Page 287 of Burn of the Everflame

“Zalaric’s going to murder you for that,” I said.

“Then I’ll die happy.” He pressed his lips to the crescent-shaped scar on my collarbone before shifting his body lower to bring his gaze to my chest. He stared, enraptured by my mark, meticulously studying every line. The shimmering symbol grew brighter as my love for him swelled, filling his eyes with golden light. I felt his soul fill with it, too—the evidence that, although my devotion to him looked different than his to me, it was no less true.

He grazed his mouth against my skin, and I moaned at his touch, pressure already building low on my spine. Though his hips hovered above me, I felt his cock harden. I’d known for a while that I could sense his pleasure through the bond, but knowing he felt mine, too, fed all my most mischievous impulses. My mind raced with wicked ideas of how to use this against him.

Just when I thought the gods had handed me the ultimate upper hand, he swept his tongue over my mark, and my body ignited. As he tasted my skin, a phantom caress licked at my aching breasts, around my clit, inside me. He nipped at the place where the two hearts entwined, and he might as well have buried his face between my legs. Pleasure coursed through my core as if he had.

“Fuck,” he rasped. “I’m not even in you, and it feels like . . .” He sucked the skin over the mark, and a cry ripped from my throat, my mind blanking. He nudged his knee between mine, and my thighs clenched around him. Release felt inches away—one more touch of the mark would destroy me.

But Luther was a patient man, and he would not let me off so easily. He tore the rest of the bodice away, then slid the billowing skirts down my legs and tossed them aside. He sat back on his heels between my legs as I stretched out before him, wearing only the golden pendant he’d given me and a scrap of lace over my center.

I squirmed with need, but he stilled me with one firm hand around my ankle. With his other, he grabbed the object he’d retrieved from his jacket, a small green vial I recognized as contraceptive tonic. He flipped the cork open with his thumb and held my stare as he drank it—a carnal promise of what was to come.

On my leg, shadows crept from his palm and wound their way around me. I couldn’t absorb it, but by the gods and the Undying Fire, could I feel it. The dark tendrils caressed my skin, surrounding me in his powerful aura. Sharp thorns sprouted along the black vines, though their bite was enticing, not painful. The prickling sensation woke up my senses, teasing my sensitive skin until I was once again writhing before him.

“Still,” he commanded, soft and dark. “I want to look at you.”

I obeyed, and he hummed his approval as he drank in the golden firelight flickering over my skin. There was no more hiding, no more turning my back to keep my body concealed. When his thumb stroked the inside of my ankle, his sparks shimmered down my leg, burning away my thin undergarment, and even my revealing wetness was on display.

But it was my mark that captured Luther’s stare. His brows knit inward, as though he still couldn’t quite believe it was true. His other hand rose to touch his mark, and mine glimmered in response, then began to ache. I gave it a gentle rub, and at my touch, the burning soothed into a warm, reassuring calm. Luther’s eyes briefly closed, and I knew he felt it, too. I wondered how many times we’d done this over the past few months, unknowingly giving each other comfort from miles apart.

I shifted my hand to my breast and kneaded the tender swell, rolling its peak between my fingers. Luther followed the movement, nostrils flaring wide. My other hand toyed with the shadows skating over my skin, and they lovingly teased back. I waited until they’d twined around my fingers before letting my hand roam to my navel, then lower.

His hand tightened on my ankle.

“Can you feel this?” I said, stroking my fingers through the slick, sensitive folds. Every time I rubbed against my swollen clit, muscles flexed beneath the tattered remains of his shirt.

“I think you know the answer,” he said gruffly.

I plunged a shadow-wrapped finger inside me with a whimper. “Do you feel this, too?”

He didn’t need to respond. Over the bond, I felt the strain of his arousal. His fingers twitched against my leg, but he held his stance.

More of his shadows wound around my body. Some curved around my other breast and flicked at my nipple, while others circled my throat or tugged at my hair. The darkness twining around my fingers grew thicker, adding friction each time I pushed them inside me.

As my pleasure grew sharper, I began to second-guess my game. I’d been trying to goad him into action, but Luther was too disciplined a man.

“Torturing yourself?” I asked coyly, though it came out like a plea.

“Torture? My darling mate, the only thing I like more than seeing you work yourself is doing it for you.” His eyes glowed, and the shadowy tendrils around my hand pushed in deeper. “Now I get to do both.”

I cried out, arching my back, but his magic held me still. When I pulled my hand from my breast and reached for him, dark vines pinned my wrist above my head. My other hand soon joined it, and his magic took over, toying with my breasts and pumping inside me. My eyes fluttered closed, and I felt covered in his touch as a thousand dark hands caressed my every curve.

“I promised my godhood that one day, I’d let it have its way with you.” He lifted my foot to his shoulder, baring me wider, and kissed the inside of my leg. “This was well worth the wait.”

My climax grew nearer, and panic rose. I wasn’t ready to go alone—not into battle, not into death, not even over the cliff of release. I forced my eyes to open, forced myself to hold his gaze.

“Not without you,” I pleaded. “Not yet.”

His shadows stilled. He must have seen it in me—the way those words carried heavier weight. He pulled his ripped tunic over his head and threw it aside. His arms slid beneath me and clutched me against him, our marks searing hot against the other’s skin. “Never without me,” he vowed.

He kissed me, and I let myself believe that was an oath we could keep. I wrapped myself in the magic of this home he’d built and the future it promised, and I let myself become her—the Diem who survived.

His magic released its grip on my wrists, and I made quick work of the rest of his clothes. His body pressed against me, hard and solid, crowding out the lingering worries from my thoughts. The bond thrilled at so much of his flesh touching mine, but its hunger was not yet sated.

Luther positioned himself at my entrance. He hesitated there, holding me close and breathing me in. This felt like a first, in a strange kind of way. We’d been intimate since the island, but those nights had been about physical need, clawing out a brief reprieve from the bond’s demands before it drove us mad. This was something deeper, something written in our souls. A fusing of two hearts, an acceptance of the mating magic all over again.

I threaded my arms around his neck. “Eternally,” I murmured, repeating the vow I had made in my heart, but never spoken aloud. “Unconditionally. For as long as love exists.”