Page 131 of The Courting of Bristol Keats
Quin and Cully were both nodding.
“What?” Eris said. “What does he see?”
“Cael,” Quin answered. “He’s there. He’s alive. They’ve got a collar on him.”
“And he’s squinting against the torchlight and cursing,” Cully added.
“You canhearhim?”
Cully laughed. “No. I just know a curse from his lips when I see one.”
There was a cheer in the room, relief that Cael still had some surliness in him.
The rest of what they saw was inconsequential, Kormick apparently questioning Cael while a wizard rechecked the collar secured around Cael’s neck to make sure he was not capable of any magic—including dreamwalking.
With the last bit of hair gone, the images faded, and Quin and Cully opened their eyes. “We got him,” Quin said. “We know where he is, and we can get to him.”
“An oath,” Eris ordered, and before anyone left the room, they were all sworn to silence. Not even the council back in Danu was to be told what they had discovered—maybe especially not them.
Tyghan took Bristol’s hand, holding it firmly while everyone else filed out of the room to rejoin the party in the ballroom. “We’ll be along soon,” he said as they left. His eyes were an unexpected squall, considering the good news. No one questioned him, but Bristol saw the puzzlement in their faces.
When the last person was out of the room, Tyghan closed the door and pulled Bristol into his arms. He held her so tight, she thought he’d never let her go. His breaths were rough in her ear. “I was terrified I had lost you. Afraid that he—”
He loosened his grip, his steel eyes cutting into hers. Angry. Sharp. “Never doanythinglike that again. It was too risky. Too—”
“Sometimes you have to take risks. Especially for a payoff like that.” Bristol smiled, trying to ease his worry, to pretend she hadn’t been scared out of her mind, but the chaos was catching up with her in the quiet of the room, pounding in her head. She tried to shake it off, move past it. “And really, what was it you said when we first met? None of this was more dangerous than crossing a busy street on a bike?” She let out a small laugh. “That was some street I just crossed. Right?”
A crease formed at the edge of his mouth, the closest thing to a smile she was going to get. He looked at her shoulder and the torn sleeve, the top of her bodice folded over like a broken wing. “He hurt you. Dammit, Bri, you’re lucky he didn’t kill you.”
In the rush of events, she hadn’t noticed the deep scratches where Kormick’s nails dug into her skin during their struggle or felt the sting of torn flesh until now.
Tyghan raised a finger to her shoulder and slowly, tenderly, drew it across one scratch at a time. The stinging subsided, the flesh weaving whole once again. His gaze met hers, deep wells of blue swallowing her up. His fingers burned as they slid across her collarbone and over the hollow of her throat. The air snapped taut, Bristol’s breaths quivering, Tyghan’s growing heavier. Now her skin burned for a different reason.
His hand eased lower, his eyes never leaving hers, but she saw his control ebbing as he pulled the torn bodice lower, his hand hot against her breast, his thumb circling her nipple. Heat pulsed low in her groin, and her hips pressed forward against him. She drew in a shaky breath. “What about the party?” she whispered.
“What party?” he answered, and then his mouth came down on hers. Rough. Hungry. Like every emotion in him was tearing loose at once. They fell back against the door, his one hand sliding up her throat, the other pulling her skirts up, gliding across her hip, finding the warmth between her legs. She moaned, her head tipping back. Her eyes fluttered shut as she yanked at his belt buckle.
“Take it off,” she gasped.
Their lovemaking was wild, urgent, like they were stealing back a lifetime together they had almost lost, every touch suddenly more precious than air. She fumbled with the button of his trousers, his shirt, too many things. They both began tearing off their clothes, seams ripping, buttons popping like rain across the floor, and when enough was ripped loose or tossed away, he pressed against her again, his fingers between her legs, stroking, caressing until she couldn’t stand any more, and they slipped to the floor. He hovered over her, his teeth scraping her neck, her shoulder, his hand still teasing, her breath quivering, her hips pressing forward, and she groaned as his knee separated her legs and he plunged inside her. The darkness behind her eyelids pulsed with color. He was a storm devouring her, every thrust stealing her breath, and she wanted him to take more, take every part of her, take her until she couldn’t breathe at all. Her hips pushed into him, her back arching, the burning heat throbbing between her legs reaching a crescendo, and every nerve in her exploded at once, wave after wave consuming her. A string of guttural curses streamed from her throat, and her screams brought on his, hoarse and feral, his thrusts coming harder. They were bound together in every way, and nothing could come between them. With his last forceful thrust, he finally relaxed against her, spent, his breaths still shuddering, raw and uneven.
It was only after, as they lay there, that she noticed her single torn sleeve still hung like a casualty of war from her shoulder and buttons from Tyghan’s shirt lay scattered like spent shells across the floor. His chest was wet against hers, his heart still pounding, and he whispered against her cheek, “No more chances, Bri. Do you understand? No matter what happens. I will not lose you.”
“You never will,” she answered. “I’m not going anywhere. Not without you.”
He tucked his head into the crook of her neck, every part of them entwined, and they held each other for another long minute, as if sealing a promise between them.
CHAPTER 88
The ballroom hummed with a new kind of excitement. Tyghan noticed a few brows rise when he and Bristol returned to the grand hall—both in new attire—but his knights and recruits were jubilant, and as it turned out, the Elphame gentry were elated, too.
It was true, they murmured. The mysterious elite squad had precipitated the hasty departure of King Kormick and his brute warriors. This squad had some kind of power over him.Magic.
At least that was how it was perceived, and no one tried to dissuade them.
As bad a turn as the evening had taken, and despite the momentary terror it had brought him when Bristol disappeared, it had ended up exceeding Tyghan’s expectations for success. They almost had Cael in their grasp. Cully repeated over and over,She’s bloody brilliant, among other adjectives that includedcleveranddevious.
Tyghan noticed the lines in Dalagorn’s face deepen when Cully saiddevious. It was a poor choice of words, considering who her parents were. Nerves still weren’t healed in the wake of Kierus’s betrayal, but he knew Cully only meant it as the highest praise. Bristol not only survived the physical attack she launched on Kormick, harvesting his hair in the process, but managed to send him scurrying off like a trained rat, burning with the lie she had told him. Tyghan had to admit it was both brilliant and devious, and he was eager to return home to work out the details of Cael’s rescue, but first he had to garner more support from the other kingdoms. The Choosing Ceremony was only weeks away, and this was their last chance. He and his officers spread out.
