Thorns & Fire, page 33
She sagged against him in the saddle, wrapping him in her scent as the soul bond flickered between them, at last dissipating as it had before.
‘No one can know,’ he said quietly. ‘About the soul bond. I don’t want it used against us.’
‘Do you think Silas realized?’ she asked, drawing circles on his exposed forearms as he adjusted his grip on the reins. ‘When he attacked the hall?’
‘I don’t know . . . Possibly.’ He let out a breath. ‘But with an informant inside the academy walls . . . I think we need to keep it a secret for as long as we can.’
Wren shifted against him. ‘The bond, or us being together?’
From behind, he tucked her hair around her ear. ‘What do you think, Embers?’
Her whole body rose and fell with her sigh. ‘The bond . . . We actively hide it. In general, though? I think anyone with half a brain could figure out we’re together. But it’s not wise to flaunt it. That would be like lighting a beacon to our weaknesses. We keep things quiet. With all the political unrest now, with . . .’
‘The Delmirian throne in question?’ he finished for her. He had seen her battling with it for weeks. Wilder had filled him in on what Thea had planned: the storm-wielding Warsword was going to take the crown. Thea was going to shoulder the burden she’d dismissed time and time again over the years, and Torj knew that it wasn’t sitting right with Wren. The anguish in her voice confirmed it.
‘Yes,’ she whispered. ‘That.’
Even though she was sitting flush against him, Torj needed her closer. He wrapped an arm around her waist and held her to him. ‘Whatever you need, Embers. Just know that keeping us secret isn’t born of shame, or fear. I’d sing it from the rooftops if you’d allow it.’
Wren huffed a laugh. ‘Now that I’d pay to see.’
‘Maybe one day.’ He nuzzled her neck, still marvelling at the fact that he was able to touch her so freely at last. ‘But so long as you know that I love you and I want to be with you, that’s enough for me.’
‘The feeling is mutual, Bear Slayer.’
He smiled into her hair. ‘Why do I suddenly like that name again?’
‘Because it makes you feel like a king when I’m screaming it as I come on your cock,’ she quipped.
The cock in question twitched in his leathers, still hard from their fun in the saddle. ‘Such filthy words from a princess.’
‘You haven’t heard anything yet.’
He gave her a squeeze. ‘Is that so? I’ll be sure to wring every last word from your lips . . .’
The laugh that bubbled from her was like magic.
Torj knew it was short-sighted, that there were challenges to come. But with Wren in his arms, he could only feel contentment – and a flicker of disbelief that they had reached this point. He remembered the other times they’d shared the saddle, all sharp words and taunts. Now, he didn’t want the ride to end.
But end it did, with Drevenor’s wrought iron gates coming into view, the academy standing tall beyond the curling ivy.
He felt Wren tense between his legs, felt the tightness in her chest as though it were right there in his own.
‘It’s not going to be easy,’ she warned, her voice no more than a whisper.
‘I never said I needed easy,’ he told her. ‘I needed you.’
CHAPTER 54
Wren
‘Some threads in destiny’s tapestry cannot be cut – they simply weave new patterns through time’
– Tethers and Magical Bonds Throughout History
THERE WAS NOTHING Wren wanted more than to sink into a hot bath with Torj and forget the midrealms existed. But that was not the life she led, and the Bear Slayer understood that. He had told her of the shadow magic he and Wilder had discovered in the enemy laboratory, which only fuelled her need to finish the cure, to stop Silas.
She thanked Dessa profusely for guarding her work in her absence and promised to update her as soon as she could. While Wren washed quickly, Torj retrieved the supplies Thea and Wilder had brought back from the enemy’s workshop. When she emerged from the bathing chamber, she was touched to find that everything was set up for her at her bench. There was also a fresh pot of tea and some biscuits.
She glanced to where he waited in the adjoining doorway. ‘You did all of this?’
His answering smile had her melting. ‘There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you.’
