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“Shut up,” she snarled, digging her nails into his shoulders, fighting to ride him faster.

He swore under his breath, his control snapping. Ready for brutality, Maia’s chest caved in when both arms wound around her back and he rolled his hips up into her, crushing her against his chest as he fucked her with a tenderness thatkilledher. He was a gentleman, despite his snarling personality and his perpetual scowl. He was gentle and considerate, attentive to every angle that made her breath catch, to every little thing that made her groan or gasp. And fuck, his arms around her… Maia buried her face in his shoulder and shuddered as he bounced her on his cock, slow and deep and ruinous.

“Bryon,” she choked out like a curse.

“I know,” he groaned, arms tightening until there wasn’t even a scrap of space between them. “I feel you there.”

She began to shake, unwanted tears pricking her eyes. “Fuck, I can’t—”

“Yes, you can. I’ve got you. Let go.”

Her fangs ached inside her mouth, greedy to bite him. She suppressed the urge and focused on how insane he felt inside her, the stretch, the slow glide, the way he’d found her weakness and now hit that spot on every damned thrust. This was supposed to be hot and dirty, but it cracked open her ribs, carved a space in her heart, and crawled inside.

His next thrusts were faster, his desperation clear in the way his hands tightened on her, the sudden rasp of his breathing. Hearing him close, hearing the effect she had onhim, made her hips jerk. She chased her orgasm with single-minded desperation, her hips churning, desperation in every thrust, breaths catching. She came so hard it surprised her, the tenderness in his handling making her release so explosive, her back arched. Muscles flexed in his arms as his fingers pressed to her back, one by one, until he’d splayed his hands against every bit of skin he could reach. The feeling of his cock jolting inside her, the growly sigh he released, the way he held onto her long after she’d stopped trembling… those were gifts and curses.

Maia dropped her forehead against his shoulder with a groan, removing her fingernails from his skin but kinda hoping she’d left impressions.

“Shit,” Bryon grunted, lifting her enough that he could pull his cock from her. The rush of fluids made her nose wrinkle. That was not ideal with a severe lack of bathing facilities available. She was still a little limp, her eyes heavy lidded and relaxation spreading through her body, but that ease and calm fled when he said, “I’m so sorry. That was a mistake.”

Maia sucked in a sharp whistle of breath, his words as sharp as Etziel’s knives but reaching far deeper. She forced a laugh, grabbed her trousers, and stood in a rush, propping herself against the wall to tug them back on. “You don’t have to tell me that shouldn’t have happened.”

Bryon dragged a hand over his face and tucked his cock away. Maia refused to notice the mess they’d both made of his leathers. Her stomach cramped. It was as if she’d been punched in the gut, but she sat against the wall as if everything was normal andfine.She only had herself to blame. Although she soundly blamed the bastard for kissing her first.

She reached for her snark, for her armour. “Impressive, though,” she said with a smirk, stretching her legs in front of her, ignoring the cum between her thighs. “I would’ve thought a brute like you would be done in two pumps.”

He gave her his middle finger, and Maia forced a laugh. He didn’t speak as he settled against the wall opposite, which just pissed her off. He didn’t get to give her the silent treatment after fucking her to a spectacular finish and immediately calling it a mistake. He didn’t get to ignore her.

“Who taught you to kiss like that?” she asked with a little sneer.

“My wife,” he said quietly, soundly shutting her up.

“Shit,” she breathed, remembering everything he’d lost. Her rage turned to sympathy, to regret. No wonder he didn’t want her; he probably felt like he was cheating on his dead wife. “I’m sorry.”

His eyes snapped to hers, dull, miserable green clashing with soft gold. “You have nothing to apologise for. I kissed you.”

Yeah, he had. Maia sighed, trying to brush her hair back into place with her fingers, unable to forget how it felt to have his hands all over her. “I’m going back to sleep.” With his cum all over her. Fucking hell. “Don’t wake me if I have another nightmare.”

Maia curled up on the floor with her back to him, not particularly caring that it closed off her view of the door right now. She hoped she dreamt, hoped she heard Azrail’s voice again.

But when she dreamed, she was alone.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Isak had spied the Nysavion Hold for miles out, but now he was in the shadow of Saintsgarde’s enormous crystal walls, he could no longer see the stronghold of the royal Sainsan family.Maia’sfamily by blood and birth. He could smell the Hold though; magic hung in the air, tickling the back of his nose like pepper until he wanted to sneeze. Every powerful magic-wielder in the kingdom was trained in that place, under the watchful eye of the fae royals and their master tutors. Its sister building housed the army. Neither of which Isak was too keen on getting close to.

So,he said to Viskae as he disembarked, not risking speaking aloud when there were so many people around him.How the chasm do we get in?

Fifty others had caught the omnibus from Bevhyre through the rolling, gem-green fields heavily dominated by cows, dew-sparkling glades, and marshland, the huge cart rattling its way along the road. The bus’s journey began in Rysendaur on the border, so it was packed by the time it reached the port town where Isak boarded. And the passengers were fragrant. Delightfully, unavoidably fragrant. This tingle of magic was much preferable.

Do you ever stop complaining?Viskae sighed heavily.And follow the others; there’s a gate just ahead. Even I can see that.

Isak, who genuinely did never stop complaining, didn’t bother to reply to that. He hitched his liberated leather pack up his shoulder—okay fine, stolen pack—and nearly jumped out of his skin when the omnibus set off again with a loud clattering sound, the benches packed full of strapping fae warriors with brutal braided hair and massive swords, heading for the border.

He’d never been to Sainsa before, and at every point he tried not to gawk at the fae, so different to the haughty, elite bastards of Vassalaer. Fae weren’t just the upper echelon here; they were scholars and bakers and warriors and innkeepers and masons and, Isak’s personal favourite, uncouth drunks who sang off-key ballads about bearded sailors and their big-titted paramours. He’d only ever known the fae who flounced around with their noses in the air; even in Venhaus the fae had an air to them.

The fae who’d got off the bus with him were road-weary or bubbling with excitement; common as muck or educated; couples bickering with each other; a family clearly in the midst of an argument with a surly teenager; a red-faced, sharp-eared man regaling a twenty-something woman with a story of his youth—probably made up. Determined, practical looking sorts. Normal people. It had made the bus bearable, at least. Even if they were noisy as fuck.

“I’ve told you three times already,” the woman growled—really, truly growled in the way the fae could, “to piss off. I could not give two fucks if you rode a wyvern in the first war and shit fire from your backside. I’m not going to sleep with you.”