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“It doesn’t seem like enough.”
She saw the deep remorse in his mossy-green eyes and sought for the right words to convey what she meant. “I was hurt that you thought so little of me. But I understood because you’d never walked in my shoes. You’re a man of action in the truest sense. You chart a course; you go for it. How could you understand my horribly passive role in Ferrenden Peace? Or believe how much it hurt each time Margetta brought a vision to me?
“I’m trying to say that I understand who you are and now that I was finally given a more active role in the war as Aralynn I’ve come to understand who I am.”
Stone stroked her cheek. “But a thousand years of living this life. How did you bear it?”
“The same way you
bore the deaths of your parents: One tough day at a time.”
He frowned and shook his head. “Sometimes I got so drunk I had to be carried home unconscious.”
She thought her own confession wouldn’t hurt. “And at times, I drank too much wine. But we’re here now.”
“Yes. We most definitely are.”
~ ~ ~
Stone slid his hand behind Rosamunde’s neck and kissed her. She moaned softly, leaning into him and when she parted her lips, he slid his tongue inside. A soft vibration enveloped him, one that felt all Rosamunde.
His mating vibration was now uniformly linked with hers. It was almost impossible to tell where one began and the other ended.
After a moment, he drew back. “Will you complete the bond with me, Rosamunde, as mastyr to your blood rose, as my vampire mate, as my woman, now and forever?”
Her lovely violet eyes were misty, full of love and something else. It took him a moment to recognize the emotion, but he felt it, too. It was joy, pure and without restraint.
“I will.” She smiled suddenly. “Now take me to bed.”
He chuckled, loving that the Aralynn part of her got straight to the point.
He lifted her into his arms, cradling her as he moved to the cottage door. The smallish dwelling, however, made it impossible for him to carry her over the threshold. He snorted as he set her on her feet, which made her chuckle.
“The cottage belonged to a troll.”
“Thought as much.”
She took his hand and he followed her inside, loving the feel of her palm against his as well as the sight of her mass of red hair flowing behind her.
Once within, he shut the door. When she started to strip, he saw no point in pretending there was anything else they needed to do right now. Of course his task was much simpler since he only wore his leathers.
By the time she was free of her clothes, he picked her up and tossed her on the bed. She laughed as she landed on her back.
As Rosamunde, she had a beautiful shape with an abundance of curves. His mating vibration, joined to hers as it was, sent thrills through his body, tightening his thigh and arm muscles.
He was already aroused as he stretched out on top of her. “You are so beautiful, my love.”
She gasped softly. “Oh, you said that the same way Davido speaks to Vojalie. I love it.”
He smiled. “I guess I did, didn’t I? But I love you, Rosamunde, with all my heart.”
She slid her hand into his hair, something he knew she loved to do. She leaned up and he met her with his lips, guiding her back down with the kiss.
This would be different, that’s what he knew. He loved her and he was secure in her love for him. Rosamunde was all in. And he was too. There would be no holding back or recriminations because he feared losing her. He was fully present. Committed.
And hungry.
Facing death and hours of torture would do that to a man.