Wren bit her lip, warring with herself. Gods, she wanted to go to him; she wanted him close. After so long apart, after all they had missed together . . . Now they had no time.
Another smile, this one full of understanding. ‘Do the work, Embers,’ he said softly. ‘I’ll be here when you finish.’
Wren did go to him then, and brushed a kiss to his lips, a promise of what was to come when she finished her opus. ‘Thank you,’ she told him.
And then, she returned to the cure.
For months she had been working under the assumption that the alchemy attacked blood itself, and in that respect, the earlier cure she’d used on Zavier had been a fluke of sorts. But from what she’d seen in the laboratory beneath the cobbler’s workshop, the alchemy – or curse – wasn’t attacking royal blood; it was attacking the very fibre of the magic in their systems. The substance didn’t just attack magical properties and fester, it multiplied upon contact with power . . . and now, armed with that knowledge and the knowledge about her own storm magic, she had to know, once and for all, if it would work.
Wren’s hands shook as she set up her samples and the last of the Delmirian rose. If she managed to recreate the counter-alchemy, it would shift the tides of the upcoming conflict.
As afternoon turned into evening and evening turned into night, Wren called for Thea. Her sister gave her a fresh sample of royal blood to work with and promised to retrieve some from Zavier as soon as he was well enough, so Wren could be sure that whatever she created didn’t simply work on her alone.
Seeing her focus, Thea didn’t linger. Wren simply thanked her and continued her work.
At some point, Torj brought her more food. The Warsword didn’t speak, didn’t fracture her concentration; he simply stood by her side until she’d finished her bowl of stew and then took it away. When he was gone, his scent lingered, and she found herself moving towards the adjoining door before she stopped herself.
‘Do the work, Embers. I’ll be here when you finish.’
She turned back to her crucibles and powders, and continued.
Wren had no notion of the hour when there was a soft knock at the main door. She opened it to find Farissa on the other side.
‘May I come in?’ her former mentor asked.
Wren stepped aside. ‘What time is it?’
‘Nearly the third hour,’ Farissa replied as she entered the room, taking in the chaos across every surface. ‘I knew you’d be awake.’
When Wren had been Farissa’s apprentice, they had always started their mornings before daybreak. Back then, Wren had found it invigorating, always something new to learn on the horizon. She thought the war had taken that joy from her, but Drevenor, even with all its faults, had given it back.
‘I’d offer you some tea, but I’m afraid it’s gone cold,’ she said, closing the door and turning to face the older woman.
Farissa dismissed this with a wave. Her gaze roamed over the shallow glass dishes of blood, over the mortar and pestle that held the last remnants of the powdered rose leaves. ‘You’re ready, then? To present to the masters?’
‘As I’ll ever be,’ Wren told her, palming the grit from her eyes. ‘This is not a simple academic body of work, Farissa. The sooner the midrealms has this in their hands, the better it will be for all of us. I need to present it to the masters before the next council meeting. Before . . .’ She trailed off. She couldn’t bring herself to say the words.
‘Before Thea declares she is taking the Delmirian throne?’ Farissa finished for her.
‘Yes.’ Wren wrung her hands. ‘I think it will be . . . impactful to announce the counter-alchemy at the same time. And for that to happen, I must pass the presentation.’
Farissa bowed her head. ‘Be ready at dusk tomorrow.’
‘Thank you.’
She thought Farissa would leave after that, but instead, the older woman closed the distance between them and wrapped her arms around Wren.
Farissa’s body was hard and lean, but her embrace was warm. Wren could count on one hand how many times they had hugged in the decades they’d known one another, but she didn’t break away.
‘I’m proud of you, Elwren,’ Farissa told her quietly. ‘You have come so far in this past year alone. You are becoming the alchemist I knew you could be.’
Wren felt her lip quiver, and she didn’t trust herself to speak. Instead, she simply nodded and patted Farissa on the back, at last pulling away.
