Aether & Ash, page 19
“I won’t rush anything,” he continued, his voice softer now, roughened only by the sincerity stitched into every word. “I won’t take a moment from you. This is yours, not mine.”
My heart clenched painfully. No one had ever said something like that to me, not with such raw honesty, without expectation or demand. His forehead dipped to rest against mine, the tip of his nose brushing gently along mine. The closeness stole the air between us yet gave me more to breathe than I’d ever known.
“Do I need you too much?” he murmured, his lips ghosting over the curve of my cheek, so close yet holding restraint with a tension I could feel vibrating through him. “Yes. A thousand times more than you think. Because no one, not a single soul, has ever stirred the demon inside me the way you do.”
My skin burned under the heat of his words, and something deeper, an ache, hunger I didn’t know I’d been starving for. His fingers drifted, trailing along the line of my jaw, down to the pulse fluttering wildly at my throat. “It is my honor,” he whispered, “to be your first. And your last.”
He didn’t ask, just claimed. And a dark part of me enjoyed it far more than I should.
His lips brushed over mine, so soft it was almost not a kiss at all. A promise whispered against my skin. My hands rose instinctively to press against his chest, to feel the erratic beat of his heart beneath my fingertips.
I kissed him back. Not with the grace of someone who knew what they were doing. But with every frantic, messy, breathtaking feeling he’d planted inside me. Every part of me trembled, yet none of it mattered—not with his lips on mine, not with the warmth of him so close it blurred the edges of my thoughts.
His hands slid around my waist, strong and sure, pulling me against him until water was no longer a barrier. My bare breasts pressed against the hard plane of his chest, my heart racing so fast I wondered if he could feel it thundering against his skin.
His skin, warm even in the cool water, shifting beneath my fingertips, taut and sculpted like stone shaped by the hands of some indulgent sculptor. My palms flattened against him without thinking, splayed across the ridges of his chest, tracing the faint, raised lines of scars.
Then...I felt it. A sharp jolt, a sudden awareness as something hard pressed against my lower belly. My breath hitched, panic and wonder collided like startled birds in my chest. Oh.
I froze, unsure if I should acknowledge it, name it, look at it, or pretend I had no idea what was happening. My mind scrambled for the right reaction, but there was none. I was catastrophically inexperienced, armed with nothing but sass and stupidity.
My knees buckled slightly under the weight of that realization, and perhaps under the weight of him too, but before I could slip, Damien’s arms tightened around me, holding me up. His lips found the curve of my neck, brushing softly at first, then pressing with more purpose, sending a shiver rippling down my spine. I swallowed hard, the sensation overwhelming, his breath hot against the delicate skin just beneath my ear.
I wasn’t prepared for this. For him. For the onslaught of sensation that made me see the abyss. For the way my body responded like it belonged to him, as if it had always belonged to him.
His mouth traveled slowly, unhurried, as though he had all the time in the world to memorize every inch of me. Each kiss was a quiet confession, his hands splayed across my back, fingertips tracing the dip of my spine, anchoring me when I felt like I might simply float away.
His lips traced a slow, deliberate path along my jaw, then down the slender column of my neck, his breath warm and ragged against my skin. Every inch he conquered sent another tremor cascading through me. His head dipped lower, savoring the way my breath hitched, the way my hands gripped his shoulders to anchor myself against the pull of something vast and consuming.
Lower still, until his lips hovered over the delicate curve where my heartbeat thrummed beneath fragile skin, to the puckered peak of my breast. His breath ghosted there, hot and reverent, stirring the fine, sensitive skin until goosebumps blossomed in its wake. Then, as if the distance itself was too much to bear, he closed it.
A soft, tentative brush of his tongue against me, a whisper of contact that unraveled me more than any fervent touch ever could. Then the warmth of his lips grazed the sensitive peak, feather-light, yet enough to ignite something electric beneath my skin. A gasp escaped me, sharp and unbidden, betraying the fragile control I clung to.
