Dryloch

When Anja had seen the public inn where they would stay the night, she had wanted to keep riding. For it was Midwinter’s Eve, and the music and sounds of revelry from inside struck painful discordant notes across her shattered heart. But there was nowhere else to go. This was the last village before the Scalewood passage.

Tomorrow they would ride through that dark forest and arrive in Ivermere.

Anja sensed the celebratory mood suited Kael no better than it did her, though he didn’t say so. These past days, they had spoken little. She had felt too battered inside to risk a conversation that might hurt her more than she could survive, and Kael had lapsed into a brooding silence. Every day, he held her close, for they still rode double. He had not seen another horse that he thought was worth purchasing. Anja had seen many suitable horses, but had not spent her gold on them or argued in favor of one. Instead she’d hoarded every last moment she had with him.

Even though his mood was so dark, and his body always taut with frustration. She thought the cause might be the eternally swollen size of his manhood—but never did he suggest that she might ease his arousal. He never mentioned his arousal at all. Perhaps because she was not the reason for it. He hadn’t wanted her for a bride, so he likely didn’t want her as a bedpartner, either.

And perhaps because he might find that partner here.

As they had been at every place they’d stopped, immediately they were offered bedchambers—but were apologetically told that the chambers were not ready for immediate occupation. So Anja could not hide as she wanted to, but found a table where she could sit and wait, her mood as dark and heavy as Kael’s had been.

Had been, because upon entering the tavern, he’d recognized men—also former slaves—he’d once known in the Blackworm mines. Now he sat with them at a table across the room, and laughed with them, and drew appreciative female looks from every direction—appreciation that was mixed with the fear and apprehension that Kael initially inspired everywhere he went. But here were also people who knew him, and because he was trusted and liked by them, the women’s fears would not likely last long. No doubt they would work up the courage to approach him, to offer their invitations, and extend that appreciation to his bed.

Anja had more to offer than gratitude. Because unlike these women, she knew him. Not just the stories, but knew his rage and his worries and his kindness. So why did she never offer an invitation?

But she knew why. He’d rejected her once. She couldn’t survive his rejection again.

And she couldn’t survive seeing him with another woman.

A hand settled on her shoulder and an unfamiliar voice said, “Here you have been hiding— Oh!”

Startled, Anja looked up into a wrinkled face surrounded by hair almost as white as her own.

The older woman chuckled, and returned her gnarled hand to her cane. “Forgive me. I mistook you for my sister, but I was only partly wrong. You are not Tessa. A sister, however, you might be.”

Anja smiled warmly. “Sit with me, then. If your sister searches for you, she cannot miss two white heads together. I am Anja.”

The woman grinned and carefully eased her thin form into the seat beside Anja’s. “Thank you.”

“The company will do me well, and so the gratitude is mine.” A conversation would hopefully bring her out of this sour, hurtful mood—and she could not mistake the woman’s guttural accent, even thicker than Kael’s. “You are from the Dead Lands?”

The other woman nodded, her keen eyes studying Anja’s face. “And you are from Ivermere,” she said. “But clearly you do not belong to them.”

Her quick blue gaze cast a significant glance across the room at Kael.

The woman was mistaken. Anja didn’t belong to him, either. But it would hurt too much to confirm it out loud.

But there was no reason to say anything. A loud cheer from across the room drew their attention, and a group of villagers burst into a bawdy song about a maiden’s Midwinter wish.

A song Kael knew well, she saw, when he joined in.

Beside her, the old woman sighed happily. “It warms my heart to see so many come together for Midwinter. Much has changed over the years, but that has not.”

“Did you also celebrate Midwinter in the Dead Lands?” Anja could not imagine it. Midwinter was a time of cheer, and everything she’d ever heard of that land said that no happiness lived there.

But then, much had been said of Kael, too—and not all of it was true.