‘You did the right thing,’ she blurted. ‘Denying me a letter of recommendation for all those years. I would have . . .’ She didn’t know what she would or wouldn’t have done, and that was what scared her. ‘You did the right thing,’ she said again.
Farissa smiled. ‘I know. Get some rest, Elwren. You’re going to need it.’
As the door clicked closed behind her, Wren stared at what countless hours of literal blood, sweat, and tears had produced: three small vials of a brilliant midnight-blue liquid that would either damn them, or save them all.
The adjoining door creaked open. ‘You’re finished?’ Torj’s voice danced along her very bones.
‘I’m done,’ Wren replied, her voice hoarse.
He crossed the room and wrapped his arms around her from behind. ‘Does that mean I can take you to bed now?’
Wren laughed, turning around to face him. She studied the silver of his hair, the sharp line of his stubble-covered jaw, the white scar through his dark brow and the smile tugging at his lips.
‘Have you been waiting up all night for me, Bear Slayer?’ she asked.
‘I waited years for you, Embers.’ Torj brushed a heated kiss to her mouth. ‘What was a few more hours?’
CHAPTER 55
Wren
‘No boundary remains between what was once separate and what is now eternal’
– Tethers and Magical Bonds Throughout History
THE MAN BETWEEN her legs was a god.
Wren gripped Torj’s hair by the roots as he pinned her thighs open and devoured her. Grabbing the headboard above with her other hand, she writhed beneath his wicked tongue, admiring the way his broad golden shoulders rippled and tensed.
He had told her to sleep, that she needed to rest. But with his powerful body beside hers, rest was the last thing she wanted. Wren had slipped her hand beneath the sheets and around his cock – and that was all it had taken for the Warsword to unleash himself on her.
The noises escaping her now were incoherent, desperate pleas—
And then the room was tilting, with Torj suddenly beneath her, her legs astride his head as he licked her from below. He was a man starved for her, ravenous, and Wren loved every second of it. She couldn’t get enough of him, had never felt this free, this uninhibited. She was riding his gods-damned face, for fuck’s sake.
She cried out as he slipped a finger inside her, curling it to hit that spot that made her see stars. Sweat dripped between her breasts as she moved with him, panting at the pressure that was building and building.
When he reached up and pinched her nipple, she moaned, the sensation bordering on the delicious line between pain and pleasure.
‘Torj,’ she demanded, not afraid to tell him what she wanted – all of him. Now. ‘Fuck me from behind.’
With a growl of approval, Torj circled her waist with his large hands, and she found herself being lifted from his mouth and turned around. On her knees, she faced the wall, the mattress sinking around her as he crowded her. He traced her curves from her waist to her breasts, lingering there, toying with her nipples, biting her neck, the hard length of his cock resting above her backside.
Wren ground against him, but her Bear Slayer seemed to be in no rush. He circled one nipple with a featherlight touch, teasing and taunting the tight peak until Wren was chasing the contact, the high that he offered. But his hands left her aching breasts, trailing down her arms where he laced his fingers through hers. Then, he positioned her grip back on the edge of the headboard.
‘You’re going to want to hang on tight, Embers . . .’
And then he slid inside her from behind in one punishing glide.
‘Fuck,’ he moaned, the sound echoing in Wren’s bones as he forced her legs further apart and slammed into her again. And again.
‘Harder,’ she commanded. ‘I need it harder.’
She felt his smile against her shoulder before his palm flattened against her back and pushed her down, giving him better access.
Torj pounded into her, the bed rattling around them and Wren hanging onto the headboard for dear life. She felt herself stretching around him, his cock filling every inch of her, the sensation so intoxicating it was almost overwhelming.
The wet slide of him, the heat of his skin, the slap of their bodies together had her begging for more as he frayed every nerve ending she had, the sensation mounting as he drove his cock into her. She was unravelling, losing herself to the utter frenzy between them.
