Kingdom of Fire and Fae, page 8
He took a cleansing breath, the sound shaky and uneven. “I dreamed of you being tortured, hurt, used, and broken. The thought of those nightmares becoming reality...” His voice broke, the vulnerability seeping through his tough exterior.
Lanae’s heart clenched at his words, understanding the depth of his fear. The raw emotion in his voice pulled at her soul, and she reached out, her hand gently resting on his arm. The soothing warmth of his skin grounded her from her icy turmoil. “I’m safe now, Draven. They didn’t break me.”
Draven’s eyes softened, the fierce determination in them burning bright. “I told you once that I would burn the universe down for you. I meant it,” he whispered, his voice rough with sincerity.
She leaned forward, her breath mingling with his as she pressed her lips to his. The world around them faded away, leaving only the warmth of their embrace. Draven’s hand slid into her hair, his fingers tangling in the soft strands as he held her in place. The kiss deepened, a surge of emotions passing between them—love, relief, and a promise of passionate protection.
CAELUM STALKED TOWARD THE barracks, all the frustration and aggression building up in his bones like a coiled snake ready to strike. His breaths were shallow and rapid, the uptick of his heart pounding a relentless rhythm against his ribs. He needed a release, and he knew just where to get it. The echoes of his boots on the cobblestones reverberated through the alleys, each step a resounding declaration of his simmering anger. The damp evening air clung to his skin, mingling with the aroma of rain and earth, grounding him in the present moment.
Granger stepped out of an entrance to a side street, his face shadowed by the dim, flickering rune lights above. The soft hum of the runes mingled with the distant murmur of the barracks, creating an eerie, almost otherworldly ambiance. Granger’s presence was a sharp distinction from Caelum’s stormy demeanor—an island of calm amidst the turmoil. The cool night breeze ruffled his hair as he took a tentative step forward. His eyes locked onto Caelum’s, containing a fusion of respect and apprehension. A light aroma of leather and steel from Granger’s armor permeated the air between them.
“Caelum.” Granger’s voice was steady; a quiet strength behind his words cut through the tension like a blade through fog. “I was hoping you’d come to the barracks. I want to thank you for coming to my aid today. If you hadn’t shown up, I’d likely be in the dungeon awaiting a morbid sentence. They take desertion seriously.” He cleared his windpipe, the sound echoing softly in the narrow alley. “I owe you a debt of gratitude.”
Caelum paused, the strain in his muscles momentarily easing as he regarded Granger. “You don’t owe me anything, Granger,” he replied, though the roughness in his tone was softened by an undercurrent of sincerity. The flickering light cast fleeting shadows across his face, highlighting the tired lines etched into his skin.
Granger shook his head, taking another step closer, the gravel crunching softly beneath his boots. “No, I do. You saved my position, my life, and that of my family. I do not take things like this for granted.” He straightened his posture, the determined resolve reflected in his eyes catching the light. “From this moment on, I swear my loyalty to you. Whatever you need, whenever you need it—you have my word.”
A brief silence enveloped them. Granger’s oath hung between them like an unspoken promise. The distant sounds of soldiers preparing for the night shift drifted to their ears, reminding them that there was a world beyond their conversation. Caelum could see the earnestness in Granger’s gaze, the unwavering commitment behind his words. Plus, having an elite guard on his side could be a good thing, especially with his entire soldier career shadowed by his sister’s accolades.
“Your loyalty is appreciated, Granger,” Caelum finally said, a hint of a smile breaking through the hardness of his expression. “And I will hold you to it.”
Granger nodded, the sincerity of his vow sealing their bond. As they stood there in the dimly lit alley, a newfound alliance was forged—one that would shape their future friendship in ways neither of them could yet foresee.