His response was immediate, a low, guttural growl vibrating deep in his chest, reverberating against me like a primal echo. It was raw, and it shattered the careful restraint he’d been holding onto like glass underfoot.
Without warning, his lips sealed around the stiffened peak, his fangs grazing against it—sharp yet teasing. A strangled moan tore from my throat as he tugged it, devouring, his mouth working over each one with a hunger barely leashed.
My back arched into him, pressing closer, offering more, as if my body had abandoned any notion of restraint. His hands roamed my spine, palms dragging over slick, bare skin, tracing the curve of my waist, the dip of my lower back, gripping as though he could mold me against him. He gave equal attention to both, but I was gone—blinded by sensation, overwhelmed.
The water sloshed between us, waves rippling from where we stood, but I felt none of it. Only him. Only the heat of his mouth, and caress of his hands against my body. His hands splayed across my back, pulling me impossibly closer, as if he could fuse us together with sheer will alone.
“Bella,” he rasped against my skin, his voice hoarse with something between desperation and awe. His forehead pressed briefly against my breasts, his breath shaky. “You wreck me.”
I couldn’t find words, lost in the whirl of sensation. My thoughts scattered like leaves in a storm. My fingers tangled in his hair, anchoring him to me, to this moment.
He lifted his head slightly, his eyes dark and stormy, pupils blown wide with need. “I’ve fought wars with less struggle than this—to leash myself,” he muttered, his voice a ragged whisper, as if the truth itself was a fragile thing he rarely dared to voice.
The words lodged in my throat, unspoken. Then don’t leash it, I wanted to say, the plea burning on the tip of my tongue. But wisdom held me back.
Then his mouth was on me again, claiming, tasting, and I was lost. Completely and utterly lost.
When we finally broke apart, gasping for breath, our foreheads pressed together, his deep chuckle rumbled against my chest, vibrating through me like the aftershock of a storm.
“This is better than green vines, isn’t it?” he whispered, his voice husky, tinged with a smile and a darker edge, one that made my pulse flutter.
I gathered just enough dignity to punch him weakly in the arm. “You’re insufferable.”
He caught my wrist with ease, tugging me gently forward, and I kissed him again. This time softer, slower, as if we were both afraid of breaking the fragile thing that had formed between us in the water.
But eventually, reality seeped back in. The coolness of the breeze above the water’s surface, the faint sounds of the mystical creatures stirring in the distance, it reminded me that we were not entirely alone in this world, even if it felt like it.
Damien pulled back slightly, his hand still cradling the small of my back. His gaze lingered on me, something fierce and tender tangled within the depths of his eyes.
“Come,” he murmured softly, guiding me toward the shore. His hand never left mine, fingers intertwined like we were afraid to let go. The climb from the water was awkward, how could it not be? But Damien moved with ease, unaffected by his nakedness, while I scrambled to maintain whatever scraps of modesty I had left. He reached for the thick linen cloth I’d brought, shaking it out with a casualness that made me glare at him just to cover my flustered state.
Without a word, he stepped closer, lifting the cloth and pressing it to my arms, my shoulders, carefully blotting away the lingering droplets that clung to my skin and gently wrapping the cloth around my shoulders, pulling me into its warmth. His hands were careful, reverent even, as he tucked the fabric around me, his fingers lingering a moment longer than necessary along the curve of my neck.
“I can do it myself,” I muttered, though my voice lacked the usual bite.
His lips quirked slightly. “I know.”
Once I was mostly covered, he turned to retrieve his own clothes, dressing with an ease I envied, every movement fluid and efficient. I stole a glance, just one, admiring the way his muscles shifted beneath his skin as he pulled on his clothes, the fabric stretching briefly across the broad expanse of his back before falling into place.
When he looked back to me, now fully clothed, just as I was, and yet still entirely too composed, he offered his hand. I stared at it for a moment, then at him.
“Ready?” he asked quietly. I wasn’t. Not even a little. But I nodded anyway, slipping my hand into his.
