. And that I’m happy too.

Her fingers tighten against my shoulder, and she mumbles something about being close. I don’t relent, only taking her deeper. The drawers beside her shake from the force of our bodies slamming together, straining to get even closer, as if we could crawl fully inside each other if we just tried hard enough. And then, at last, she screams and her whole body quivers against me. I close my eyes, focusing on the feel of her inner muscles squeezing tight around my cock, dragging me toward the edge with her.

With a roar of pleasure, I claim one last, brutal kiss from Ana and then let my release rock through me, spilling into her.

Still clutching each other, panting and elated, we come down from our orgasms, smiling like fools. Ana rests her forehead against mine and meets my gaze but doesn’t speak. She doesn’t need to say anything—and neither do I. All I need is to keep looking into those hazel eyes. As long as I have those, I have a shred of peace in this fucked-up world.

Chapter 32

Morgana

Iwake starving. I had little appetite yesterday after the confrontation in Gullert, the discovery about my brother, the injured rebels…

But then Leon fucked every single thought right out of my head, and I proceeded to sleep like a baby, awaking to feel reborn. I snuggle closer to him now, soaking in the warmth of his large, toned body. When I gently kiss his chest, he wakes with a rumble of pleasure.

“I’m hungry,” I murmur.

He grabs me, pulling me against him, and kisses me so thoroughly I forget for a moment what I was saying.

“I meanhungryhungry,” I clarify, when the dizziness ebbs. “Like for food.”

He growls in an exaggerated show of disappointment but releases me so we can get dressed.

Breakfast at the Crossed Keys is a busy affair. The inn is much bigger than any others I’ve seen before, with long corridors andmultiple levels. When we get downstairs, Heda shows Leon and me into one of a trio of dining rooms. There’s a long table running down the middle, busy with people loading up their plates from trays of toasted bread, eggs, and bacon. Periodically, a serving boy or girl hurries inside to replenish the supply with a fresh, steaming platter straight from the kitchen.

I scan the chairs and spot Eryx, Hyllus, and Stratton sitting toward one end, beside a welcome face.

“Alastor!” I grin, rushing up to the table and grabbing a seat beside the blond fae. He still looks fragile, with dark circles under his eyes, but I’m encouraged by the groaning plate of food in front of him.

“Good morning, Your Highness,” he says weakly.

“He woke up this morning and climbed straight out of bed,” Stratton says cheerfully. “He said the bacon was calling him.”

Leon settles down beside me as I glance down the table at our fellow diners. To my surprise, they’re not all strangers. Mal is chatting to a young man and woman, and the rebel from yesterday—the one with the head injury—is eating porridge a few seats away. There’s only a faint mark on her forehead now, so I guess the dryad healer they found in Ferrous was a good one. That leads me to wonder how many of the injured rebels survived. Vivid memories of their wounds swim up in my mind, draining away my appetite.

“What are the Hand doing here?” I ask the fae under my breath.

“Haven’t you noticed?” Eryx murmurs. “This whole inn is basically a safehouse for them. They must pay that woman handsomely to host them.”

From Heda’s perspective, I’d imagine it’s smart business. She never has to worry about her rooms being empty even in slow seasons for travelers, and Tread is far enough away from any Temple strongholds that it seems unlikely they get many clerics round here, so the risk is low.

“Why does that greenish fellow keep looking at me?” Alastor asks, taking a bite of his toast.

We all stare at him.

“You don’t remember?” Stratton asks.

Alastor shrugs.

“He’s the rebel who attacked you while your back was turned in Gullert,” Leon says darkly.

“Although he did apologize yesterday,” Stratton says.

“Oh, well, as long as he’s sorry,” Alastor says, turning back to his food.

“That’s it?” I ask, surprised. “He made you really sick.”

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