CHAPTER NINE
Love and Loyalty
DRAVEN LEANED HIS FOREHEAD against Lanae’s. Her breath mingled with his in the quiet of their living room. The atmosphere was heavy with the lingering scent of lavender and the faint metallic tang of blood. She gently cleaned his chest with a cloth dipped in warm, soapy water, the soft fabric pressing against his skin in soothing strokes. With the banging from outside silenced and Caelum off doing God knew what to relieve his stress, Draven veiled his gaze and savored the sensation of the warm cloth gliding over his chest. He would have continued kissing her, relishing the taste of her lips, but she insisted on cleaning the mess up before they revisited the heat building between them.
“How did your meeting with Varkir go?” Her soft murmur vibrated against his chest.
Her question pulled a weary sigh from his lungs. “Varkir said the Dragon’s Heart no longer has any magic or power. But Alestain still wears it on his breastplate.” He leaned back and met her gaze, the gravity of his words pulling his lips into a frown.
She nodded, the movement causing her hair to brush lightly against his cheek. “Makes sense,” she replied, her tone carrying a note of resigned understanding.
“What do you mean?” He cocked his head, studying her unwavering gaze, the flicker of candlelight casting shadows that danced across her features.
“I saw it. But it wasn’t the same as what I saw in your memory. It’s just a clear crystal that he has sewn into his leathers over his chest,” she explained, her eyes reflecting the dim light.
Draven dropped his head onto the back of the chair, the soft fabric pressing against his scalp as he stared up at the ceiling. “If it had any power left, I would have known while I was in Firetwill’s castle.” His voice reverberated with frustration and exhaustion.
She put aside the bowl and cloth, the clink of porcelain against wood echoing in the stillness. Climbing into his lap, she wrapped her arms around him, her embrace warm and comforting, banishing the chill that had settled in his bones.
He let out a small, quiet laugh, the sound a rough, dry chuckle that mingled with the crackling of the fireplace. “Varkir also said there was an ancient document somewhere that has the history of the Dragon’s Heart, but his network was still looking for it.” His voice rumbled low, like distant thunder, as he relayed the information.
She perked up, her eyes widening with a spark of hope. “Oh. That sounds like good news.” Her voice was soft, almost musical, cutting through the heavy silence of the room.
“Eh. He wasn’t convinced that it would have much insight.” He lifted a shoulder in a halfhearted shrug, the movement causing a ripple of pain to spread across his chest. “Either way, I don’t know that I’ll ever shift again, never mind fly.”
“You’ve had just as bad a day as I’ve had.” She nestled into his shoulder; her hair brushed against his cheek, her scent making him think of a bouquet of roses and wildflowers.
“Yeah, well, I also made the mistake of asking the council and generals in the war room where my wife was.” His words were laced with bitterness, the memory of their reactions still fresh in his mind.
Her form stiffened in his arms, and she shot a glare at him, her eyes narrowing with the bite of disbelief. “You what?”
Draven swallowed hard, the column of his throat rippling into a lump, making it difficult to speak. “I was not thinking. Plus, I was frantic to find you, and it was hard enough to get past the guards. I wasn’t in the mood to be dicked around by the council.” His voice was rough, like sandpaper, as he tried to convey his frustration.
“What happened afterward?” Her pouty lips formed a perfectly kissable scowl as she stared him down with narrowed eyes.
“You came out of the bathroom,” he replied, the memory vividly clear in his mind; her eyebrows shot up and her eyes widened in surprise. “And Faide told you to go home. He’d deal with you later.”
She blinked wildly, her lashes fluttering like the wings of a butterfly, and then hung her head. “Alestain’s son is a shapeshifter.”
“I figured someone was, because it certainly wasn’t you. Nero wanted nothing to do with you, and your reaction to him being in the house was comical.” He chuckled softly, the sound mingling with the crackling of the fireplace.
“How did you know for sure?” Her voice was just a whisper, as if she feared the truth.
He brought his hand up to her cheek, the warmth of her skin against his palm soothing him. “I touched her arm and there was no buzzing electricity between us. And with you, there always is. My nerves hum when we touch.” He grinned at her, his eyes crinkling at the corners.