Our walk fell into an easy rhythm, unforced, as if it had always been this way. I had never had conversations like this before. Not with anyone outside Amara. And stars, I missed her. The moment I returned to the palace, I’d find her. Maybe—if things ever calmed, I could bring her back with me. Help her find work within the palace quarters. It would be easier, somehow, facing that world with her near.
Damien’s voice broke through my drifting thoughts, steady and low. “This is the Skyborne Wilds,” he said, gesturing toward the endless sprawl before us. My gaze followed his hand.
The horizon unfolded in impossible layers, floating isles suspended in the pale gold sky, each one different from the last. Some were veiled in mist, others glinted with crystal growths that shimmered like frozen starlight.
“The Isles drift infinitely,” he continued, “home to Tameables older than written time. This Realm isn’t ruled by men, or even Aether. It answers only to balance—predators, prey, and the land itself, shifting and reshaping as it pleases.”
I glanced upward, where massive, light-dappled leaves curled toward the Celestia. Each one could easily cradle ten men. They drifted between the isles like living bridges, creating passageways that folded and unfurled without warning. The air shimmered with thin mist and a hush of distant, melodic birdcall. There was something reverent about it all, something that made me want to speak in whispers.
I remembered how, on the way here, I’d showed him my fledgling Tether on a silver-throated mouse. The creature had nestled into my palm, its tiny paws kneading my fingers as the bond snapped into place. It had blinked at me once, then tilted its head curiously.
Damien had stared—actually stared—his usual icy mask slipping for one unguarded moment before he’d tossed the mouse a moonberry and casually said. “You can accompany us for the final Hunt, if you want.”
I had blinked, unsure whether I’d misheard him. But before I could react, he’d added, firmer now. “You will remain far away. You can watch from the lower ridge, observe the Tameable from there. Try to Tether, if you can. But I won’t let you near it.”
I squealed like a maniac and had thrown my arms around his neck and kissed him soundly on the cheek, the kind of overjoyed gesture that would’ve mortified me under any other circumstance.
Now, standing in the heart of the Skyborne Wilds with sunlight tracing the curve of his jaw and the wind whispering through the leaves, I understood why.
“The hunt here is a test,” Damien continued. “Not just of strength, but survival. The land itself changes, crumbling, reforming, pulling apart just as quickly as it comes together. It will either carry you or swallow you whole.”
Kicking a loose pebble from the path, I said, “Sounds delightful.”
As we walked, conversation came easily, drifting from the majesty of Etheris to lighter subjects, food, the ridiculous politics of the palace, Izmer’s knack for getting on everyone’s nerves.
“Your parents.” His voice softened unexpectedly. “What happened to them?”
The question struck like a blade between ribs. It wasn’t a question anyone often asked—most assumed whatever fit the narrative they preferred or didn’t care enough to wonder. Seeing my hesitation, he added, “I don’t mean to pry. I’m simply used to being direct.”
I laughed, brittle as autumn leaves. “I thought you’d have my entire lineage tucked away in some secret dossier by now.”
“I do.” he said, maddeningly even, no pretense. “But I want your memory. The parts ink can’t preserve.”
That damnable sincerity of his, wrapped in precision, was disarming. My breath shuddered out. “It’s nothing remarkable. Years past.”
He waited. Silent. A man who understood the weight of unsaid things.
And in that silence, something in me came loose. “I was twelve,” I said softly. “True commoners, my parents. Not the kind who serve Majors, but the ones who bartered cracked pottery in alleyways. Who slept with nickel purses sewn into their hems.” My thumb worried the fabric of my sleeve, a child’s habit resurrected. “The kind no one misses.”
Damien nodded. He had likely never had to think about life beyond the palace and its structured hierarchy, but he listened, his focus entirely on me.
“My mother wove reed baskets,” I said, tracing the memory like a fresh wound. “My father traded spices and dry roots at a market stall. He was known to be shrewd in business, maybe too shrewd.” The mist between us thickened as I spoke. “One day, he outbid a man on a large bulk of trade goods, spices, I think. It must have been a heavy loss, because the man didn’t take it lightly. A week later, my parents were dead.”
