Thorns & Fire, page 22
Torj went to her workbench, picking up the belt. ‘Have you got more supplies for it?’
‘I do.’ Wren motioned to the spare vials held in a wooden frame. ‘There.’
‘Restock the belt,’ he told her.
‘Why? If I’m not wearing it—’
‘I’ll wear it.’
Wren blinked. ‘What?’
‘I’ll wear the belt,’ he repeated. ‘I assume you’ll be able to adjust it so it fits me?’
‘Well, yes, but . . .’
‘But what, Embers?’ he challenged. ‘Having your potions and poisons makes you feel safe. I realize it’s not the same as possessing them yourself, but if having them within arm’s reach helps alleviate any fear, then let me wear them.’
Wren’s words caught in her throat. Of course Torj had noticed that she felt vulnerable without her tinctures. Her hands trembled as she went about replacing her supplies and adjusting the belt for his larger frame.
‘Here.’ Her voice cracked as she held it out for him.
To her surprise, instead of taking the belt, Torj stepped into her space, lifting his arms so she could loop it around his middle.
‘Would you mind?’ he asked. ‘I’m paranoid that I’ll break something and poison myself . . . We’re not all immune.’
‘You are.’ The words were out before she could stop them, her fingers brushing his shirt as she fixed the belt around him, drawing it together at the buttons of his leathers. She could feel the heat of his gaze on her.
‘What?’ he asked.
Wren took a breath, wishing she hadn’t opened her stupid mouth. ‘You are immune,’ she explained slowly. ‘At least to the majority of things I use.’
Torj tensed beneath her touch. ‘How can that be?’
Wren focused on threading the end of the belt through the buckle and securing it just above the bulge in Torj’s leathers. ‘I’ve been exposing you to each one little by little, to create immunity.’
‘So what you’re telling me is that you’ve been poisoning me bit by bit, every day?’ There was a wry note to Torj’s voice.
‘Something like that.’ Wren dropped her hands from the belt and put some much-needed space between them. ‘I did the same for Thea growing up. And Cal and Kipp, to a lesser extent. I’m sorry, I should have—’
But Torj closed the gap between them once more and reached for her, tracing a featherlight line across her jaw. ‘All this time . . . you’ve been protecting me?’
‘Someone’s got to,’ she muttered.
Torj’s gaze dropped to her mouth, a strange expression flickering across his face. ‘Thank you.’
‘You’re welcome.’ Wren broke away, dusting her hands unnecessarily on her apron. ‘Shall we go?’
Torj hesitated. ‘How ridiculous do I look?’ He motioned to her belt of potions around his waist, in stark contrast to the hammer strapped across his shoulders and the curved knife sheathed at his side.
‘Only a little. You may pull it off yet.’ She couldn’t help the smile that tugged at her lips. ‘Apparently you’re a Warsword of many talents.’
Torj made for the door with a backwards glance full of heat. ‘You already knew that, Embers.’
Wren’s cheeks flamed, but she threw up a hand in protest. ‘Don’t start, Bear Slayer.’
His answering grin was wicked.
That night, back in her room, Wren was bleeding herself again, refusing to admit that she felt faint. She didn’t know how many times in the past few weeks she’d taken samples from her own veins, only that she needed more. Bruises had bloomed in the crook of each arm, the skin there tender, but she didn’t care.
With Zavier and Dessa’s help, she’d developed a cooling system to keep her vials at the right temperature so that the components of her blood weren’t compromised, but there was another issue . . .
She was running out of the enemy’s alchemy samples as well.
After the battle in Drevenor’s hall, she had collected as much of the strange shimmering substance from the weapons of the dead as possible. At the time, it had seemed like more than she needed, given that in its presence her own magic shrank back. But now, having heated countless blades and arrow tips to loosen the alchemy from the steel and captured it in an array of glass vessels, she realized there wasn’t enough. Not when she was burning through her ingredients and blood so quickly.
White dots swam in her vision, and she startled back to herself, red streaming down to her wrist, spilling over the shallow dish on her workbench.