“We do, though since the Reckoning, not in the same way as our people once did. It is said that the Midwinter celebrations used to be as they are here. In these days, however, all the clans come together, and those who do not have enough to live through the cold bare season say what is most needed—and if the other clans have it, it is shared among all. Those clans with plenty do not ask for anything, but only make their Midwinter wishes. And if all of the clans lack the same thing, then they share that burden and fear, and none are alone in their suffering.”

“So ‘they shared their plenty and they shared their sparsity,’” Anja quoted softly. “That is part of a Midwinter song. The stories of ancient Midwinter celebrations sound similar to those in the Dead Lands now.”

“Well, it was not the first Reckoning the world has known. Nor will it be the last.”

Perhaps the next would be closer to home than Anja liked to imagine. “In Ivermere, everyone has plenty, yet still asks for gifts, as well as making their Midwinter wishes.”

“If there is plenty, there is no harm in asking. And there is never harm in giving…or wishing.” Her eyes twinkled merrily. “Though I wonder how often Midwinter wishes come true in Ivermere, when it is only through pure magic that they are granted.”

Pure magic. Struck by a sudden realization, Anja laughed aloud.

The old woman smiled at her. “Now you must share in the thought that made you laugh. And that will be the Midwinter gift you give to me.”

It was probably what this woman already knew. “That is why wishes can’t be said out loud, isn’t it? Because when they are spoken aloud, they become a spell, and a spell is corrupt magic.”

Pleasure wreathed her wrinkled face. “So that one has taught you something of real magic.”

“Yes.” Grinning, she glanced at Kael, then her heart seemed to rend in two when she saw the pretty maid who had sidled up to him during the song. He did not seem to pay her any attention, but soon the song would end and she might speak to him.

And she would likely be the first of many who tried.

Throat burning, she tore her gaze from the painful scene and hoarsely asked the woman, “Do you know much about true magic, then?”

“I would think so.” She eyed Kael, then Anja’s stricken face, but said nothing of what she concluded of the situation between them. “I am the witch of our clan.”

Shock cut through Anja’s misery and she stared at the woman with jaw dropped. She had heard that term before, but only said in the most derogatory way.

As if amused by Anja’s reaction, the woman chuckled. “In the Dead Lands, that is no insult. It only means that I am a…” She lifted a gnarled hand as if searching for the word. “Not a priestess, because I do not commune with gods. But I oversee births and conduct ceremonies—and heal when I must.”

Heal? “You are a spellcaster?”

Her grimace deepened the wrinkles around her mouth. “When I must,” she said again. “Better to heal without spells, if it can be done.”

“Yes,” Anja agreed softly. Just as Kael had said, too. And the maid had gone away from him but already another woman had slipped closer. “Do you know much about love?”

“I do. I know how it burns so strong and bright that it can seem to give off its own light. And you shine like the sun, Anja of Ivermere,” the old woman said. “But I see shadows, too.”

Eyes burning, Anja shook her head. “I don’t think it can be love. It doesn’t feel bright and pure. It feels like poison inside me.”

“Ah.” Smiling, the woman said, “Because that is not love. It is jealousy.”

That could not be the only reason. “But it is not only the women. When I think that I might not see him again, I feel such pain.”

“That is also not love. Love begets no pain.”

“Then what is it? Because it feels like a knife in my chest.”

“It is longing. Dread. Perhaps fear.” The older woman’s gaze burned into Anja’s. “Love and kindness are the most powerful of all magics—and not only for the one who gives, but also for whom the magic is bestowed upon. So love is nothing to dread or fear.”

Excruciating pressure built within her chest. On a strained whisper, she asked, “What if it’s not returned?”

“Do you give a gift expecting one in return? Or do you give it for the happiness it gives?”

“What if it doesn’t make him happy? What if it means nothing at all?”

“Then hope he knows kindness, too,” the old woman said, her voice warm with sympathy. “Love gives the most. But it also takes the most.”

