Page 16 of Death Will Follow

“Do you even have to ask?” She gripped the front of his tunic with her free hand and pulled him toward her.

He grinned from ear to ear and told her to head up to the room ahead of him while he gathered their food. On her way upstairs, Nova encountered the skittish servant again and asked to be told when Bryn woke. Nodding, the maid scurried off down the staircase.

The fire in their chamber had been stoked, the flames dancing cheerily in the familiar space. While she waited, Nova opted to wash off her travels with a quick rinse in the tub. A handful of minutes later, she was freshly bathed and slipping into her black satin robe. Callan entered the room then, balancing a full tray on one arm, an apple between his teeth.

Callan halted in the doorway, taking in the sight of her, all his dreams made flesh. Her dark hair flowed in loose waves over her shoulders, and her robe clung to the soft curve of her hips, the parted fabric revealing a glimpse of her thighs.

He kicked the door closed and spat the apple unceremoniously onto the tray in front of him. Three long strides brought him to the table, where he set the tray down with a clash of cutlery. With two more, he joined her where she stood before the fireplace.

“This is lovely,” he said, running his fingertips over the arms of her robe.

“You like it?” she asked, tugging at the ends of the sash cinched at her waist.

“Very much,” he answered, his voice dipping lower. The robe evoked pleasant memories of the first time they had lain together in the Lunar Court.

“I thought you might.” She leaned into him, tilting her head back but stopping short of kissing him, her mouth hovering a breath away from his. She pulled back playfully when he tried to press his lips to hers, and he growled low in his throat.

“Shield the door, Your Grace,” she murmured.

Callan briefly considered asking her not to call him that but did as he was told, quickly warding the door so no one but the two of them could enter without an invitation. Nova laid her palms against his chest and gave a shove, sending him down to sit on the sofa. A laugh escaped him, but he swallowed the sound when he saw the earnest expression she wore. Nova lifted the hem of her robe, and Callan slouched a bit, expecting to make room for her in his lap.

To his surprise, she lowered herself to her knees before him, taking his hands in hers as she looked at him, crystalline sincerity reflected in the silvery depths of her eyes.

“What are you doing?” he asked, but she shushed him.

Bringing his left hand to her mouth, she pressed a kiss to the center of his palm.

“I claim you, Callan Nyhauslen, as my bonded mate.” She brought his right hand to her mouth. Another reverent kiss on his palm. “I vow to be your calm in the storm. To heal you when you are broken.” She clasped both his hands tightly. “Above all else, I vow to love you all the days of my life.”

For Callan, there had been no mistaking the moment his claim had fully bonded him to Nova. Whatever meager separation lingered between their souls had been erased in an instant, the thread of his life weaving together with hers, the force of the bond careening through his body like a burst dam. The gravity of it had nearly brought him to his knees. From the way Nova’s breath hitched and she squeezed his hands tighter, her knuckles going white, he knew the force of her claim had seized her as well.

When she released him, he cupped one of her cheeks. Leaning into his touch, she ran her hands along the tops of his thighs, reaching for his laces and tugging them open. Her steely eyes locked on his as she slipped her fingers beneath his waistband, curling them around his shaft and gripping him tightly. Callan lifted his hips, allowing Nova to lower his breeches, his cock springing free as she did so.

Gently, she pushed his tunic and shirt up higher on his abdomen. Leaning forward, she kissed the raised scar on his right side, a daily reminder of how her magic had once healed him, saving his life nearly at the expense of her own. Callan’s head fell back, and he closed his eyes as he focused on the sensation of her soft lips traveling lower, her tongue tracing the lines of the dagger inked on his thigh, his skin prickling in its wake. She took his cock in her hand once again, fingers gliding along his shaft and easing the skin back, before tightening around the base, her tongue teasing at the head. When she took him into the warmth of her mouth, his eyes snapped open, surely ablaze as he gazed down at his beautiful mate, claiming him as he had claimed her.

Callan clenched his jaw and clutched at the woven blanket draped over the sofa at his side. So much of his life had been steeped in violence. The lightness of Nova’s touch as she stroked his cock and the softness of her lips, her tongue, as she drew his length into her mouth were a gift. Struggling to maintain control, Callan recalled the words she’d spoken the first time she invited him into her bed.

You never have to hide from me. You never have to hold back.

Slowly, Callan released his grip on the blanket and buried his fingers in her dark hair instead, tugging gently at the roots. Nova moaned, her eyes fluttering shut as she took him further, the tip of his cock hitting the back of her throat. Callan lost track of time as he surrendered himself to the pleasure she so lovingly offered him. Nova increased her pace, eyes watering as she took him as far as he could go. Callan’s release coursed through him, her name rushing past his lips like a prayer as she swallowed every drop.

When his body went slack, Nova climbed into his lap to straddle his thighs. Callan brushed away the tears tracking over the apples of her cheeks, then drew her in close, kissing her deeply before his head lolled back onto the sofa.

“You’ll be the death of me, my love,” he said, breathless. “Though I can’t imagine a better way to meet my end.”

Utterly content, he gazed up at Nova. It was then that he spied the markings: faint bruises, a mottled yellow green, marred the pale skin of her throat.

Callan straightened in his seat, the warm glow of his satisfaction doused in an instant.

“Who did this to you?” he demanded, gently tilting her head. He dared not touch the discolored skin, wary of causing her pain.

“It’s nothing,” Nova assured him, taking his hand and holding it tightly in her own before he tugged it free.

“It looks like something.” He tilted her head again and leaned in for a closer look, sucking a breath through his teeth when he registered the defined shape of fingers.

“It wasn’t nothing at first, but it’s nothing now,” she explained. “My father—he’s been searching for me.”

“Searching for you?”