Page 36 of Angel's Conquest
Yes, she was foolish in many things, but she was also a female. A princess. A future monarch, Moon Mother willing.
And a viper.
She could choose when and how to strike. This male had taught her that when even her father thought to label her as nothing more than a common whore.
“Bronze,” she breathed, her sharp breath stealing more than her fair share of oxygen from the small room.
One more soft inhale was all the fortification she needed to close the gap between them and capture her prey with a hungry kiss.
Chapter 17
There were good ideas, bad ideas, and really fucking bad ideas.
Clara’s warm lips pressed against Bronze’s fell somewhere in the realm of all three. Likewise, the kiss brushed over him in a measure that was just as tremulous. The good: a warm, answering tenderness that was sweeter than any confection. The bad: an urgency that lurked beneath her searching lips, reminding him of who she was, where they were, and exactly what was at stake. And then the very bad: his hand was trapped between her mounded breasts, and the threadbare hope he had of limping out of that room without disappointing either of them was quickly unraveling.
But by the mages, her mouth! Kisses weren’t meant to be like this. They were meant to be raw, eager, demanding, a precursor to the baser instincts of what two bodies needed. Sure, there could be tenderness to start, but it was always—should always—be fleeting. An appetizer before the main course. Soup before salad. Drinks before dessert.
They weren’t supposed to be fucking perfect.
The sweet pressure of their kiss shifted as Clara angled her head slightly before resuming her clinging rhythm, and boy, did that make him smile. She was a curious one, his little lycan. And judging by the rhythm she soon adopted, a damn quick study. With his free hand, he held her to him, fully aware he was indulging in more of her intoxicating pull as well as his own deception.
Outside of his brothers, no one still breathing knew of Malik, and even fewer knew of Bronze’s pact regarding Polina. No matter how many years had gone by and no matter how many realms he’d traveled through, time did jack shit to ease the memories of his best friend’s body draped across Bronze’s lap as the light left the male’s soul.
Malik. Fucking Malik, who’d been stacked like a mountain and weighed twice as much, had been felled to no heavier than the weight of Bronze’s halberd once the charmers had shorn off his wings and stripped him of his battle skin, weapons, and anything that might be worth bringing back to Cyro.
It was by some miracle that the male had even had breath to speak the plea that Bronze had been powerless to ignore.
Bond with Polina. No matter what happens, she’ll be safe with a sentinel. You must do this, brother. For me.
At the time, Bronze had been so wrought with agony that he’d have given his own wings, his powers, if Malik would have asked for them, if they would have stuffed the leaking light of Malik’s soul back into his shredded body.
Interesting thing about death, though. It didn’t matter what side of the coin you rubbed for luck. That midnight train ride came for you regardless, and it was never late.
So, the oath had left his lips in the same slow trickle that Malik’s blood flowed out of him. A few searing pulses later, the tattoo had been branded onto his chest, sealing his fate. And then the Sealing had done the rest.
He’d done nothing but spin out of control ever since.
Until Clara, who he’d known for such a short time, had the absolute gall to nearly get herself killed so he might have the privilege of rescuing her.
He tightened his arm around her and moaned into her sweet mouth when her exploring fingers skimmed over his goatee. The delicate scratches and smooth whorls of her fingertips along his jaw and beneath his chin were far more than the rhythmic delights of a curious lover.
Her touch was a balm to his ravaged soul, and if he had any honor left in him, he’d gently push her away and lay himself bare. Tell her everything. About the relic. Polina. How he absolutely fucking hated the idea of mating her in ceremony only, when his fire roared with an instinct to claim her as far more.
But any honor he’d once had was still sealed off somewhere in the Empyrean, waiting for him to return and fulfill the eternal oath he’d made to a fallen brother.
No. Whatever indulgences he’d grant himself a taste of would be just that, and only what she freely offered. If she needed a male, a mate in name and appearance only to see her through what lay ahead, he could be that for her but never more.
That was all he could ever permit this to be.
When Bronze’s hand caressed Clara’s back and pulled her closer, a wave of relief rushed through her limbs, and she settled the rest of her weight against him.
God, she’d wanted to touch him. Even bloody and bandaged as he was, she didn’t think any amount of gore could fully detract from all the glorious strength on display.
Strength he was now wrapping around her.
She sank further into the pull of his mouth, reveling in the salty seduction of him. By the Moon Mother, he smelled exquisite, and her wolf whined in rapt agreement, causing her heart to make requests of her body on her behalf. Curious, oh so tempted, and with a desire spurred on by her lycan nature, she darted her tongue out.
When he didn’t pull away and answered with a muffled moan and a sweeping greedy kiss of his own, her body thrilled at the connection. Dark heat pooled between her legs and was only made worse by the constriction of her leather trousers.