Page 75 of Heart of Night
On a table—he’d been strapped to a fucking torture table.
“As are you.” His fingers skim my cheekbone as he slides his arm under my shoulder and pulls me against him as he kneels. “There are two options, and I’m only polite enough to say this because Herinor saved my life.” His voice is a growl, his eyes darkening, tracing my mouth with a gaze so intense I feel it like a touch. In response, my stomach tightens. “You all get out of here now, or I’ll take my mate out into the rain. I don’t care as long as I get a minute with her before we face the rest of this crisis.”
I’m surprised he hasn’t kicked them out with his magic—then I remember his powers must still be deep asleep from the effects of the drug Ephegos injected him with.
There’s not one trace left of the panicked male from the dungeon, not one hint of weakness, only pure male rage contained behind those eyes as he seems to be counting to ten in his head, waiting for their response.
Rage, as his fingers brush the inside of my elbow where a needle pierced my skin, the sensitive inside of my wrist where leather straps locked me in place.
“Outside,” I whisper before he gets a chance to explode and take out his fury on those who aided his escape instead of the monsters who deserve it. “Let’s go outside.”
Myron has me scooped up in his arms before I can finish speaking, his hard chest pressing into my side, and I don’t even think to struggle. Safe. I’m safe with him. Safe with this terrifying version of him.
He doesn’t stop until we’re on the threshold where he shoots a warning over his shoulder. “I don’t care who watches, but don’t hold me accountable for what you see.”
His nostrils flare as his gaze locks on mine, pupils blown out until the whole irises seem to be swallowed up by darkness.
A flicker of fear floods my system as we step into the rain, Myron’s hair tangling around his head with every stride he takes into the small garden framing the yard. The wind whips wet strands in all directions, making him even more beautiful in an untamed way that promises I’m right to be afraid. Not afraid of him but that he’ll let go of me and vanish the way a dream dissolves into the harsh reality of pain.
There is no pain now, only the pulsing need to be close to him, to breathe him in and taste him on my tongue. To drown in everything he is and ever will be. My body remembers too well what it’s like to be with him, the way his kisses set me aflame and his touch has me moaning.
This is different. More intense in a way that makes my world narrow to the primal need pulsing in my veins. I hardly recognize myself. Every breath is a yearning, every heartbeat incomplete until it matches his.
As if summoned by a silent call, my hand slides up his arm to his shoulder where the tattoo lies bare and washed clean by the pouring sky.
This is Myron. This is my mate. And touching him feels. So. Good. As my fingers graze the inked lines at the edge of his biceps. He stops in his tracks, every muscle in his body going taut as his eyes snap to mine.
“If you do that, I won’t be able to tell you how much I missed you, how much I loathed every moment we were separated. I won’t be able to kiss you gently and confess my love for you, my need to tie my soul to yours. I won’t be able to tell you how sorry I am that I wasn’t there to save you.”
My fingers stop right where the first line of night-black ink swirls across his skin. “What will you do instead?” I can’t get a breath down my throat as I try to read the wrath in his eyes—not for me but for Erina and Ephegos and Katrijanov. For everyone who hurt me.
His lids lower until all I can see are two silken half-moons of black lashes, and he blows out a breath, arms tightening around my shoulders and under my knees.
“I’ll lay you down on that patch of grass and fuck you mindless, Ayna.”
My heart leaps into my throat, heat melting my core while he holds himself in place, giving me the option—talk or…
“We can always talk later.” I bite my lip, keeping myself from licking a trail of rain from the side of his throat. Guardians—that scent mixed with fresh rain, all signs of blood and pain washed away from his flawless skin…
Relief floods me like a drug of its own, and want?—
I press my knees together, already mindless at the mere look of him resisting the primal calling that is the bond between us.
Inhaling him, I drag my finger over the curve of the tattooed bird … and nearly scream at the surge of heat flooding my body. Not the burning kind that makes you cringe but the pleasurable one that makes you arch into the sensation. Myron groans low in his throat, his body quivering against mine.
“Talk later,” he agrees, already marching for the corner of the yard farthest away from the shed, where a wall blocks the view of the street and small trees and bushes promise a modicum of privacy. My shirt gets caught on a branch as he squeezes past a bush and lowers himself to his knees on the wet grass. His eyes hold mine captive for a long, breathless moment as my hand glides up the curve of his neck, spearing into his hair, wet silk, smooth and soft.
I don’t know if all of the drug has left his system, but I can sense my own magic trickling back in as if it’s been waiting for this moment to make an appearance.
Myron sets down my legs, brushing back strands of my hair, and I take the opportunity to straddle him, wrapping both arms around him as he brings his mouth to mine in a brandishing kiss. The taste of him—I moan against his lips, greedy for more, for all of him. Rain drenches our clothes, our hair, trickling down our faces, but the heat between us turns it into steam. I reach for his bare chest, tracing the edges and grooves of his muscles, and he moans my name like a prayer, like speaking it will save him. The sound turns me to liquid, making me arch into him until my breasts are pressed against his chest, our bodies flush, and he splays his fingers on the small of my back, pulling me tighter against him.
Sweet pressure builds in my core at the feel of his strength, at the hardness of his body against my curves. The buttons of his pants rub along my core, but they aren’t what makes me squirm with delight. It’s the steel length of him contained beneath that makes the friction so delicious.
“Gods, I’ve been dreaming of this moment.” His tone is gravelly, proof of how hard he’s fighting to not just tear my clothes off and bury his cock inside of me.
I want him to. I want every inch of him inside of me, want to feel the pulsing heat of him straining against my tightening core.
His hands slide to my ass, rocking my hips against him. It’s not enough. It’s never enough.