Page 36 of The Manticore's Human Queen
“For what? A human? A woman?” My voice sharpens with steel, cutting through his hesitation. “I helped you burn down an elven manor. I killed my own husband and walked through fire to free us both. Do you think some caves will stop me?”
He stares at me, and I see the moment his protests die. Pride blooms across his features—not condescending approval, but the deep respect of one warrior recognizing another. His gaze softens, tracing the curve of my cheek, igniting a warmth that spreads through me like wildfire.
“You’re sure?” he asks quietly. “You understand what you’re choosing?”
“I’m choosing you,” I say firmly, my voice trembling with conviction. “I’m choosing us. A life where I fight for what matters instead of surviving what doesn’t.”
A slow smile spreads across his face, transforming his harsh features into something breathtakingly beautiful. “My fierce little queen,” he murmurs, his voice low and reverent, sending a shiver down my spine. He pulls me down for a kiss that tastes of promise and adventure, of shared purpose and unwavering devotion. His lips are warm, possessive, yet tender, and I melt into him, my body pressed against his, feeling the hard planes of his chest against my softness.
When we break apart, his eyes shine with an intensity that makes my heart skip. “I’ve never seen someone as beautiful on the inside as they are on the outside,” he says, his voice thick with emotion. “Your courage, your loyalty, your strength—you take my breath away, Annelise.”
Heat blooms in my cheeks, but also something deeper—a sense of being truly seen, valued for who I am, not what I represent. My hands move to the laces of my borrowed dress, simple traveling clothes scavenged from an abandoned cottage, yet still too constraining for the freedom I crave. I unlace the front slowly, deliberately, each tug of the cord a silent declaration of my choice. The fabric parts, revealing the curve of my collarbone, the swell of my breasts, the scars of my past bared in the golden morning light. Tarek’s eyes darken with desire, his breath hitching as he watches, his gaze a caress thatsets my skin alight. The air between us thickens with unspoken promises, the cave’s quiet amplifying the soft rustle of fabric, the quickening of our breaths.
“Then see me always,” I whisper, letting the dress fall away, baring my body, my heart, my soul. My skin prickles under his gaze, not from the chill but from the weight of his adoration, his hunger. I am no longer the terrified girl in the gilded cage—I am a woman claiming her destiny, embracing her power, offering herself fully to the man who sees her. “All of me. Every scar, every flaw, every perfect imperfection.”
“Always,” he promises, his voice reverent as a prayer, his hands reaching for me with a tenderness that belies his strength. His fingers trace my curves, igniting sparks of heat that pool low in my belly, a silent vow in every touch. As we come together in the warm circle of firelight, our bodies entwining with a passion born of choice, I know that whatever dangers await in the frozen north, we will face them together.
As mates, bound by something stronger than duty or obligation. Bound by choice.
39
TAREK
The Kaynvu wilderness stretches vast around us, snow-laden pines whispering secrets in the wind, their shadows flickering in the glow of our small fire. Annelise’s warmth beside me, her tattered gown brushing pine needles, anchors me in this freedom we’ve clawed from the ashes of the Roraelli estate.
My manticore heart thunders with a love that drowns the biting cold, her dagger through Renlir’s eye a blazing testament to her warrior spirit. Her presence is a wildfire in my blood, igniting a primal hunger that battles the reverence I owe my queen.
The scent of her—wildflowers laced with the smoke of our escape—stirs a heat that coils low, a need to claim her, to worship her, to bind us in this wild, untamed moment.
Her forest-green eyes meet mine, sparking with a command that sets my soul ablaze. “Tarek,” she murmurs, her voice soft but unyielding, a sultry edge that sends shivers down my scarred spine. “I want you—here, under these trees.” My cock stirs, a primal hunger surging, tempered by the awe I feel for her strength, her defiance.
Her words are a spark, igniting a blaze that consumes every thought but her, her body a beacon in the firelight, curves soft yet fierce, a contradiction that drives me wild.
“You’re my everything, Annelise,” I rumble, cupping her face, my thumb grazing the fading bruise from Renlir’s fist. Her skin is warm, velvet beneath my calloused touch, and the memory of her courage—her blade piercing the dark elf’s eye—fuels a desire that borders on worship. “Take me as you please,” she whispers, rising to lead me to a sturdy pine, its rough bark calling to her like a lover. Her boldness stokes a fire hotter than the one crackling behind us, her silhouette against the snowy pines a vision of untamed beauty, her golden hair glowing like a halo in the dim light.
She turns, bending forward, hands pressing against the tree, her skirts lifting slowly, silk snagging on bark as she bares her thighs.
The fabric catches the fire’s glow, revealing the smooth expanse of her skin inch by inch, a deliberate act that makes my breath catch. “Fuck me here, my beast—against this tree,” she purrs, her voice a sultry command that sends a jolt through my scarred frame.
The cold air kisses her skin, and I step closer, claws grazing her hips, my erection straining with need, pulsing with the rhythm of my pounding heart. Her curves, illuminated by the flickering flames, beckon me, each inch of exposed flesh a promise of our shared rebellion, a defiance of every chain that ever bound us.
My fingers trail down her spine, slow and deliberate, savoring the shiver that ripples through her body. They slip to her ass, teasing her tight rim with a gentle probe that draws a gasp, her breath hitching in the quiet forest air.
“You’re my dirty queen,” I growl, easing a finger inside her, the heat of her clenching around me amplifying my desire to an unbearable peak.
Her moan, soft yet defiant, fuels the manticore within, but I keep my touch reverent, worshipping her strength, her fire. The scent of her arousal, mingling with pine and snow, intoxicates me, pulling me deeper into this primal moment.
Her body arches slightly, inviting more, her skin glowing under the fire’s caress, a canvas of desire and power.
“Spank me, Tarek—make me feel alive,” she urges, bending lower, her ass a perfect offering against the pine. My palm cracks lightly against her skin, a sting that pulls a gasp, then harder, warmth blooming as she moans, “More, my love—mark your queen.”
Each spank is a vow, her flesh glowing under my touch, the forest echoing our shared rebellion. Her hips sway, a silent plea for more, her breath quickening with each strike, a symphony of pain and pleasure that binds us closer. The sound of my hand against her skin, sharp and rhythmic, blends with the wind’s sigh, creating a music only we understand, a testament to our freedom.
Her gown bunches at her waist, and I find her wet, my free hand teasing her pussy, slick and ready, her heat a siren’s call. “Let me claim you,” I murmur, my cock sliding into her, slow at first, savoring the way she envelops me, then harder, filling her with a rhythm that pulses with the wind through the pines. “Your cunt’s so tight for me,” I groan, my finger still in her ass, moving in sync with my thrusts. Her body responds, arching into me, her heat a furnace that consumes every thought but her. The pine’s rough texture scrapes her palms, the snow’s chill a stark contrast to the fire between us, our bodies locked in a primal dance as ancient as the forest itself.
“Harder, my beast—fuck your queen,” she gasps, the tree steadying her as I drive deeper, the bark biting into her hands. My finger slips deeper into her ass, her moans rising, the slight pain fueling her pleasure as she pushes back against me, meeting each thrust with a hunger that matches mine.
The pine’s scent, the snow’s bite, her heat—all blend into a sensory storm, my desire cresting with hers. Her skin glows in the firelight, each thrust a claim, each moan a vow, our bodies a rebellion against every cage we’ve shattered. Her defiance, her passion, her strength—they drive me to the edge, her body a temple I worship with every movement.