“I fear it will leave me with nothing.”

The woman patted Anja’s hand. “Fear is also a strong magic. As is courage. So tell me, Anja of Ivermere—which magic will you wield?”

Eyes filled with tears, Anja shook her head. “I don’t know.” A watery laugh escaped her. “Perhaps when I’m desperate enough, I’ll find my courage.”

“You seem desperate enough now,” the old woman said dryly, but did not wait for a response. Instead she braced her cane against the floor and rose to her feet. “And there is my sister, waving at me to come to her. Merry Midwinter, Anja.”

“Merry Midwinter…” She had not asked the woman’s name. But the opportunity passed, because when she raised her head her gaze caught Kael’s—and she realized belatedly that her eyes still shimmered with tears. Hastily she wiped them away, but his face had already darkened and he was striding toward her, and the old woman was moving away.

“What happened?” he demanded. “You’re crying.”

“I’m well. I was only talking to…that woman there.” Anja spotted her in the crowd and pointed in her direction.

Kael’s eyes narrowed after her. “Is that a witch?”

She almost flinched at the term. But to him, or anyone from the Dead Lands, it apparently was not a curse but a title of honor. “It is.”

Kael abruptly grinned. “We are all fortunate, then. When anyone of such powerful magic is near, Midwinter wishes are more likely to be granted.”

He sounded truly elated by the prospect. And when he didn’t return to his friends but took the seat the old woman had vacated, Anja’s heart filled at his very nearness.

“What have you wished for?” she asked him.

But of course he would not say. Instead he laughed and shook his head.

“What gift would you ask for, then?” she wondered. “You are the ruler of four kingdoms, and a man of plenty. Yet there must be something you need. So what would you ask of me for your Midwinter gift?”

His intense gaze caught hers. His voice was gruff as he said, “Forgiveness.”

Brow creasing, she searched his face, and tried to think of anything he’d said that required it. “For what?”

“For something I haven’t done yet.”

She huffed out a laughing breath. “Consult me when you do, then, and I will consider it.” Abruptly she bit her lip. “But you had best do it by tomorrow. After that I will be in Ivermere.”

“Don’t be so certain,” he said before sprawling back in his seat and extending his powerful legs. “And what gift would you like from me? Dryloch, Vale? My stronghold?”

Nothing so big…nothing so small.

Heart pounding in her throat, she recalled how he had described magic: an unseen force that changed the world. Anja wanted a different world than the one she had. She only needed a bit of courage.

But when she reached for that courage, she found more than she’d known. It was waiting, bold and full, for her to use.

“A kiss,” she told him. “I want a kiss.”

And although he was a man of sudden and volatile action, Kael did not move at all. Instead he stared at her, as if not entirely certain he’d heard. “A kiss from me?”

“Yes.”

His eyes narrowed. “Why want something you would only tolerate?”

She had said that once. “That was when I didn’t know you. But now it is something I desire.” Her courage faltered slightly when still he didn’t move, and she added on a whisper, “Very much.”

Slowly, he straightened up from his sprawl, bracing his feet on the floor and leaning forward in his chair with his eyes locked on hers. “And the touch of my hands, you want that?”

Her breath shuddered. “So very much.”

A fire seemed to light behind his eyes. “My mouth upon your tits? My tongue on your clit?”

At his shocking words, sheer need gripped her inner muscles achingly tight, and she gasped her reply. “Yes.”

His scarred knuckles whitened, fingers wrapping around the arms of his chair as if preparing to push out of it—or trying to keep himself in. “And my cock deep inside you?” His voice was a growl. “You want that, too, Anja? You want me to fuck your virgin cunt and fill you with my seed?”

So badly she couldn’t speak. Only nod, her face flaming, her most intimate flesh so wet that she could feel the moisture pooling at the juncture of her thighs.