‘Shit,’ she muttered, pressing a fresh linen cloth to her vein—
‘What the fuck are you doing?’ growled a familiar voice from the adjoining door.
Wren didn’t turn around. Instead, she wrapped a bandage around her arm and hastily pulled her sleeve down. ‘Don’t you ever knock?’
‘Not when I feel—’ He cut himself off.
‘Feel what?’ Wren demanded.
‘Nothing,’ he bit out. ‘It smells like blood in here.’
Another wave of dizziness washed over Wren, and she tried to subtly brace herself against the workbench. ‘You don’t say,’ she replied dryly.
The Bear Slayer stalked towards her, taking in the crimson-filled vials. ‘Furies save me, tell me this isn’t all yours.’
‘It’s not all mine,’ she echoed back without hesitation.
‘Horseshit.’ Torj shook his head, his eyes alight with fury as he turned to her. ‘This must be, what – two pints?’
‘Hardly—’
‘Don’t do that,’ Torj snapped.
Wren blinked. They had argued countless times before, across the span of years, but there was a note in his voice now that was unfamiliar to her. ‘What?’
‘Be reckless with yourself,’ he replied, his tone dark with anger. ‘You are too valuable, too important to take risks like this—’
‘It’s part of my work,’ she retorted, her own rage bubbling to the surface. ‘What would you say if I told you not to fight monsters, not to wield that hammer of yours?’
‘That’s different.’
An exasperated noise escaped her, and had she not needed the support of her workstation, she’d have thrown her hands up in the air as she demanded, ‘How?’
‘It just is,’ he said stubbornly.
‘A stellar argument there, Warsword—’
‘Don’t push me,’ he warned.
‘Or what?’ she taunted, folding her arms over her chest, trying not to wince as she brushed the tender spots at the crooks of her elbows. ‘How is it different?’
‘Because I’m expendable!’ he blurted.
Wren’s mouth fell open and she stared at the man before her. ‘Is that what you think?’
Torj shrugged, but the movement was forced. ‘It’s true. If something happened to me while I was performing my duties, there would be no lasting consequences for the world. There are more Warswords now, plenty of people to take my place. But you? If something happens to you while you’re taking stupid risks with yourself . . .’ He shook his head, cursing under his breath.
Wren’s magic was restless beneath her skin like never before. It tended to flood to the surface when her emotions were high, when her mental energy was depleted and, most often, when Torj was near. She did her best to ignore it, to stamp it out. She couldn’t afford to lose control; she couldn’t afford another split in her focus – but his words . . . They broke her.
‘You’re not expendable,’ she said quietly, her gaze meeting his. ‘Not to me.’
It didn’t matter how angry he made her. It didn’t matter that he’d broken her heart, or that he was hiding things from her. Not in this moment. For a world without the Bear Slayer was a world she wasn’t interested in.
She closed the gap between them, taking his hands in hers. ‘Don’t you ever think that,’ she told him fiercely.
Torj’s expression guttered. She recognized the grief as though it were her own. Something tugged inside her chest: an ache, a yearning that felt bone-deep, soul-deep. For a second, Wren thought she saw a flicker of gold in the air—
‘Do you know what it’s like to want someone so badly you can’t breathe?’
The words were raw and desperate, bleeding with pain.
‘And to know that no matter what, you can’t have them? They can never be yours?’
Wren stared at him, shaking her head. ‘And whose fault is that?’
It was only when Torj pulled his hands from her grasp as though burned, when he had walked away, that Wren realized . . .
He hadn’t spoken those words aloud.
CHAPTER 33
Torj
‘The culmination of a soul bond is much like death . . . inevitable’
– Tethers and Magical Bonds Throughout History
THE ADJOINING DOOR burst inwards after him, and Wren came charging in. ‘Do you know what you just did? What we just did?’
Torj stared at her, still trying to recover from the storm that raged within.
Wren didn’t back down. She never did. ‘You spoke into my mind, Torj. Into my fucking mind. And I heard it.’
