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His cock twitched inside as hot streams of his release filled every piece of me. The feel of him marking me from the inside out was a rush of pleasure, of affection, of love, of which I’d never tire.
For a long pause we didn’t move, simply held each other, breathing heavily. Erik didn’t lift his gaze, but tightened his arms around me, keeping us bound as one. Tender strokes of his hands over my skin struck me with the notion that, perhaps, the Ever King needed safety within the intimacy of my arms, as much as I needed the solace of his.
After a moment, he pulled away, and gathered a soft linen. A deep frown curved his face when he drew back, and a bit of blood coated the cloth and bedding.
“Are you all right?” he asked, almost angry. Not directed at me, it seemed he was frustrated at himself.
I touched his lips. “I’m indescribably all right.”
Erik’s tension faded. He finished caring for me, then slowly brought one hand to my face and brushed some of my wild hair from my eyes. “Don’t regret me, Songbird.”
I stroked his cheek, grinning. “I never will, Serpent.”
CHAPTER45
The Serpent
Livia’s finger wistfully twisted a lock of my hair. She kept her cheek on my chest, her naked body curled around mine.
I couldn’t recall a time when I’d been so . . . calm. The constant simmer of rage against a man for slaughtering my father had always been there.
Fueled by others, anger and hate created the unwavering belief that the earth bender’s death would seal my father’s acceptance from wherever he was in the Otherworld. If I earned my father’s acceptance, I’d earn the people’s. I’d stop being seen as the broken heir, given a crown only because his capture got the true king killed.
“Erik,” she whispered.
“Hmm.” My arm tightened around her body on instinct, as if my skin realized there was a wider gap between us and that wouldn’t do.
“How do you know Stieg?”
I knew the questions would come. There wasn’t any sense avoiding it any longer. She was mine.
“Your warrior was a captive,” I said. “Taken during one of your fae wars and locked away with me. He protected me.”
“I didn’t know Stieg was captured.” Livia rose and propped her head with her fist. She didn’t look at me with anger at the truth. Nothing but a desire to know more lived in those eyes.
“I was young, so some memories are hazy,” I admitted. “But I remember him. I remember how he fought the guards when they came to carve into my heart. I trusted him after that.”
“Alek said my . . . my people rescued you. How?”
“I don’t know exactly, but the warrior always told me his people would come for us. They did. Stieg was injured, and I couldn’t walk well, so I remember a woman carried me out. She had hair that looked like blood to me.”
Livia drew in a sharp breath. “Queen Malin. She’s the mother of my friends, Jonas and Sander.”
I vaguely recalled Stieg addressing the woman as a queen, but most of it was a blur. “I saw your father. He looked ready to attack us, which I still don’t understand since your mother was there. She stopped him.” I narrowed my eyes. “I’ve never seen such violence in someone’s eyes. Has he ever hurt you?”
“No. He’d never.” A sad smile crossed her face. “Did you know my father survived a fate curse?”
I shook my head.
“A curse of bloodlust. One of the queens back home still calls him the Cursed King sometimes.”
Curses abounded in the Ever. Lady Narza knew how to cast them, and I had few doubts her power was what kept my father compliant to her demands. It was why my father made me my mother’s killer instead of him. Narza wouldn’t hesitate to destroy Thorvald, but the child her daughter loved? She stayed her hand.
“It might explain why my father was quick to call upon his axes if the urge was still in his blood,” she whispered.
The draw to bloodlust was no stranger to me. To be lost in a curse of blood and gore, I almost let a drop of shame fill my chest for harboring such hate against a man who’d aided in my rescue.
“I’ve tried to convince myself something he said wasn’t real.” I trained my gaze on the rafters overhead, unable to look at her. “When my father spewed his disdain for what had become of me, your father . . . stood for me.”