All at once he bounded out of his seat, those tightly coiled muscles releasing their tension—and carrying him past her chair in long, powerful strides. In disbelief, she whipped around. He had already reached the door leading outside, his path clearly marked by the startled villagers who were staggering in his wake.

Then he was gone. Leaving her alone.

Leaving a great emptiness where her heart had been.

Because she’d mistaken everything. She’d thought he’d only said those things because he wanted them, too. But he must have been asking the extent of the Midwinter gift she wanted from him. And he must not have wanted to give them in return…because he hadn’t been able to escape fast enough.

Anja the Unwanted.

Blinded by tears, she turned away, unable to bear seeing that empty doorway. Unable to bear any of this. Being unwanted had always hurt, but never had it destroyed her. And destroyed she had been. Every breath seemed like a knife stabbing into the gaping wound that was left in her chest, the remains of a heart that had been butchered.

A commotion slowly filtered through the haze of devastation. Then Kael’s irritated bellow ripped the haze away.

“Cease your struggles, witch! And put away that stick, crone, or by the gods, I will—”

A solid thwack cut him off and his shouted curse echoed through the inn. Through Anja’s tear-blurred vision, a mountain seemed to be coming her way—a mountain with a crow flapping wildly around his head. In his arms he carried the old woman. Another white-haired woman, who must have been her sister, chased after him, hitting his head and shoulders with her cane.

With lips pursed sourly, the witch told him, “I would have come. No need to carry me as a child.”

“You did not move fast enough.” His burning gaze shot across the room and met Anja’s. “Only you can give me a wife this night—and I need to bed my bride.”

His bride. His bride.

The tears Anja had been trying to hold back began pouring down her cheeks.

“You do not even have a red ribbon!” the sister crowed, whacking his shoulder. “There can be no binding without one.”

Shouting again, Kael spun to address the gathering crowd. “I need a red ribbon! Does anyone have a ribbon—”

Someone called that they had one, but Anja didn’t see who it was. Suddenly Kael was standing before her and he was all that she saw.

Carefully, he set down the old woman. The next moment Anja’s cheeks were cupped in his rough palms, his thumbs wiping away her tears.

“Are you not happy?” he asked softly. “It is more than you asked for, but if you wish for me to give your gift, then you must first give this to me.”

“I cry because I am happy.” A watery laugh escaped her. “And a Midwinter gift should not be offered with a condition attached.”

“It is how a king gives a Midwinter gift.”

Giggling, she shook her head. From somewhere a red ribbon was waved in their direction. Kael took the length of crimson and handed it over to the witch.

“Asking for ribbons and wives,” Anja teased him. “Is that what a king also does? The man with the most plenty, also asking for the most gifts.”

“The most plenty?” His gaze caught hers, shining with intense blue fire. “Without you, Anja, I have nothing.”

The response took her breath away. She could only stare at him, her heart whole again—and so very full.

His gaze never leaving her face, he told the witch, “Marry us. Right here. Right now.”

Her eyes sparkling, the witch said, “Put your hands together for the binding.”

They both towered over the older woman, though Kael far more than Anja. Facing him, Anja held up her hand. His palm met hers, so much larger, yet still their fingers aligned and the witch slowly wove the ribbon between them.

Over her gray head, Kael asked, “Do you still intend to kill me in our wedding bed?”

Anja grinned. “No.”

“I do not care if you do,” he said, “as long as I have you first. I will kiss you this night, Anja. No inch of your skin will be left unkissed.”

The old woman clucked her tongue. “You should not make promises you cannot keep, especially as you make your pledge. The binding must remain intact until dawn, so there will be many things you cannot do with your bride this night.”

Kael’s brows drew together and he frowned at her darkly. “What can’t we do?”

“You must avoid the wren,” the witch added, “for that position would strain her shoulder too much. The centaur, too. And the wolf—”

“No,” Kael said flatly. “I will have her that way.”

“It cannot be done.”

His fiery gaze caught Anja’s again. “We will see about that.”