‘What?’ He blinked at her, certain that she was speaking a language he didn’t understand for all the sense she was making.
But Wren was a living storm before him, power crackling all around her. ‘You spoke into my mind,’ she said again. ‘And don’t you dare tell me that you don’t know how.’
Torj had to brace himself against the back of the chair at his desk. Impossible. The word vibrated through him. Panicking, he wondered if she could hear that too. But he didn’t understand how. Not at all. Not when he’d destroyed the bond—
Suddenly, Wren was standing before him, close enough that he could scent the jasmine in her hair, could see the heat in her gaze, the certainty.
He drank in the sight of her, overwhelmed by the storm growing in his chest. ‘Furies know I have tried to stay away. I have tried to protect you from this. But the force of it, the force of you . . .’
His body heaved, and something inside him snapped – the last remnants of his restraint.
He seized Wren, gripping her behind her thighs and shoving her up onto the desk. ‘I can’t take it any more. I want you, Wren. I want you so badly I can’t breathe.’
‘Why?’ she demanded. ‘Tell me why it’s like this, Torj. Tell me why I can feel you in my blood, under my skin. Tell me why I can see your memories and share your dreams. Tell me why I can hear your thoughts. Just tell me why—’
‘Because we’re fucking soul bonded,’ he roared.
Wren’s expression was triumphant, a queen grasping her hard-won victory.
‘At least . . . we were,’ he said quietly.
‘Were?’ Wren echoed with a laugh. ‘This doesn’t feel like were.’ She grabbed a fistful of his shirt. ‘I’m not going anywhere. I know what you are to me . . . And what I am to you.’
Torj couldn’t take it any more. Couldn’t hold back all that he felt. ‘You are everything to me.’ And then he covered her mouth with his.
Torj cupped her face in his hands, threaded his fingers through the hair escaping her pin, tilting her to him for better access. She opened for him, allowing his tongue to sweep in and explore, to brush against hers and elicit a gasp of pleasure from her.
Her legs parted around him, and he eagerly closed the gap between their bodies, pressing his cock into the heat between her thighs. Wren arched her back, grinding against him, seeking friction before she dragged him to the floor.
His lips found her throat, sucking the sensitive skin there, licking over the hurt before moving over her mouth again. The kiss was hungry, desperate, and he couldn’t get enough.
Wren’s hands were in his shirt, tracing over his skin in a fever, and he was molten beneath her touch. He grabbed the hem of her skirt, drawing it up over her legs, bunching the fabric around her waist while Wren fumbled with his belt. She made a delicious noise of frustration that he covered with his mouth, a noise that turned into a moan as he brushed the centre of her with a single knuckle.
She spread herself wider, baring herself to him. ‘I want to feel you inside me. I want to feel you dripping down my thighs.’
Her filthy words, the image she painted, sent a frisson of longing straight to Torj’s cock, ricocheting up his spine. He licked his lips as he looked down at her, glistening and perfect. Together, they watched as he circled her clit with his thumb, as he pushed two fingers inside her, feeling her walls clench around him. He pumped the digits in and out, his cock begging to be freed from the confines of his leathers and sheathed inside of her, that hot, wet feel of her taunting him.
‘Gods,’ he murmured into the crook of her neck as she raised her hips to meet the thrusts of his fingers, her desire soaking his hand. Torj brought his mouth back to hers, stroking her tongue with his, coaxing desperate whimpers from her.
A deep, guttural moan escaped him, vibrating through his chest as her body collided with his. There were too many layers between them, too much fabric in the way.
But Wren was uninhibited, unapologetic. She tore at the buttons of his shirt, raking her nails down his exposed chest, over his nipples.
Astride him now, she ground herself against his cock, and Furies save him, he saw stars.
‘Too many clothes,’ Wren muttered against his lips, echoing his thoughts as she reached for his laces.
Torj finished shucking off his shirt, groaning as Wren palmed him through his leathers before tugging the wretched material down around his thighs.
‘Fuck . . .’
His erection sprang free, and Wren rubbed against him, eliciting another primal sound from him as his cock hit bare, wet skin. He was practically pawing at her, sitting upright to rip her apron over her head.
