Page 23 of Blade of the Nightking

Some stood in rigid formation, broad and imposing, their armor gleaming dully. Others moved past mechanically, their expressions unnervingly blank.

And then there were the markings. What I had thought were tricks of the light.

On their faces, clusters of rounded bumps traced deliberate patterns across foreheads and cheeks, each arrangement forming precise swirls and lines. They glowed faintly, like tiny embers set beneath the skin. With a twinge of unease, I wondered what purpose those markings served.

We passed through layers of wards that skimmed sharply against my skin, crackling faintly as Aedric strode forward without slowing, back down another enclosed passageway and toward a heavy, studded door. Hamish stopped outside it.

Aedric did not.

He shoved the door open hard enough for it to strike the wall and pulled me inside before slamming it shut behind us.

I barely caught a glimpse of the chamber—ornate despite the stone, dressed in deep reds and gold, silk draperies cascading from the walls and thick carpets softening the floor—before he turned suddenly, whirling me to face him.

My heart lurched at the look in his eyes, stripped bare in a way I’d never seen before.

“I’m sorry, Aedric, I’m⁠—”

In one swift motion, he hauled me forward, crushing me against his chest. His grip was unyielding, his hand closing around the back of my neck as he dragged me to him.

And then his mouth crashed against mine.

The kiss was hard, furious, swallowing my gasp as though he meant to devour me whole. His hands slid into my tangled hair, holding me there as his lips moved against mine with frantic, almost fevered desperation.

“I thought I’d lost you,” he moaned against my mouth. He angled his face, deepening the kiss. I opened for him, and his tongue immediately met mine. Each wet stroke sent molten heat straight between my legs, need rushing through me, extinguishing the fear and uncertainty that had been burning there moments before.

The rigid line of him pressed against me, a length of rock against the softness of my stomach, sending a thrill down my spine. He pushed me down, the thick carpet softening the impact, plush beneath my head. Then he was shoving my filthy skirts up around my waist, something feral in his expression. He hooked his fingers over the waistband of my undergarments and dragged them down to my ankles, a rough groan trapped behind his lips as he bared me to him.

His eyes burned fire-bright, glinting with fierce desire as he stared down at the slickness between my thighs.

“Is this…” he asked, his eyes flicking up to mine in concern even as he panted through shallow breaths, the hard outline of him straining against his trousers. “Are you… well enough?”

My hands fumbled at his breeches in answer, untying them with clumsy urgency until I freed him. My fingers closed around his thick shaft, palm sliding over his solid smoothness again and again, just as frenzied and heated as he was. My touch drew a rough, animal sound from his throat, as his eyes fixed on the place between my legs.

His body locked tighter, hard as steel beneath my hand as I worked him. He slipped two fingers into his mouth before withdrawing them, slick and shining, and pressed them into me. His touch was relentless, driving sensation through me until I could barely think, barely breathe. The pressure built, tight and unbearable, my vision blurring at the edges.

My hand moved faster over him, matching the pace of his fingers, my soft moans only spurring him on. I could feel the crest approaching, just within reach⁠—

And then he stopped.

I stared up at him breathlessly, confused, only to be met with a wicked smile that didn’t meet his eyes. He positioned himself at my entrance, the barest brush sending my thighs trembling. His fingers traced upward—skimming the tops of my breasts, my collarbones—until they reached my neck, where my pulse hammered beneath his touch. His gaze darkened as his hand closed around my throat possessively—and then he slammed savagely into me. A strangled sound caught in my chest, as he drove into me roughly again and again.

As the air thinned, sensation flared. Every movement reverberated through me, lighting places that sent my mind spinning, my body responding without restraint to the slide and press of him. The world narrowed to rhythm and heat, to the wet sound of him plunging into me. Stars burst behind my eyes as darkness crept at the edges of my vision.

Just as my chest screamed for air, his grip loosened—only enough to let me suck in a breath—before tightening again, the rush of feeling crashing back in. The contrast was blinding, cresting so sharply I lost control of my body. My hips bucked against him in helpless ecstasy.

Harder. Harder.

As my vision dimmed a second time, the press on my lungs almost as dangerously urgent as the unbearable tightness building inside me, something else surfaced beneath the pleasure.

A faint thread of loathing twisted through the heat—discordant, alien, not mine. It jarred my thoughts, a momentary recoil, as though something deep within me rejected what my body was begging for.

The clash of feelings inside me set my teeth on edge. Revulsion tangled with want, the friction of it as maddening, as intoxicating, as the feel of his length ramming into me over and over. I wrapped my legs around his back, ankles locking as I dragged him closer, punishingly deeper, even as his fingers tightened again at my throat. I gripped his taut forearms, my nails digging into his skin and drawing blood, as I matched him thrust for thrust, the pressure inside me building so violently I couldn’t think anymore—just feel.

I flew over the edge. My body seized, my muscles convulsing around him. Liquid warmth spilled from me uncontrollably, soaking into the carpet beneath me.

The loathing vanished suddenly, swept away beneath the force of my release.

His hand loosened at my throat before sliding to my chest, pinning me in place while he drove into me faster, more urgently, chasing his own pleasure. His other hand gripped my bare thigh, anchoring me there⁠—