Damien’s expression darkened, his jaw tightening. “They killed them over a market bid?”
I exhaled, watching the mist swirl around the distant isles. “Commoners get killed for less.”
He didn’t answer right away. But I could feel the shift in him—something cold, something still. The kind of silence that sharpens before it strikes.
Then, low and controlled, his voice broke the quiet. “And you?”
I frowned, glancing at him. “What happened to me after?”
I shrugged, as if the memory didn’t bite anymore. “I was sent to one of the adoption Dorms. Did what was expected. Scrubbed, ran errands, swept floors. Worked hard. Grew up. Ended up where I am now.” I tried for a smile, though it faltered before it could land. “Getting yelled at by Majors. Scraping cinders off training mats. The usual.”
He said nothing, but I felt his gaze—heavy, searing. Watching me like he was trying to rewrite history with sheer will. Like the truth of my past sat wrong in his bones.
The silence stretched. And still, he looked at me.
I couldn’t take it. Not that look. Not the way it looked gutted for me. “You shouldn’t have had to grow up like that,” he said finally, his eyes remaining dark, relentless. “You deserve more than scraps from the tables you clean.”
My throat burned. I shrugged. “Then maybe do something about them, commoners like me.”
His expression didn’t flicker. “I intend to rectify the mistakes of the Sovereigns before me.” The conviction in his voice comforted me. He held my gaze, steady and sure. “You will never fear helplessness again. Not while I draw breath.”
The vow hit like a fist to the ribs. So, I did what I always did when things got too close. “What’s next?” I forced a smirk. “Are you about to promise me a life of riches and luxury, my Liege?”
But he didn’t smile. His eyes lingered on mine with burning intensity, and the silence between us thrummed with something deeper than words. I swallowed. Looked away.
Then, after a beat, his voice dropped lower. “Oh, I intend to give you silks. Not to compensate for the past—but because I’ve already imagined it. Entirely. For my own selfish reasons.” A beat. His thumb brushed my knuckles, fleeting as a spark. “But not as compensation. This was always the plan, long before I knew your scars.”
I told myself to not read much into this. But the quiet that followed wasn’t uncomfortable. Then the conversation turned, shifting like the isles itself, but the warmth remained between us.
And then, I asked the question that had been pressing at the back of my mind. “Why are you rushing the Hunt?”
I expected him to brush it off. Instead, he met my gaze. His honesty startled me. “The Sages of all the Clans have been predicting the threat of the Untameables. They have already started their attacks.” He continued, “We don’t have a clear idea of what they are. But they’re not creatures of this Telmoria, nor Etheris, not nurtured by nature. They are something—wrong.”
I frowned. “You think they’re coming through the portals?”
He nodded. “Yes, but I am not entirely sure. And unlike the Tameables, they can’t be reasoned with. They don’t follow the laws of the land. They are a force of destruction, nothing more.”
A lump formed in my throat. “Then what stops them?”
Damien’s expression was grim. “Nothing.” The weight of that single word settled between us like a stone.
He continued, his voice quieter now. “The only way we know to fight them is with our army. That’s why we have been recruiting Majors. More will be selected when we return.”
I swallowed, trying to grasp the enormity of what he was saying. “How do you know they’re really coming?”
Damien exhaled. “I don’t. But I know this, if the Sages are right, we don’t have time to wait.”
I had believed the urgency of the Hunts was about power, about proving something to the other Clans or perhaps preparing for the Celestial Dissonance, battles between Clans across multiple Realms, and I had been too young to remember the last time it happened.
I glanced at him, at the way his shoulders tensed, and for the first time, I saw the weight of it. The burden he carried, not just as Heir, but as the only person who could command the forces needed to stop this. I knew, in that moment, that whatever was coming, I was no longer afraid to stand beside him when it did.
Chapter 23
