Page 72 of Blood of Wolves

He kissed her. Swooped down fast and pressed his lips to hers. By the time she gasped in surprise, he was pulling back, giving her a serious look.

“Don’t think about that,” he entreated.

Her eyes stung, and she blinked hard to keep the forming tears at bay. “I can’t help it. It’s the truth.”

“It’s a possibility. A slim one. It’s–”

“Oh, Rune,” she groaned, half exasperation, half despair. “Would you stop being so bloody chivalrous about the whole thing? There is an army coming! A big one! We might lose, and we might all die, and my first time ever–” here, anger gave way to chilling fear again “–ever being with a man might be – might berape. You’re very sweet, but you can’t guaranteeanything.”

His face cycled through several emotions. Hurt. Fear. Shame. But then it settled into something firm and determined, and she just knew he was about to say something stupidly comforting that wasn’t actually comforting at all, gods bless his soul.

But instead, he met her gaze squarely, his jaw set, very like his uncle at his kingliest, and said, “No. I can’t guarantee the worst won’t happen tomorrow, though I’m certainly going to do everything in my power to prevent. And Icanguarantee you something: that I love you, and want to wed you, and –mph!” The last was muffled, because she grabbed the front of his tunic and yanked him down to kiss her again.

She shoved the tip of her tongue gracelessly against his lips, pushing for entry, wanting him to stop talking, wanting him to realize what shereallywanted and kiss her back – take control like he had that afternoon she’d wound up in his lap.Just kiss me, she thought, desperately.Just kiss me and touch me and give me something to think about besides all the awful that’s to come.

She heard him suck in a breath through his nostrils; his chest lifted beneath her grip, pressing against her knuckles, and then his hands were cupping the back of her head. His mouth opened, and his tongue stroked against hers, and she wanted to cry with relief.

He tilted her head to a better angle, and she let herself relax in his grip, her hands pressing flat to the muscles of his chest, mouth going soft and eager and welcoming. All of their kisses so far had been different, and this one was no exception. It was hungry, and hurried, as desperate as she’d been feeling inside. His tongue plunged deep into her mouth, seeking. His thumbs swept down to the hinge of her jaw and urged her to open wider, to let him in. Their lips slid messy against one another; it feltdaring, like something forbidden. He shuddered beneath her touch, and when he drew back a fraction, damp lips clinging to the last, he sucked in a ragged, unsteady breath, the brown of his eyes swallowed up by expanded pupils.

“Tessa. Love. I will gladly die defending you to the last.”

She sucked in a fast breath of her own, insides clenching.

“But you don’t have to face this not knowing what it’s like to lie with a man who loves you.”

The breath went back out of her lungs on a rush. “Oh.”

He winced. “Unless you don’t–”

“No. No, I do.” Her heart knocked wildly. “Rune. I love you, too. And I want that. Right now, I want that more than anything.”

He searched her face a moment, eyes flicking back and forth across her features. Slowly, a smile broke across his face, bright and boyish, and it blasted away all thoughts of war, or conquest, or that other horrible word that couldn’t even touch her now – because Rune was touching her. Her prince. His hands slid down to her shoulders, and squeezed, and he drew her into a hug, of all things, warm and pleasantly crushing.

He pressed his face into her hair, and gathered her cloak and back of her dress in both hands, fisting the material in close to the dip at the small of her back. “Tessa,” he murmured. “Tess, I promise I’ll be so careful. I’ll make it good for you.”

She shivered. “I know.”

When he pulled back, he pressed a kiss to her forehead, and then took her hand, and led her across the common room.

They went to his bedchamber, where the chest at the foot of the bed was still thrown-up from his hasty clothes change. The fire crackled low, down to coals, and though the air was chill, the chamber smelled of him: of pine oil, and leather, and fur, and clean boy sweat.

He squeezed her hand, and went to build up the fire. She watched, charmed by the homey gesture; back home, lords and ladies didn’t put logs on their own fires.

He stood, unclasped Erik’s heavy cloak, and swept it off his shoulders and around in front of him in an easy movement that left her a little breathless. It was downright dashing, that gesture. Casual, unassuming, he hadn’t done it to impress her, merely to doff the cloak so he could fold it over the chair at his desk. But beneath, his armor made his shoulders look even wider, his waist even narrower. The tail of his heavy belt hung down between his thighs in a way that couldn’t help but draw attention tothatpart of his body – a part with which she was about to become intimately acquainted.

Cheeks heating, she forced her gaze back up to his face, to be met by his profile. The fresh log in the grate caught with a flare and crackle of sparks, firelight catching in all the beads in his braids.

He was stunning.

And he was hers. The thought hit her like a kick to the stomach. Or maybe like a generous sip of the spirit that turned men rosy-faced and stupid around here. He loved her, wanted to wed her, was about to take her innocence – no, not take. She was going to give. Because she loved him back, and it didn’t matter if she didn’t know what she was doing, or if she was nervous, because he washers. Her prince and betrothed.

Warmth kindled in her belly, burned up into her throat, left her tingling with anticipation. Physical desire had become familiar by now, a pulse settling low in her belly, but she’d never been so ready to embrace it as she was now.

He turned to her, and the heat in his gaze was staggering. She started moving toward him before he offered his hand, legs unsteady, pulse beginning to throb in every part of her. His hand was warm, by now, when she slipped hers inside it. His sword calluses scraped her palm, strong fingers enfolded hers, and he drew her into his chest.

She took a deep breath of the heat radiating off of him, and everything was so easy after that.

He caught her nape with his free hand, and drew her into another kiss, this one slow and deep. A kiss so consuming she didn’t realize his hand had slid down her neck until her cloak came unclasped and fell to the floor with a rustle and thump of heavy wool. She was still fully-clothed, but her skin tightened and prickled beneath the layers of linen, wool, and leather; it felt like he could see her now, like taking off her cloak with intent made it all different.

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