The old woman gave him another warning look, which went unheeded. Clucking her tongue again, she lifted the two ends of the red ribbon, which had been wound through their fingers and around their wrists but was still untied.

In a raised voice, she announced to the now-silent crowd, “These two are not yet bound together. So we gather to witness their joining, as two become one.”

Her heart thundering, Anja smiled happily up at Kael—who did not smile back, but watched her with all-consuming hunger smoldering in his eyes. His palm was like a hot stone against hers. His body seemed preternaturally still, as if simply waiting for this binding to finish before exploding into motion.

With a quick glance at Anja, the witch said, “Princess Anja of Ivermere, do you—”

“Anja the Wolfkiller,” Kael added. “And the Huntress.”

She began again. “Princess Anja of Ivermere, the Wolfkiller, the Huntress, do you pledge yourself to this man and vow to be his faithful wife?”

“Yes,” she said breathlessly.

“Wife,” Kael echoed on a growl, then threw his head back and roared, “Is that bedchamber ready?”

From the corner of her vision, Anja saw the innkeeper and his wife turn deathly pale, then rush away.

“I don’t care if it isn’t,” Kael said, his eyes hot on hers. “I will take you upon this floor if I must.”

“You will not take her yet,” the witch said. “We have first your pledge to finish, and you have names to last all night.”

“Then begin saying them, woman!”

The witch took her time before starting, mumbling his names to herself and counting upon her fingers. Then she lifted her voice and said, “Kael of the Skull Clan of the Dead Lands, the Butcherer, the Pitiless, the Conqueror, the Raviner, also the Wolfkiller, but only a small wolf, and with a rock—”

That was said with a sly smirk and twinkling eyes, but Kael gave no reaction, his gaze only for Anja. Only when she giggled did he respond with the barest twitch of his lips.

“—Disemboweler of Eathe, Silencer of Qul Wrac, Destroyer of Toatin Zan—”

A hearty cheer rose from those Kael had known from the mines.

“—Slaughterer of Geofry the Child-Eater—”

That drew a roar of approval from everyone, with clapping hands and stomping feet that was so loud and went on for so long that Kael bellowed for silence so she could continue.

“—Ruler of the Four Kingdoms of Grimhold, Vale, Lyngfen, and Dryloch.” A frown creased her wrinkled forehead. “Is that all of them?”

“Kael the Free,” Anja said. “That is the most important.”

“No,” he returned, his voice so guttural that each word seemed to emerge from deep within his broad chest, and his fingers shook against hers. “There is one more important that I do not have yet—Kael, Husband to Anja.”

“Then do you pledge yourself to this woman?” the witch asked solemnly. “Do you vow to be her faithful husband?”

“I do,” he said hoarsely, bringing their bound hands to his heart. “Forever.”

The old woman tied the ends of the ribbon together. “Then you are now wife and husband—”

It was Anja who moved first, leaping forward and catching his hair with her free hand and dragging him down for a kiss. Though there was not much dragging, for he met her halfway, capturing her parted lips beneath his own, then delving past them with a penetrating lick that pierced her to the hot, liquid core between her thighs. The villagers’ cheers and stomping began again as Kael’s mouth ravished hers. Then the villagers might as well have vanished, because he was her husband now, and kissing her as if she was his next breath, the next beat of his heart—and for the very first time in her life, Anja felt completely and deliciously wanted. And beyond that, needed.

With a rough groan, Kael locked his forearm behind the small of her back and lifted her up against his chest, their bound hands trapped between them. His mouth never relinquished hers as he strode through the crowd, each step bumping her knees against his thighs until she instinctively wrapped her legs around his hips.

And by the gods—how incredible it felt to have his rigid length between her legs instead of against her bottom. That had been thrilling, too, simply having him so close. But now with every step there was pressure against that spot he’d promised to lick, and she only had to rock her hips to increase the pressure, increase the friction, creating a wild storm of pleasure deep inside.

