Shaking my head, I laugh. “I can’t even imagine... How?” As the words leave my lips, an idea takes shape. Maybe it’s the mead. Maybe I’m just dirty-minded? Either way, I find myself staring at his mouth. “Stick out your tongue, Theron.”
A spark ignites in his gaze, he’s as eager as I am. He opens his mouth and extends his long, dark pink tongue. And goddesses, I know exactly how good it feels inside me.
A rush of heat floods my body, my heartbeat hammers against my ribs, and I part my lips as I lean in. His breath mingles with mine, his scent fills my mind. So close.
I take his tongue into my mouth, and the moment I do, Theron tightens his grip, wrapping his strong arms around my thighs and pulling me closer. A whimper escapes me at the feeling. My mind is so dirty.
He groans, curling his tongue with mine, and I cup his jaw with both hands. Spreading my thighs wide, he seats me on the platform. One arm braces behind me, holding his weight, while the other moves with torturous slowness between my legs. He finds the cloth I placed there. With a rumble in his chest, he pulls it away and tosses it aside. My breath hitches, but I keep my lipslocked around his tongue, sucking it until he presses his thumb to my clit.
A muffled moan bursts from my throat, my fingers tighten in his fur, and the first nudge of his cock at my entrance has my entire body shuddering. Theron’s purring growl vibrates against me, his massive body cages me in, and slowly—so painfully slowly—he presses inside me.
Gasping as waves of pleasure consume my body, I lose grip of his tongue. Oh, goddesses... I’m losing my mind.
Theron snarls, pressing his hips forward in one thrust. His cock filling me, his tongue in my mouth, I’m full in both directions. He starts to move, his hips snapping, each thrust forcing me closer to madness.
His deep growls, the raw sounds of our bodies meeting, the wet, obscene noises of my mouth sucking at his tongue. It fills the barn. It fills me.
Both of our heads snap to the side, instincts taking over. Eyes wide. Bodies frozen. Footsteps. Heavy. Numerous. Unfamiliar.
Not from the village, but outside. Theron’s body goes rigid, his muscles tense like a beast sensing its prey, or itshunters. He pulls out, leaving me aching and empty.
Our eyes lock, breath ragged, hearts pounding. Not from pleasure anymore, but from the shift. The ambush we’ve been waiting for.
61
THE TSAR’S FAILED CREATIONS
“I shattered the bond and stole the breath of the earth. Let their broken forms wander, nameless, until the soil forgets their blood.”
—Tsar Aldrik I
Noël
“With blood and roses, I will keep you all safe!”
My scream rips through the night as I leap onto Theron mid-run, gripping his thick fur as we charge forward. The warriors thunder after us, their claws digging into the dirt, their snarls filling the air. The village is secured, safe in the hands of the nýmphí and five packs. Now, the tsar’s men will finally taste their own blood. Theron hisses as he runs, his sac still aching from our interruption. I know.
Because I feel it too.
I’m soaked, dripping, my arousal slicks his fur as we move. Very cruel timing. But we have no time to think, only to fight. My fingers tighten around my sword, my gaze locked ahead as heavy footfalls pound the earth. Too heavy.
This isn’t normal. No human’s footsteps should sound like that.
We run for what feels like an hour, though in reality, it’s no more than ten minutes. Our speed is immense, our focus blade-sharp, but the tension claws at my chest like a caged beast. This is it. The night everything changes.
Tonight, the tsar will learn who truly rules this land. I will kill his army, and when the time comes, I will kill him too. But no amount of preparation could have readied me for what I see before my eyes.
Giant, green-skinned heads rise above the horizon, emerging like unnatural monoliths in the moonlight. The road ahead is clear of trees. This is open land, the kind where carriages, traders, or farmers travel. Not the kind where nightmares take shape. What is this? Who are they? “Theron,” I grit out, my pulse hammering. “This... what is going on?”
He shakes his head, just as confused. My crystals blaze brighter, the glow spilling over the land. And then I see them clearly.
They have the shape of men, but they are not men. Their massive bodies are lined with powerful muscle, green skin in a spectrum of shades. Some as deep as forest shadows, others like sunlit moss. They are tall—vólkin tall.
And they are heavy. That’s why their footsteps shake the ground. Their hair varies—some have their heads shaved, others wear braids. And then, the details hit me. Not only the countless daggers and spears.
The gold.
Rings pierce their pointed ears. Thick bands coil around their arms, their necks, their abs. Heavy chains drape over their massive frames like trophies of conquest. And lower...
