Page 104

His eyes warmed, his features relaxing as he leaned back, his hands still on her hips. “Like you have to ask me twice, angel.”

She shimmied back with a smile and moved from where she’d straddled his hips. Emara shifted up the bed, cosying into where she had been before she moved to kiss him. Torin stood, removing his weapons and laying them on the floor. There were more of them than she would have guessed by looking at him. He unbuttoned a few buttons that held his tunic in place against his neck and pulled it off. It landed in a place Emara couldn’t see as she stared at every divine inch of him.

He really was carved by the Gods. His golden skin was smooth over his core, and the muscle between his hips and lower stomach shaped into a prominent V. His shoulders and his back were broad.

He was a lethal warrior with a body designed to destroy.

Torin walked around the bed to the opposite side and jumped in next to her.

If she hadn’t been too tired to keep her eyes open, she would have stared at him all night, lying in her bed, his head on the pillow that she had laid on too. He pulled her against him, the warmth of his chest now caressing her cheek as he took a lock of her hair and twisted it in his fingers. He let out a sigh.

“What are we going to do about how you make me feel?”

She giggled a little. “I have been asking the Gods the same question for a while now.”

“A while, huh?”

She could hear the mischief in his voice, but instead of responding, Emara placed a hand to where his heart lay and said a prayer to the Gods for it to never stop beating.

He pecked three little kisses atop her forehead just as sleep claimed her. But as her dreamy, soft slumber began, she realised what he was doing. Torin had kissed the symbol that had been drawn on her forehead. Slipping to a land of the subconscious, she slept against his chest. Safe.

Home. It felt like home.

When her eyes fluttered open due to the light that seeped through the window, she knew instantly that she was alone. Where heat and strength had lay between her sheets last night, only the cold empty space of the bed could be felt under her palms as she rolled over.

A note that had been ripped from the spine of her journal lay in Torin’s place. Pushing the hair from her face and flicking the rest of it over her shoulder, she grabbed the note and opened it. His perfectly neat handwriting advised her that he had a “Blacksteel” meeting, and he instructed her to get dressed and ask Artem to bring her for a training session.

Rolling from the bed, her ritual dress still on her body, she made her way to the door. Pulling it open, she flicked her wrist out, handing Artem over the letter.

“An instruction,” she said. “From your boyfriend.”

His eyebrows danced up and she finally took in his grin. Taking the note from her hand, he unravelled it and read it for himself.

“Did lover boy not seal this letter with a declaration of his love for you?” He held the paper up. “I was hoping for some steamy gossip about what you had gotten up to last night, not an instruction.”

She pinched the letter from between his tattooed fingers. “You don’t need to know anything about what happened last night, apart from that I am your empress, and should be treated as such.”

He straightened, his face grave. “I am sorry if I crossed the line.”

She let a smile worm its way onto her lips. “I am certainly getting better at acting like an empress. Don’t you think so?”

He looked up, hearing the mocking tone in her voice, and a smile tugged at his lips too. “Nice work. At least we know now that you have it in you.”

She laughed, leaving the door open, and moved into the room. “I hope I won’t have to use that voice often.”

He followed. “It’s not a bad thing. Respect sometimes needs to be commanded. I don’t think you are going to have any issues with that, though.” His voice was full of bedevilment once again.

“Let’s hope not,” she said, meaning every word. She stopped short of the fireplace. “I have a meeting soon with my coven.”

“You will smash it…in a way that witches smash things.”

Emara looked over at Artem with an eyebrow raised, and he gave her a lazy smile. She walked towards where her sparring clothes had been neatly placed over the vanity chair.

“I was wondering,” Artem began, but didn’t finish the thought. The way he said it, so full of sincerity, had Emara turning around to face him.

His visage changed for a second, something like vulnerability flashing in his eyes. “I was wondering if you could help me with something?”

“Help you with what?” Emara blinked.