‘I’m not done with you yet,’ he muttered, the words themselves threatening to send her over the edge. But the Warsword knew her body better than she knew it herself, and he slowed his pace, taking her back from the brink, drawing out each stroke, his grip still near-bruising. Wren’s toes curled at the thought. She wanted his marks on her.
Then they were moving again, her body almost boneless as he drew her back up against him, manoeuvring them so he was seated at the edge of the bed with her in his lap, her back flush with his chest. His Furies-given strength was wasted on the battlefield, she thought distantly. This . . . this was what Warswords were made for.
She was straddling his thighs, the new position leaving his hands free to explore every part of her while she lowered herself onto his shaft and rode him. Torj groaned as she did just that, meeting her movements with thrusts of his own from beneath.
When his hand dipped between her legs, dragging the wetness from where they were joined to circle her clit, Wren’s head dropped back against his shoulder with a cry.
‘That’s it, Embers . . .’ he murmured, nipping at her throat, increasing the pressure and pace of his fingers between her legs.
Wren lost herself to the ecstasy coiling tighter and tighter inside her, lost herself to the fullness of him. He was everywhere, driving her to the edge of oblivion again and again.
Just when she thought she could take no more, he was shifting her once again. She made a brief noise of protest as he withdrew from her body and stood—
‘I want to see your face when you come,’ he told her, his voice low and husky with desire. Hooking his hands under her thighs, he lifted her as though she weighed nothing. But he didn’t throw her on the bed as she expected . . .
He took her to the fucking wall.
Wren’s back hit the cool stone, and then he was inside her again.
With her nails clawing at his shoulders, his back, Wren let go as Torj fucked her hard and deep. Every thrust, every slide of his cock coaxed bursts of pleasure from her, each one more damning than the last.
He captured her mouth with his. The kiss was as demanding as his fucking. He gave her everything, and Wren took it gladly, drinking in the taste, the scent, the feel of him, as though it could make up for all the time they had lost.
A frame on the wall toppled from its hook and shattered on the floor, but Torj didn’t stop. He moved inside her like a man possessed, a man undone. With her legs wrapped around him, he pinned her to the wall, fucking her mercilessly and reaching for her clit. He timed the brush of his thumb with the moment he hit that spot deep inside her, and Wren nearly blacked out.
The climax that he’d been edging her towards for what felt like hours finally hit her.
Her vision blurred as her orgasm tore through her, and she clenched around his cock with a cry. Torj’s gaze didn’t leave her face, the heat in his eyes smouldering as she rode the waves of bliss he’d created.
And then he shuddered inside her.
The carnal noise that ripped from his throat made Wren’s thighs tighten around him as she felt him pulse, felt him spill his own release. They were both panting, both damp with sweat.
And that thread of gold danced around them.
Wren wanted to say something, something that captured the momentous thing between them, the life-altering bond that she felt deep in her bones. She searched for the right words, the words to do justice to the man before her and the thing they shared. Torj rested his brow against hers and beat her to it. Fuck, I love you.
CHAPTER 56
Wren
‘History bears witness to the undeniable power of prophecy across the midrealms . . .’
– The Midrealms Chronicles
FUCK, I LOVE you. Torj had spoken into her mind. His rich, husky tone had skittered along her bones, as real as if he’d spoken the words into the shell of her ear.
Wren clung to those words the next day as she gathered her things in her room. Her hands moved through the familiar motions of packing, but her mind raced with all the ways her presentation could go wrong. One miscalculation, one trembling hand during the demonstration, and she could lose everything she’d worked for.
Dusk was upon her all too soon, and she was meticulous as she prepared the vials of counter-alchemy and shuffled her notes together. She was as prepared as she’d ever be, and Torj grounded her like no one else. So she shouldered her satchel and held her head high.
The Bear Slayer was waiting outside her room. ‘You’re ready,’ he said. It wasn’t a question. It was a statement, and there was no quaver in his voice, no room for doubt.
