Page 77 of Heart of Night
Thirty-Seven
Myron
Forcing myself to let go of Ayna might be the hardest thing I’ve ever done.
Her rain-slick skin invites me to explore her, her scent beckoning like a flowerbed after breaking free from an eternal winter. And her eyes?—
Her eyes might be the most beautiful thing in the universe as she gazes up at me, glazed with the aftereffects of pleasure. I don’t dare look lower than her face because, if I do, I won’t be able to stop myself from worshiping every inch of her until the world ends. On my shoulder, my tattoo resonates as if in agreement, and the way Ayna keeps eyeing me gives me ideas that she wouldn’t object to.
From the distance, a faint grumble of thunder reminds me that even though I’ve finally claimed my mate, the world isn’t waiting for us to be done. For now, the memories we just made have to be enough.
“You two done over there, or are you going a second round?” Herinor’s shout tells me we weren’t as quiet as I’d hoped. At least, the bushes block us from view. And even if they hadn’t, I would have fucked Ayna in the middle of the throne room and not cared, just to ease that need to claim her. Of course, Ayna can never know how weak I am when it comes to her. I may defy my enemies, withstanding pain and torture, but one look from her and I’m on my knees.
“Shut up, and pray I won’t tear your head off,” I growl as I reluctantly lift Ayna off me and pick up my soaked pants and shirt.
The way her lips curve at my retort tells me she has ideas of her own, and they have little to do with anyone’s head but that of my cock. Gods, I need to get my thoughts under control, or I’ll go into battle hard like marble.
Taking a few deep breaths, I decide that I’d better get used to it and tug up my own pants, buttoning them with a grimace before helping Ayna into her shirt. Her tattoo is visible through the wet fabric, the outline darker than before.
“We should get back inside,” she says, brushing back her hair as she leans closer as if pulled by gravity. My hand finds the side of her waist on instinct, guiding her to my left so my sword arm is free even when I don’t have a blade to wield and no opponent to wield it on.
“We can’t get any more soaked,” I point out. Not that it matters.
She glances down her front then at my chest, and my breath catches as she leans in and places a single kiss right above my heart. “The others are waiting for us.”
I’m not sure I imagine the blush darkening her cheeks as she starts walking—and my feet follow without a thought. I go where she goes. That’s my new credo.
When we make it to the shed, Herinor is waiting by the door, eyebrows raised and his hand on his sword like he’s expecting to find Ephegos on the other side of the splintered wood instead of his king and queen. My arm tightens around Ayna’s waist, and I wish I had a shirt to offer her to layer atop hers so her curves would remain hidden from Herinor, whose gaze has dropped for a heartbeat before remembering that this is my mate he’s staring at. But she doesn’t flinch under his scrutiny. She owns her almost nakedness in a way that makes me adore her even more.
At my warning glare, Herinor steps aside, leading the way to the back corner where Clio and the Flame he called Kaira are sitting on turned-over wooden crates, heads tucked together in whispered conversation as if to distract themselves.
The Gods know, we gave them something to need distraction from.
At our approach, their gazes snap up, and I flash them a grin.
I’m not embarrassed—on the contrary, I’m the proudest male alive to call the Crow Queen my own.
“Can you feel your magic?” the Flame asks, shifting into business mode so fast I don’t have time to level Herinor with a look as he raises his brows at me again, eyes wandering between Ayna and me. Her boldness instantly makes me like this Kaira. And the fact that she has the broody warrior wrapped around her little finger.
Ignoring the stench of vomit and damp earth that immediately reminds me of the dungeon, I pick up a crate and turn it over for Ayna before sitting down on a second one. “My fae senses are working, my healing power, too. But that’s about it.” I leave out the magic of the mating bond that keeps tingling as if in reassurance it’s still there.
Ayna doesn’t respond. Instead, she closes her eyes and takes a deep breath. Droplets of water collect on her skin where it drips and runs from her hair, her shirt, her pants. Opening her palms, she lets the water trickle through her fingers to the floor where it pools in front of her toes. “Some,” she eventually answers. “Not enough to drown Ephegos with a spring tide yet, but it’s coming back.”
A smirk tugs at the corner of my mouth. This is my Ayna, ready to shove her water magic down the traitor’s throat.
“We need a plan,” Clio is the first to address the actual issue. “We can’t just run back to the palace and hope they will not notice when we sneak into the dungeon, assuming you are still helping now that the two of you are reunited.”
The fear darkening her eyes matches the urgency in her tone, and there is no doubt the Princess of Askarea will go back alone to rescue her mate if we don’t want to.
“Of course, we’ll help.”
I don’t correct Ayna when she speaks for both of us. Royad and Silas are still in captivity as well as Astorian, and we can’t delay for a moment longer than absolutely necessary. As soon as Erina notices I’m gone, he’ll kill at least the Crows. For Astorian, he has other uses, I’ve learned. Despicable use that’s not so different from the plans he had for me.
“How long until they’ll notice we’re gone?” I direct the question at Herinor, but it’s Kaira who answers.
“They won’t realize Clio and I are gone for a while unless they question the guards who let us out of the palace…”
My throat closes up at the thought of them walking out of Erina’s home right under the guards’ noses. “Guards let you out?” Just to be clear I didn’t mishear.