Page 70 of Jailer to the Death God
I pull away, rising, picking up my tunic. “I scarcely know what I said.”
“I think you do.”
I snatch the covered tray of food from the top of the nearby dresser and set it on the bed beside her. “Here. Your food is cold. Eat it anyway, or I’ll force it down your throat.”
Instead of offense or anger, I see only humor in her eyes, and a hint of pity. Which angers me still more.
I cannot love this woman. If I do, I will forfeit my throne and lose my home. I will have to give up everything I have been or known for thousands of years. All for what? A scrap of mortal flesh with sharp bones and white hair?
She’s beginning to eat while I pace the room, but she keeps stealing glances at me. Finally I go into the privy closet just to escape her eyes. I have to relieve myself as well—another disgusting part of my incarnation.
But my need to escape this body was not so intense when I was tangled with Vale, when I was coming inside her. I almost felt, for a moment, as if we had both flown away together, into some realm where no one could pursue us, where there was no bondage or plague, only the crystallized beauty of her pleasure and mine.
31
I wake in the night, startled upright by the cry of some unfamiliar forest bird. At least I hope and pray that’s what it was.
My heart is racing, my skin chilled. I must have kicked off my share of the covers.
Should I go and check, so I can be sure no one is hurt?
The fire on the hearth is burning low, and the room is mostly dark. I listen hard, identifying Arawn’s slow, deep breathing, the soft crackle and hiss of the fire, the creak of the inn’s timbers, and the distant drone of someone snoring. It must be loud if we can hear it through the walls and our closed door. How clearly could the inhabitants of the inn hear what Arawn and I were doing earlier? My cheeks heat.
In this kingdom, no one is expected to save themselves for marriage, or to refrain from sleeping with their intended before the wedding. But what if these people despise me for having sex on a night in which two of my guards died?
Still, if I waited for a day without any death or sorrow, I would never have sex again.
“Vale.” Arawn’s deep voice reverberates through the dark. “What is wrong?”
When he says my name I’m instantly alight and fluttery inside. Not the reaction a Queen should have. “I heard something.”
“What something? Nightmare? Don’t bite me again, for the Pit’s sake.”
I’m about to reply when the sound reoccurs—definitely a bird crying somewhere into the forest outside.
“It’s a fucking bird, Vale,” rumbles Arawn.
“So it is.” I settle back onto the pillows, pulling the covers over me. I’m still cold, so I scoot closer to the heated bulk of the death god.
And my arm brushes against his bare hip.
He’s only wearing the tunic he put on after our tryst, and it must have ridden up around his waist.
I freeze, a lustful awareness warming my chilled skin. I enjoyed being stuffed full of his cock a little too much. And I would like him to fuck me again.
But I should sleep.
Biting my lip, I turn my back to him. But I’m just naughty enough to scrunch up the hem of my own tunic and ease back against Arawn, so that the curve of my bare ass is touching his hip. I keep my knees bent, just in case…
In case he wants access.
I lie perfectly still, breathing shallowly.
Has he fallen asleep again?
After what seems like forever he shifts, turning from his back onto his side—his chest aligned with my spine, his abdomen pressed to my rear. When he’s through adjusting his position, his hot length is tucked right beneath the curve of my bottom, the tip touching my entrance.
Tension thrums along my every nerve and shimmers in the darkness.