His mouth tore from hers as he began to the navigate the stairs that would take them to their bed, and where he would give her all the things he’d said. With his mouth, with his tongue. Until he was deep inside her.

Inside her, inside her, inside her. Exactly where she needed him to be, to quiet this raging storm building within.

Panting, Anja wildly kissed his neck, his throat. “Hurry, Kael,” she urged him faster. “I’ve waited so long already.”

Not even knowing what she was waiting for. Pleasure, yes. But she’d never imagined something so frantic, so sweet as this.

His groan reverberated through his chest. “Then why did you not invite me to kiss you before this?”

“You sent me home,” she reminded him, and through all the sweetness, a fresh pang struck her heart. Closing her eyes, she held him tighter, buried her face against his neck. “It is good you asked for forgiveness this Midwinter. So I’ll forgive you for leaving me alone this eve, believing you’d rejected me again.”

Abruptly he stopped, which was not what she’d intended for him to do. With their bound hands, he used the backs of his fingers to urge her chin up, for her eyes to meet his. Remorse carved sharp lines through his features. “I only wanted to bind you to me as quickly as I could.”

“I realized…after,” she said thickly.

Gently, his mouth brushed hers. “I will do better, wife.”

It was already better. Tightening her fingers in his thick hair, she lifted against his erect length, deepening the kiss. But something had changed. Where he had been so impatient before, promising to take her on the floor if their bed wasn’t ready and roaring at any delay, now his tongue leisurely stroked over hers as if there was no hurry at all.

Oh, but there was. Yet no matter how she moaned and rocked desperately against him, Kael kissed her in the same way that he walked—a steady prowl, as if he were searching out all the pleasure that could be found between her lips. But she needed his volatile burst of action, instead.

Yet even passing into the bedchamber didn’t speed him. Slowly he lowered her to the bed. Slowly he came down over her, pinning their bound hands beside her head and bracing his weight upon his knees. When he broke the kiss, she whimpered and arched beneath him, yet he didn’t push apart her thighs and shove his cock deep inside her as he’d promised.

Instead he started at the first promise, softly pressing his lips to her cheeks, her nose, her chin. Kissing every inch of her skin. Steadily prowling again.

She was far beyond that. “Kael,” she begged. “Please.”

His response was to tilt her chin back and kiss the length of her neck. Anja shivered with pleasure for every touch of his lips, yet still it wasn’t enough. She used his own words, too desperate to even blush, hoping to prod him into that explosive rush. “I need you to fuck my…fuck my…”

Oh she could not.

“Virgin cunt?” His voice was a deep growl against her throat.

“Yes,” she breathed.

He only kissed the hollow beneath her ear, then sucked on her lobe. She moaned and her fingers clenched in his hair as she felt that erotic pull through every womanly part of her. By the gods, her ear. How did that feel so good?

But not as good as the pinch of his teeth. She gasped, her entire body afire, and he said hotly into her ear, “You have another name that we did not use in the pledging: Anja the Virgin. And while you are still she, my wife, I will be Kael the Gentle and Slow.”

She laughed breathlessly. “I just want you to be Kael the Thorough, and rend my maidenhead with your sword.”

His amusement joined hers, and he shook against her. “I promise you I will do that.”

“Oh, yes. Please,” she sighed. “Please.”

His smiling lips returned to hers again. “And the witch was right,” he murmured. “I cannot kiss every inch tonight. With our hands tied together, we cannot even remove our tunics.”

Anja stilled beneath him. It was true. They could remove their shirts partially, but not the sleeves on their bound arms. “I would suggest we tear it. But I have no other warm tunics. So what will we do?”

“We will do nothing.” With sharp teeth, he nipped her bottom lip. “There is a reason why brides wear gowns.”

Because it didn’t matter if the gown could be removed, as long as it could be lifted. Now Anja shook as she felt the fingers of Kael’s free hand journey up the length of her leggings from knee to upper thigh, then gently tug at the strap.

