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Fadon
Their breaths created steam as they panted inches away from each other’s mouths, trying so hard to be silent. The ground was hard and cold, even with layers of furs underneath them. But Sierra felt so good in Fadon's arms, his cock inside her heat, her body writhing underneath his, that he didn’t care if they were lying in a field of glass shards. All day he had been hungry for her, just like the day before and the day before that. Tonight was his night.
He kissed her jaw, his mouth finding her neck. There, her scent, his mark. His tongue sucked on the silken warm skin, and his balls tightened right before he flooded her with his seed and bit into her neck, marking her yet again. His hand was covering her mouth lest she let everyone know that she was being pleasured.
When he spent himself fully, he rested his forehead against hers, then kissed her sweetly. Her murmurs and whimpers, Ongar, all the sounds she made during and after were the most glorious sounds in existence. He couldn’t wait until she and he could have their own private space, a room with a bed and a fire burning in the hearth.
“Melerra,” he breathed. “I didn’t hurt you did I?”
“Mmm, not at all.” She stretched and wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him closer. “That was wonderful.”
He straightened their clothes and pulled a blanket over them, then held her. The tents on this part of the journey had to be shared with others and were just cover overhead, with the two parallel sides open to the night.
Fadon ran his fingers through Sierra’s hair, his other arm propped under his head, her hand resting on his stomach. Her breathing evened out and he knew she’d already found sleep. These nights on the road did that to people. But tonight, he was anything but sleepy.
They had left Providence six days ago. The travel had been wrought with hardship, but the cervos made the going so much easier than on horseback. It hadn’t snowed since that last night in Providence, but the snow that had been prominent all winter long was still dense, and the promise of it melting anytime soon was nil.
So far, there hadn’t been any incidents, and their pace was moderate, considering the conditions. There was plenty of food, adequate clothing and bedding. Finding dry wood had been a problem, but they had a system and the tools to have a fire going within the first hour of camp. The problem was it was just slow-going, the actual traveling. If all went accordingly, they’d be in Syrus Crossing sometime next week.
As long as it didn’t snow.
Around him he could hear the others in the tent settling down for bed, some whispering, a few chuckles, and the rustling of bedclothes. Outside he heard Lucius’s voice somewhere nearby, among the other voices of Ongahri. A few bleats and snorts from the cervos. But no crickets or bats or any wildlife. The effect was eerie and made Fadon’s skin feel strange. He was not one to commune with Nature, but he’d always listened to it when need be. What they were experiencing now wasn’t the beginning of spring like it should have been, but a season in stasis: the antithesis of Nature.
He didn’t like it one bit.
His mind wandered to Lucius, to Phobius’ revelation about Fadon’s father, like it had been for a while now. Had it not come from Phobius, Fadon would have never believed the truth about his father. King Gregoras was a rapist. What else did he not know about the man Fadon had admired, had loved? Everything he thought he knew about the late king was a lie, and now, there was a part of him that felt a need to make things right, to be his father’s missing conscience, to see… some kind of justice served for Lucius’ poor mother.
How disgusting, how despicable. But the only thing Fadon could do was to try to make an effort in getting to know Lucius. Somehow. Blood was blood, after all.
“Fadon?” someone whispered.
He turned his head to the right and made out his brother. “What is it, Ander?”
“Is she asleep?”
“Yes.”
“Good. Demos and Phobius need to speak with you.”
Fadon looked around the darkened tent at all the Ongahri males under the tent’s ceiling. He wasn’t about to leave Sierra sleeping in here without protection. Ander seemed to pick up on that, though, because he squatted down and took off his boots and coat.
“Get up and I’ll lie with her until you come back. Just wake me up if I fall asleep.”
Fadon huffed. “Fuck. Fine. You have a weapon on you? I’ll leave you my knife if not.”
Ander patted his side. “Got it on me. Go on, I’m cold.”
Fadon almost rolled his eyes. He reluctantly moved Sierra over. She mumbled something and turned to the other side. Ander took Fadon’s place and snuggled into the bedroll, pulling the blanket over him and Fadon’s mate.
“No funny stuff,” Fadon warned, only then remembering that Ander was probably the least likely person to touch Sierra in a way that Fadon would have to kill him for otherwise. “Never mind. Just guard her with your life.”
Ander grunted. “Go.”
“Leaving now.” Fadon pulled on his boots and wool cape, then headed out into the cold night. The other tent was several feet away, and when he went through, ducking under the canopy, he saw Demos and Phobius sitting in the back, a lantern burning on a makeshift table between them.
Fadon stepped over a few sleeping Ongahri and went over to the two strange brothers.
“Good, Ander found you,” Phobius said. “Have a seat.”