She nodded again, her expression softening like a wilting flower in the evening light. “He nearly fooled me as well.” She turned and kissed his palm, her lips warm and soft against his roughened skin, like velvet brushing against stone. The magnetic pull of her gaze never left him.
His smile faltered, the corners of his mouth tugging downward as dark thoughts of what the shapeshifter could have done to his wife clouded his mind. “And?” His unease bloomed, and he tried to anchor himself to her words and not drift into a sea of dreadful possibilities.
“And nothing. But your image freaked Alestain out.” She chewed on her lower lip for a moment, her teeth grazing the tender flesh. “Who is Viserion?”
The name of his father, spoken after so many years, brought a bloom of warmth in his chest, like a hearth fire suddenly roaring to life. “My father.”
“Your father was the king?”
Her question, filled with innocent curiosity, amused him, as did her wide, imploring eyes, shimmering like moonlit ponds. “Yes. What did you think I meant when I said I was dragon royalty?”
“Royalty covers an awful lot of people.” Her eyebrows slowly rose, drawing her forehead into gentle furrows. “That means you are a king.”
He shook his head, a soft chuckle escaping his lips. “King of what? There is no monarchy left here. Besides, the council is doing a decent job of running things.”
“King of the dragons,” she said, as if that meant anything significant.
“Sweetheart, I am the only dragon left.” His gaze dropped to her belly. A pang of tenderness and hope flickered in his soul. “Unless you aren’t telling me something.”
She blanched, the color draining from her face like ink from a washed parchment.
He pulled back, his brows knitting together as he studied her with concern. “You don’t want children?”
“I do. Just not now.” Her voice was a whisper, heavy with unspoken fears and desires.
His chest tightened, a vise grip of worry squeezing his heart, and he cocked his head, trying to decode her words.
“Not until this business with the Firetwills is over. Besides, you’d be an overprotective ass if I was pregnant during wartime.”
Her clarified statement loosened the noose around his chest, a rush of relief flooding him, and he let a smile surface, a light breaking through the storm clouds. “I get it.” He would be overbearing and unbearable if she were pregnant, and he knew it. Despite how adept she was with a sword, he would have a great deal of issues with her going out to fight for Solstice City.
The idea of her charging into battle with a baby bump under her armor tickled him in a grim sort of way. He could almost see it—her fierce determination undeterred, belly leading the charge. “Imagine that: you, sword in hand, shield on one arm, and a little warrior in the making on the other.” He chuckled softly. “I’d be an anxious wreck.”
She arched an eyebrow, a smirk playing at the corners of her lips. “You’d be more than an anxious wreck—you’d be a hawk hovering over the battlefield, and I don’t think even the Firetwills would stand a chance against your overprotectiveness.”
He barked a laugh, loud and hearty, the sound reverberating through the room and easing the burden from his heart. With a swift, confident motion, he pulled her to his mouth and kissed her deeply, his lips pressing firmly against hers. His arm slid under her knees, cradling her effortlessly as he picked her up without breaking the passionate kiss.
He craved some alone time with her, yearning for the intimacy of their connection. The thought of Caelum walking in on such an intensely private moment sent a wave of unease down his spine. He needed the assurance of their solitude, a sanctuary where he could spoil her undisturbed until she cried out his name.
Draven paced down the hallway to their bedroom, each step echoing in the quiet corridor. His heart danced with anticipation. As he reached the bedroom, he turned the brass knob and entered, closing the door firmly behind him and locking it with a decisive click.
The room enveloped them in a cocoon of warmth and familiarity. A hint of lavender drifted in the air, mixing with the subtle fragrance of her perfume. He gently set her down on the plush bed, the soft fabric yielding to their weight.
His eyes locked onto hers, the intense passion burning between them as strong as the hum of their connection. He reached out, gently brushing a strand of hair away from her face. “It’s just us for the next couple of hours,” he murmured, his voice low and filled with longing. “No interruptions.”
She smiled, a slow, knowing smile that sent a thrill through him. This was their moment, a stolen piece of time just for them.