Eyes burning into hers, he rasped, “These have driven me mad, wife. Every day within the saddle. Knowing you were so bare. Your warm cunt so near to my cock. Every step the horse took, I dreamed of taking you.”

Something inside her clenched tight. “I dreamed it, too,” she whispered.

Her confession seemed to rip through him. He didn’t move, but suddenly his muscles seemed coiled tighter, his face dark with hunger.

“Tell me what else you dreamed.”

So much. But the one she could not stop imagining— “When you tended to my leg, I thought I might, I thought…” This needed courage, too, but she found it. “I thought I might grab your hair and force your mouth against my…virgin cunt.”

She barely breathed the last. And she recognized the man before her now, had seen him splattered with blood and wielding an axe. No longer prowling.

His strong hand gripped her thigh and shoved it wide. Abruptly he moved down, pushing her tunic above her hips, baring her most intimate flesh. His eyes feasted hungrily upon the sight, and he drew in a deep breath. Ecstasy shined from his face when he filled himself with her scent. But he didn’t kiss her there.

Instead he growled softly, “You are drenched in your sweet honey.”

She knew it. Could feel it. So hot and wet and aching.

His beribboned fingers tightened on hers. He looked up at her face from his vantage between her spread and trembling thighs. Voice hoarse with need, he commanded, “Do not make me wait any longer, Anja.”

She did not realize what he meant at first—then suddenly did, and was unsure until the moment she pushed her fingers into his thick hair. Everything within her shook with unbearable tension as she forced his head down to her mound.

Softly he kissed the white curls. Then his fingers exposed her sultry flesh and his broad tongue licked upward from her entrance, before circling the throbbing spot at the apex of her slit. Sheer ecstasy ripped across her nerves. She cried out, her fingers losing their grip in his hair, but he clearly needed no guidance or encouragement anyway.

His ravenous groan filled the chamber. “You taste even sweeter than I dreamed, Anja.”

Hungrily he buried his face between her thighs and feasted, his tongue an unbearable torment and the most pleasurable heaven. But there was something more coming, she could feel it approaching, terrifying and exhilarating, but too much to bear, far too much. Yet when she tried to writhe away, Kael pinned her hips and sucked on that spot, the spot that would kill her, because she couldn’t survive this. She begged, but he was relentless, and she screamed as it descended upon her and ripped her apart.

Then she was brought back to glorious, incredible life, where all the world was sharper and brighter and sweeter, with Kael kneeling between her thighs and softly kissing her mouth.

His head lifted, his gaze searching her flushed features. “You are well?”

Dazedly, she nodded.

“Then wrap your legs around me, Anja.” His voice roughened. “You will feel pain this one time. Bite me if you must to stop your screams. Or if you wish to hurt me in return.”

She didn’t ever want to. No matter how much pain there was. And all of the torment and pleasure he’d given with his tongue had made her wetter, so much wetter, so the blunt pressure seemed not like pain when Kael’s swollen manhood breached her entrance, but an almost unbearable stretching as he made a place for himself inside her.

Then a deeper place when he gritted out against her lips, “Your cunt is flooded with your hot welcome, yet it still fights me for every inch,” before withdrawing and leaving behind a burning sting. Only a moment passed before he gripped her bottom in his big hand and pushed into her again, tilting her higher as he did, and instead of one long stroke he filled her in short, hard thrusts. Her fingers squeezed his ever tighter as she bore the endless intrusion. Tears leaked from her eyes though his invasion didn’t hurt, it was just too full and too tight—and the pleasure she had hoped for was only found in his nearness and his warmth and the weight of him above her, in the soft press of his lips to the corner of her mouth, and in the blessed relief that he had apparently finished so quickly. Though his manhood was still swollen and enormous inside her, he didn’t move now, but brushed her hair back from her face and wiped away her tears.

