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He was looking at her as if she were the only thing that was real. As though the world around them were nothing more than a ballroom in which they were the only dancers.
Or maybe she was still just projecting her own silly, fanciful notions.
And also projecting her insecurities, apparently.
Isael said, "Whatever you're feeling for me, I assure you, I feel it far stronger."
Cera had to work moisture into her mouth. "You really believe that."
"I've waited a very long time for you."
She hoped he couldn't read her mind, couldn't hear the jumble of self-deprecating thoughts that coursed through it. She didn't deserve him. Deep down, she knew that he'd had the right of it when he'd walked away from her all those years ago. She knew that the only reason he wanted her now was because of a trick of nature that gave her the illusion of being desirable.
But she wouldn't say any of this aloud, not tonight, and perhaps not ever. Because she had also been waiting for him. And now he was in front of her, saying the sorts of things she'd only ever heard in her most private fantasies.
As she stared into his eyes, she was gripped by a feral, inhuman sense of possessiveness. Deep in her bones, she knew that he was hers. There was no point to doubting it, all she could do was try to rise to the position. She made a silent promise that she would become someone worthy of being at his side. One day, she would be every bit as great as he believed she would be, and no one would dare call her the granddaughter of a whore or question her place at the side of the high lord of the elves.
Power, knowledge, and magic would come with practice and time, but there was one thing she felt certain she could do first and foremost. Cera was going to give Isael an heir, and she had no intention of waiting around for the will of the gods. She'd been imbued with the magic of life, and she intended to figure out how to use it to its full advantage.
"Take me to your bed."
The Claim
Cera felt weightless as Isael lifted her up into his arms. He seemed to glide across the room with her in what must have been a trick of his wind magic, because no one could move so gracefully.
When he laid her on the bed she expected him to come with her and resume their kissing, but instead he sat on the edge of the bed and stared down at her. The heavy drapes of the bed blocked much of the light, such that Cera could only see his silhouette and the gleam of his blue eyes.
Seconds passed, and the longer he stared at her the more she began to feel uneasy, as if she were supposed to say something or—gods forbid—do something to initiate their intercourse. She thought that perhaps she hadn't been clear enough when she'd asked for him to take her to his bed. Perhaps she should be more direct and tell him plainly that she intended for them to consummate their relationship.
While she searched for words that didn't make her feel foolish, Isael finally broke the silence between them.
"The night of the ritual, when I had you here in my bed, I knew I wouldn't be able to give you to Esodir. Perhaps it's my nature, being the amalgam that I am, I've never felt drawn to an elven woman in the way I felt drawn to you. Were it my decision, you'd never spend a night away from my bed."
"You're the high lord," Cera said, biting down on her lip in a pitiful attempt to hide her grin. "You could command me into your bed whenever you pleased."
Isael hadn't liked the last time she'd pointed out how his position gave him authority over her, but this time she didn't think he'd mind. The words were true, but she'd spoken them teasingly, perhaps even a bit coquettishly.
She knew she'd hit the mark when Isael leaned down so that his hair fell to curtain Cera's face.
"And if I commanded you to spendeverynight in my bed?"
Her heart fluttered. No matter how much she wished to be a smoldering seductress, she was still ill at ease with all the attention he was giving her and how it was making her feel. Consequently, she said something inane.
"You may not like sleeping with me. My sister once told me that I snore."
While she was cringing, Isael flashed his teeth. "You do, but not to an untenable extent. I think it's endearing. It's also good to know you aren't perfect."
There was nothing beguiling about Cera's subsequent snort. "I'mfarfrom perfect."
"Not to me," Isael said. He settled himself down onto the bed beside her, propping himself up on his arm.
"Only because you don't yet know me well," Cera reminded him.
"I will," he said, lowering his face to hers. "With time."
He kissed her again and Cera hadn't realized how much she'd missed the feel of his lips against hers. They were paradoxically soft, yet firm and unyielding. They moved over her lips with enviable confidence and finesse, while Cera struggled to recapture her earlier sense of poise.
It was different this time, not just because they were located in his bed, but it was also the bed itself. Before when he had kissed her, there'd been nothing but air at her back and she'd had the sense that if she got too overwhelmed she could simply slip from his embrace. But with the bed behind her and Isael at her front, escape felt impossible.