LANAE CAUGHT THE HEATED spark in his eyes and grinned. It had been a while since they had the time to explore each other. After the hellish time of being captive, she longed for the warmth and comfort of his touch. But she needed to wash away the filth of the dungeon first.
“Can we move this to the bath?” She cocked an eyebrow at him, her voice laced with sultriness, the suggestion hanging in the air like a tantalizing promise.
His smirk widened into an all-out grin, eyes twinkling with anticipation. “I’ve never had you in the bathtub.” His voice hinted at a playful challenge, and he waved for her to lead the way.
A thrill raced down Lanae’s spine as she turned and headed toward the bathroom, the cool tiles underfoot contrasting with the warmth radiating from her skin. The soft glow of candlelight flickered in the corners of the room. The scent of lavender and eucalyptus filled the air, a calming yet invigorating blend that seemed to heighten her senses.
She reached the clawfoot tub, its porcelain surface gleaming under the warm light. She started the bath and added her favorite soap powder. The rush of water filled the room like a soothing symphony. The sweet citrus steam curled in the air and created a cocoon of warmth around them.
He approached her from behind, his presence a comforting, solid force. His hands rested on her shoulders, the touch sending a quiver of anticipation through her. He gently turned her to face him, his gaze locking onto hers, embodying a mix of desire and tenderness.
“Let me take care of you,” he murmured, his voice a low, velvety promise.
His fingers trail down her arms, igniting a path of sensation. As the tub filled, he helped her in, the warm water enveloping her like a comforting embrace. He followed, settling in behind her, his chest pressed against her back, his arms wrapping around her in a protective hold.
The water lapped gently around them, and they sank into the tranquility of the moment, their connection deepening in the quiet refuge of the bath. His hands roamed her body, not in urgency but in reverence, as if rediscovering every curve and line.
“I love you, Lanae Emberwing.”
His soft whisper sent a wave of gooseflesh over her arms, and her nipples hardened under the soft, kneading stroke of his fingers. When his lips brushed her neck, she tilted her head back to give his mouth more access. The tickle of his tongue glided from the base of her throat to her ear, creating a molten heat in her core.
She moaned softly as his fingers danced over the bud at the apex of her thighs, heightening every nerve in her body. He played her like a fine instrument until a tidal wave of passion crashed through her. Her pants echoed on the marble walls, and he covered her mouth with his, tangling his tongue with hers in a sensuous war for dominance.
Lanae twisted in his grip and straddled his lap, lowering herself onto his hard member in slow sweetness. Her head tilted back in ecstasy as she slowly rode him. The water sloshed around them, cresting and ebbing in the same rhythm as their bodies.
She pressed her mouth to his, swallowing their keening desire. The kiss transcended time and space, launching them into a blissful orbit as they surfed the wave of passion beyond the flash point.
CAELUM STORMED DIRECTLY TO the sparring room, his jaw clenched and his heartbeat thundering in his ears. He needed to punch, hit, or swing a wooden sword until the searing hurt ripping through his muscles drowned out the anguish gnawing at his core. The last hour at home had been an unrelenting nightmare. The memory of his parents’ blank stares, void of recognition, twisted like a knife in his chest. It wasn’t until Lanae entered that any semblance of familiarity flickered in their eyes. And it was all because of her.
Jealousy was a venomous thing, he knew, but he couldn’t help the bitterness that rose in his throat whenever the relentless comparisons to his sister shadowed him like an oppressive fog.
He stepped into the training hall, the warm glow of candlelight flickering against the stone walls. He stalled at the door, his breath catching in his throat. Only one soldier was inside, and her presence stole the air from his lungs. Jenna moved with a fluid grace, her maneuvers a dance of precision and power that left him in silent awe.
Caelum watched Jenna’s every move, his own body tense and still as her elegance mesmerized him. The rhythmic sounds of her practiced motions filled the hall, echoing softly against the ancient stone. Her intensity and focus radiated from her, the way her muscles coiled and released with every swing of her sword.