Shakily, she smiled at him. “It only hurts this one time?”

Expression taut, he gave a short nod.

She raised trembling fingers to his mouth. “Is this what you would have had me forgive? The thing you hadn’t yet done?”

“No.” His voice was gruff. “I intended to steal you from Ivermere tomorrow and take you back to my stronghold—whether you wished to or not.”

“I would have wished to.” Trying to ease the depth of the thickness still lodged within her, she unwound a leg from around his back and braced her foot upon the mattress. A tremor moved through Kael’s big body, held straining and motionless above her. Did it take so long to finish? Or had he forgotten he was there? She could not forget. All she could feel was him, and the tight stretch of her sheath.

“You are still inside me,” she reminded him gently.

He laughed and groaned at once, his head hanging down like a man at the end of his strength. “Are you still hurting?”

“No.” But not enjoying it, either. “You are just…so deep.”

Immediately Kael eased back, but not to withdraw. Instead his arm tightened around her and he drew her up with him, until he was sitting on the bed and she straddled his hips, face to face. They were both still fully dressed, though her tunic was pushed up to her waist and he had unlaced his breeches. Her leather-covered knees sank into the mattress. Her inner walls still felt so tight and full, but the deep discomfort was gone, because now she could rise higher on his manhood.

Curious, she glanced down and stilled, mouth parting as she saw his erection, only partially inside her now. He was fully swollen, the thick shaft glistening with her wetness and streaked with her virgin’s blood—but no seed. There ought to be seed.

Her gaze flew to his. “You have not spent?”

His answer was a kiss, hot and deep and slow. Another followed, then another, and those were pure pleasure, as were the kisses he bestowed to her cheeks, her jaw, her throat.

He unlaced her heavy tunic and exposed more skin. Supporting her with his forearm, he eased her back slightly. The movement forced him deeper inside again, but even that was not so uncomfortable now—and obviously pleasurable for him. With a deep groan, he used his teeth to tug the open neck of her tunic down, revealing the pouting tip of her breast. He latched on, drawing hard upon her nipple. Gasping, Anja arched her back, the motion pushing him even deeper. But there was no discomfort. Only the sudden, taut clench of her inner muscles.

“Kael,” she breathed, clutching at his shoulder. “Kael.”

But he only continued sucking on the turgid peak of her breast, and she could not bear it, because he was so deep inside her yet she needed more. So much more.

Tentatively, she lifted her hips, was rewarded with the delicious slide of his erection within the tight clasp of her inner walls. Her breath shuddered at the unexpected pleasure, and she raised her hips again, a sharper movement that took him deeper.

“Oh,” she whispered and saw Kael gazing at her with heavy-lidded hunger.

Using their bound hands, Kael slowly drew her upright over his lap again. In a voice taut with strain, he asked, “Are you ready for the rest?”

—to fuck your virgin cunt and fill you with my seed—

In answer, she fisted her hand in his hair and kissed him. For he had not only made a place for himself by pressing inside her—she had made a place for him, and she saw his pleasure and his torment while he was within her, and these gifts weren’t just his to give to her, but hers to give to him. So she did, rising up and loving his deep groan. Sinking down and feeling him shake in ecstasy. Then shaking, too, when he pushed their bound hands between them, and began stroking his fingers over that terrible, wonderful spot. Slick with her arousal, their fingers teased together, until she couldn’t bear it anymore, couldn’t stop riding him, or kissing him, and she cried out against his mouth when she shattered apart again.

With a savage growl, he shoved her over onto her back, his cock deep inside her, fucking her with fast, brutal strokes. She urged him on with her mouth, with her hips, with her fingers tightening on his—until he abruptly stilled, his eyes locked on hers.

And as she felt the deep, hot pulse of his release inside her, Kael the Conqueror didn’t bellow or roar. Instead he breathed her name reverently, as if it were a prayer…or as if she was an answer to one.