Page 80 of Kingdom of Darkness and Dragons
I leaned down and took him into my mouth. He groaned, a low, guttural sound of pure pleasure, his hips arching weakly off the ground. He tangled his hands in my hair, his breath catching in a ragged gasp, but he didn't pull me away. He let me lead, let me set the pace, his body trembling beneath my touch.
I drew him deeper, my tongue tracing the length of him, learning him in a way that was entirely new.
When I felt the tell-tale tightening in his thighs, the shudder that signalled his impending release, he pulled me away. Hishands, though still weak, were firm as they guided me up his body until I was straddling him again.
"Aeveth," he breathed, his voice raw with a need that went far beyond the physical. He wanted to be inside me. Not to conquer, but to connect. To hide in me from the pain and the darkness he carried.
I understood. I moved up his body, my lips tracing a path over his tattooed skin, then pulled back, my gaze locking with his. I took him in my hand, his flesh hot and rigid against my palm, and slowly, deliberately, lowered myself onto his length.
He gasped, his head falling back against the stone as I took him completely. His eyes, wide and intense, never left my face. There was no pain this time, only a perfect, searing heat that felt like coming home. I was the one setting the rhythm, a slow, deep rocking that was as much about connection as it was about release. His hands came to rest on my hips, not to control, but to steady himself, to feel the movement of my body against his. Every downward slide was a claiming. Every upward rise was a surrender. We were no longer captor and captive, but two broken pieces fitting together in the dark.
His eyes fluttered shut, a look of pure, unadulterated relief washing over his features. We moved together, a slow, deep rhythm that was more about comfort than frantic desire. This was not the bruising possession of our other encounters. This was a healing. Every slow slide of his body within mine felt like a stitch knitting us together, closing wounds neither of us had known were open. I watched his face, saw the lines of pain smooth away, replaced by a peace so profound it was heartbreaking. I had done this. I had given him this.
My little flame, he’d called me. In the dim twilight, holding this broken shadow-man inside me, I finally understood. I wasn't just his light. He was my darkness, and I had never felt so whole. When we came, it was together, a quiet, shuddering wavethat left us clinging to each other, two lost souls who had found their anchor in the heart of the storm.
I lay boneless atop him, my head pillowed on his chest, listening as the frantic pounding of his heart slowed to a steady, rhythmic beat. He was still weak, his body pliant beneath mine, the energy he’d summoned for our lovemaking leaving him spent and trembling. His hand, which had been tangled in my hair, came to rest on my back, his thumb stroking lazy circles over my skin.
“Aeveth,” he whispered against my hair, the sound a soft vibration against my skull. He said my name as if it were a fragile, precious thing he was afraid of breaking.
I lifted my head, and his gaze met mine, clear and unguarded. His fingers drifted from my back up to my throat, his touch feather-light as he traced the twin scars there. Before, his touch on my marks had been filled with a raw, possessive anger. Now, there was only a quiet, weary sadness. He didn’t ask. He just looked from the scars to my eyes, a silent question hanging between us that I had no answer for.
“Stay,” he whispered against my temple, the word a raw plea. It wasn’t a command, not like before. It was a request from a man terrified of being left alone in the dark again.
I lifted my head, meeting his gaze. The vulnerability was still there, a fragile thing in the depths of his winter-grey eyes. “I’m not going anywhere,” I promised, and the words were truer than any vow I had ever made.
He closed his eyes, relief washing over his face so completely it was like watching a mask crack and fall away. For the first time, I saw not the shadow mage, not my captor, but a man who had been lost for a very long time. And I, his little flame, had somehow become his guide.
I shifted to lie beside him, pulling one of the feathered cloaks over us both. His arm came around me, pulling me flush againsthis side. It was a simple gesture, but it felt more binding than any shadow-wrought chain.
I stayed where I was, listening to his breathing even out, the weight of my choice settling over me. My men. Their faces flashed through my mind—Tarshi, Marcus, Jalend, Septimus, Sirrax, Antonius. A wave of guilt, sharp and sickening, washed over me.
But as I looked down at the man sleeping in my arms, at the peaceful expression I had put on his face, I knew I would not be leaving. Not today. For now, this small, hidden glade was the entire world. And I was no longer a prisoner in it.
For two more days, I was his nursemaid. I fetched water from the stream, cleaned and re-dressed the gash on his head, and foraged for what little food the rain-soaked forest offered. He was a difficult patient, his pride warring with the weakness of his body, but he accepted my care with a quiet gratitude that spoke volumes. The cord that had once bound me as a prisoner now lay discarded in a corner of the cave, a forgotten relic of a life that felt a lifetime away.
On the third morning, he was strong enough to sit up on his own, though the movement left him pale and sweating. He watched me as I coaxed a small flame from our dwindling supply of tinder.
“We must go soon,” he said, his voice still raspy. “They will be looking for me.”
“They?” I asked, glancing up from the fire. “Who are ‘they’?”
“The elders. At the temple.” He gestured vaguely north, toward the jagged peaks that still separated us from his goal. “I was expected days ago. They will send searchers.”
The thought of others like him, other wielders of shadow, sent a chill through me that had nothing to do with the damp air. “Will they hurt me?” I asked, the old fear a faint echo in my chest.
He reached for my hand, his grip surprisingly strong. “No one will harm you, Aeveth. You are under my protection.” He pulled me closer, his gaze intense. “You are mine. They will know it the moment they see you.”
The words settled over me, not with the weight of a chain, but with the warmth of a mantle. A month ago, that declaration would have sent ice through my veins. Now, it was a strange comfort, a shield against the unknown world we were about to enter.
“How?” I asked, my voice quiet. “How will they know?”
He looked at me, and for a moment, the shadows in the cave seemed to deepen, clinging to him. “Because you carry my scent. My magic. You burn brighter for it.” His fingers brushed my cheek, a touch that was both proprietary and infinitely gentle. “You are marked, Aeveth, in ways that go deeper than the skin. They will see my claim on you as clearly as they see the colour of your eyes.”
I swallowed, the possessiveness in his tone a dark, thrilling current that pulled me under. I was marked. Claimed by a creature of shadow. And instead of fear, I felt a treacherous sense of belonging.
“Taveth, before I met you there were… there are others…”
His expression shuttered, the fragile peace of moments before evaporating like mist. The tenderness in his gaze was replaced by a familiar, chilling possessiveness. His fingers, which had been gentle on my skin, tightened almost imperceptibly on my hand. “The dragons,” he said, his voice flat. It wasn’t a question. “The marks on your throat.” I nodded, my own throat suddenly tight. “Yes. There are… five of them.” The number seemed to hang in the air between us, an obscene weight. A muscle jumped in his jaw, and the shadows in the cave seemed to stir, responding to the cold fury that radiated from him. I felt the dynamic shift back, the comfortable lover receding as thedangerous predator resurfaced. “They could not keep you,” he stated, his grip on my hand becoming a brand. “They let you fall. They let you be taken.” He leaned closer, his pale eyes boring into mine, pinning me with their intensity. “Their claim is ash. You are here. With me.” He didn’t need to say the rest. His claim was the one that mattered because he was the one who held me. He was the one I had stayed for. “It’s not that simple, Taveth,” I whispered.