‘More fucking laces,’ he grunted as his fingers fumbled with the back of her gown. The material fell away, baring her shoulders to him.
Deepening another kiss, Torj let his fingers tangle in her hair as he bucked beneath her. He was distantly aware that they were behaving like wildcats, grinding and clawing at each other on the floor, but as Wren writhed above him, bunching her skirts around her waist, that observation vanished.
Tracing the curve of her hips up to the swell of her breasts, he leaned in and took her nipple in his mouth, coaxing a whimper from her as he grazed the tight peak with his teeth.
‘Gods.’ Wren moved against the length of him, crying out as his cock hit her clit.
Torj swallowed the sound with a savage kiss, and rubbed the head of his shaft against her, white-hot need blinding him.
‘Fuck me,’ Wren whispered desperately. ‘Fuck me hard, Bear Slayer.’
Her words set him on fire. Gripping her backside hard enough to bruise, he lifted her off him and had her on her back in seconds. Wren’s legs fell open for him, and he was cradled between her thighs, the tip of his cock pressing against her—
Wren’s eyes went wide. ‘Wait.’
Torj froze, heart suddenly in his throat. ‘Did I hurt you?’
Wren shook her head, catching her breath. ‘No. I . . .’ She seemed to take a moment to gather herself. ‘Are you still taking the contraceptive tonic?’
Torj’s stomach bottomed out, and he withdrew instantly. ‘No,’ he croaked. ‘I stopped the day . . . The day of the battle. I knew I wouldn’t need it.’ He could feel her eyes boring into him, could feel the questions in her smouldering gaze. ‘What about you?’ he asked hoarsely.
‘I still take it,’ she replied evenly. ‘But the tonic is most effective when both parties do.’
Torj speared a hand through his hair with a muttered curse, his cock still rock-hard, weeping at the tip, his heart still hammering wildly.
‘I won’t take that risk. Not even for you, Bear Slayer,’ Wren told him.
That got his attention, and he lifted his head to meet her eyes. ‘I would never ask you to.’
‘Good,’ she replied, her lips curving into a wicked smile. ‘Then I suggest we find alternative options in the meantime . . .’
Torj didn’t need telling twice.
He pushed her onto her back once more and dragged the dress bunched around her waist over her hips, tossing it aside at last, his own hunger reflected in her stormy eyes. Drinking in the sight of her, he mapped her throat with kisses before brushing his lips against hers.
‘Where to start, Embers . . . Where to fucking start . . .’
CHAPTER 34
Wren
‘In a union between twin flames, a gold thread often manifests, quite visible and tangible to the bonded pair. It symbolizes the fire between them, the light in the dark’
– Tethers and Magical Bonds Throughout History
THE BEAR SLAYER knew exactly where to start. His kiss became deep and dominating, as though he were trying to pour all the unspoken things between them into her. He slid himself between her legs, but didn’t enter her. Instead, he rubbed the head of his cock across her clit until she was panting. Pleasure rippled through Wren and she grabbed his hair, moaning into his mouth before he broke away and dragged his teeth down her throat. Her body bowed beneath him, desperate for more.
Torj’s hands were everywhere, cupping and squeezing her breasts as his mouth and tongue mapped her neck, her chest, her nipples. The pressure switched from light and teasing to rough and insistent, coaxing soft cries from her lips.
Her hands had a mind of their own as they traced his sculpted shoulders, his chest, his back. She drank in the shape and feel of him, wanting to remember every dip of sinew, every scar.
Wren was on fire, her skin hot and damp with the need for him, her hips rising to meet his as she silently cursed the line she’d drawn between them. The mere thought of him pushing inside her drove her wild; a slight shift from beneath him would have him at her entrance, and a tilt of her pelvis would have him sliding home, hitting that spot that made her head tip back in ecstasy.
‘Don’t tell me your restraint is wavering . . .’ Torj murmured against her skin.
‘Never,’ she lied.
His answering chuckle made her toes curl.
