Page 60 of Ashborne Forged

A tiny spark of need spiraled through me at the look in his eyes, tangling with the shame.

“What do you think I see?”

“Me.”

He huffed. “Tell me specifically what I’m looking at.”

I couldn’t do it. I buried my face in my hands and leaned forward. “I can’t say that.”

“Grace—”

“This is embarrassing!”

“You should never be embarrassed to be bare before my eyes. Your body is the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. And I have seen a great deal of the world.”

I huffed, suddenly on the verge of tears, and angry at myself for it. He’d seen me far more vulnerable than this—he’d put his mouth there! He’d kissed every inch of my body and touched it, and let me touch his. He wasn’t seeing anything he hadn’t seen before. But I couldn’t shake the sense that I balanced on one foot, on a slick rock, in the middle of a rushing river, and any moment I would be swept away.

“Drop your hands, and look at me,” he instructed.

I screwed my eyes tightly closed, dropped my hands, and reluctantly lifted my head, swallowing hard and praying for courage as I opened my eyes again—to find him kneeling precisely as I knelt—but fully clothed, and staring at me. Still taller than me, but no longer looming. And his face blank, except for a pinch around his eyes.

Then he began to speak, his voice a low, honeyed gravel, that soothed and thrilled me at the same time.

“I see you,” he said slowly, enunciating each word. “I see the tears in your eyes. I see the flush in your cheeks. I see your nipples puckered and tight. I see your beautiful skin, and the marks I left on it with the force of how much I want you.” He went quiet, and his Adam’s apple bobbed. “I see the muscles of your thighs, and your biceps, every part of you stronger and firmer than when you arrived at the Keep. I see the hair between your thighs that’s darker than the thick waves on your head. And I see the pink, soft flesh that matches your cheeks, but glistens when you want me. I see the parts of you that you haven’t shared with anyone but me.”

His voice cracked and I sucked in a breath.

“Grace, I—” he cut off, swallowing again, and the faintest spark of fear lit in his eyes. But he didn’t look away. “I know you feel the power is in my hands right now, because you’re giving me something precious. Hear me: I know how precious this is. And I want you to be certain that no matter what, no matter when, when I ask anything of you, no matter what it is, I will always offer more in return.”

He stopped again, and took a deep breath.

Alarmed and confused, I watched him gather himself. I could sense a storm in him through the bond, and suddenly every shaky, vulnerable, shadow of self-doubt that I ever felt, came rushing for me from him.

“I could stand here naked as the day I was born, and it wouldn’t frighten me. I am shameless about my body, do you understand?” he said hoarsely.

I understood the words, but remained confused about what was happening. “Voski, what—”

“I love you, Grace,” he said hurriedly, the blank expression gone, replaced with pleading, and a rush in the bond as if he grabbed for me and pulled me close. “Do you hear me? I love you. In every way I’m capable of it. You’re mine. Made for me. And I’ll protect you to my dying breath. I swear it. My mate. I love you. I swore I’d never give those words away. Ever. I was wrong. They’re true. And they’re yours. This feeling you’re experiencing, the imbalance, the weakness… I’m offering you something I swore I’d never, ever give up. And I’m begging you… hold it carefully. Please,” he rasped.

My mouth dropped open and tears blurred my vision. I dropped my hands to push off the floor, to throw myself at him, to wrap him in my arms and tell him that I loved him, as well, but he gave a short shake of his head, and his eyes widened. “I love you,” he whispered. “And because I mean it, those words leave me as bare and defenseless as you feel right now.”

I clapped my hands to my face, choking out a sob because he looked like a frightened boy. But his eyes… his eyes blazed for me.

“This life together won’t be easy for either of us,” he said hoarsely, his eyes still locked on mine. “But if there’s ever a moment you feel alone—ever a breath you think you take without my strength at your back, I want you to remember this moment. I am… laid bare,” he rasped. “I love you. And I will love you with everything I have, until the day my heart stops beating.” He swallowed hard. “Do you believe me?”

“Yes! And I love you, too!” I gasped.

The sound that tore from his throat was tortured—and thrilled. I didn’t see him move through the blur of my tears, but I was suddenly engulfed—warm hands, steel strength, hot breath, a pounding heart. He curled me into his chest and breathed my name, picked me up bodily, then dropped with me to the bed, where we got lost in each other.

Hours of his body loving mine.

Hours of his heartbeat under my ear, my palm, my chest.

Hours of his eyes never leaving me—burning with their intensity.

And through it all, deep into the night, he whispered the baring of his soul with a rhythm as persistent as his pounding heart.

I love you.