Page 68 of Stolen
Not lightly spoken.
Not ever.
“Is that what you are to me?” she whispers, voice thick with wonder, hands rising to press flat against my chest—right over the pounding of my traitorous heart.
I thrust deeper, slower, sealing my mouth to hers in a kiss that’s pure possession.
Little minx that she is, she snakes her hand up my spine, caressing my hair, then up further till she is stroking my horns.
Fuck me. My cock gets harder.
I pull back, but I don’t stop her. My lips are brushing hers as I answer, honest and raw and wrecked, “Yesss,” I hiss, unable to rein in the beast within me.
“I am yourviyen. As you are myviyella.”
“That sounds permanent,” she whispers, eyes wide and mesmerizing.
“It is, Jules Strano. You may not know what this all means yet, but I know you can feel it. In your body. In your bones. In your human heart and soul. Tell me you do.”
“I do,viyen,” she whimpers, stroking my horns now, and gods be damned, I am burning for her. “I feel it.”
“Mine,” I snarl, slamming my mouth to hers, driving my cock inside her tight heat in time with my tongue.
And then, I give her what she needs.
What I need.
I fuck her like I’m the storm and she’s the lightning rod.
Like I was forged for this moment. For this woman. For our bond.
The zareth wraps around our bodies like a cord.
And as her walls clamp down, and her cries fill the barrier of wind and magic, I know with bone-deep certainty, I am keeping my viyella.
No matter the cost.
Chapter15
Jules
North Village—TheMarket
The North Village Market smells like spices and bread and something sweet I can’t name but absolutely want to try.
Sunlight is filtering through the emerald canopy hanging over the outer fringes of the square. The forests here are wild.
But that sunlight? It’s gold and red and it glimmers off everything, making even the worn cobblestones look magical.
Shade walks beside me, her luminous gray skin catching the light in an ethereal way.
She is vibrant and the village is bustling, filled with sound and scent and color, and she walks beside me like she owns the place.
Her long red braid sways behind her, gleaming like firelight in the sun, and her steps are confident, her chin lifted with quiet pride.
“This way, Lady Jules,” she says with a sly smile, pointing out a row of covered booths arranged in a crescent.
“That one sellsflamefruit—don’t eat the seeds unless you like breathing smoke. And those arechitter melons. Sweet, but they hum when they ripen.”
