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Adrienne. Not that Thea cared, but that had been the name of the lover before her. Apparently, they shared the same bad taste in fallen Warswords. Thea sent her silent commiserations.

With her fingers growing more numb by the second, the cold drove her to her bedroll and blankets. The air was so chilled that the additional layers didn’t do much to ease her shivering. But Thea curled up on her side anyway, clutching her fate stone to her chest.

‘Remember me.’

The words of the seer came back to her. But Thea could only recall the words alone, nothing of who had whispered them to her in the dark as the piece of jade had been pressed into her palm.

She had tested the fates time and time again. She had tossed the cursed stone into the sea, only for it to find her once more.

‘Fate always finds its way,’ she muttered to herself bitterly, and prayed to the Furies that sleep found her first.

Gentle fingers grazed her neck, leaving a trail of fire in their wake, followed by a whisper of cold, a pulse of longing in their absence. Naked, Thea arched her back, seeking that intoxicating touch. And she found it as hot lips closed over her nipple, teasing it into a hard point while firm, calloused hands closed around her thighs, spreading them wide.

A familiar weight pressed against her and she moaned in relief. It had been so long. Her whole body was ablaze, every nerve ending alive and ready to be utterly frayed with pleasure. But the pressure of another body was fleeting, and Thea writhed as mouth and tongue moved to her other nipple, teeth scraping gently, causing her to buck in frustration, in demand. She raised her hips, seeking the friction she so desperately wanted between her legs, her core aching with need.

A deep chuckle vibrated against her heated skin, only driving her closer to the brink of insanity. She needed to be filled, needed to feel every inch of him.

But she wasn’t met with the powerful thrust she craved. Hands holding her open all the while, the mouth on her trailed down, in a long, tortuous lick, to the juncture of her thigh and hip, then blew cool air on the most intimate part of her, teasing her, leaving her wet and wanting.

Thea held her breath, waiting for the touch she knew would send her hurtling towards bliss-soaked madness, into oblivion.

At last, his thumb dragged through the slickness at her core before circling her clit, eliciting a shameless moan from her. She was molten with desire, with the feverish need for him —

Thea cried out, her fingers spearing through his soft hair as his mouth closed over her. Her body answered to every stroke ofhis tongue as he flattened it and licked her from bottom to top, again and again, before sucking on her clit.

Heat swelled between her thighs, tingling and unbearable in the most addictive way. That coil of longing wound tighter and tighter, and she gasped as he slid a thick finger inside her, his tongue still working her.

Arching her hips towards the building pressure, Thea moaned again through the haze of lust as a second finger joined the first, hitting a spot deep inside her as he lavished her.

Her climax hit in a blinding wave of white, barrelling through her like an unyielding storm. As she shuddered through the final spirals, she opened her eyes to see broad, sculpted shoulders and a muscular back… Whorls of black ink covering golden skin and ancient words tattooed down his spine.

Glory in death, immortality in legend.

She knew then that she was dreaming. But beneath the warmth of him, she didn’t want to wake up. Not yet. She dreamt of the man Wilder Hawthorne had once been to her, his powerful presence, his deep, melodic voice whispering secrets to her in the night.

‘This thing between us is endless. Nothing will stop me loving you.’

She dreamt of his fingers, his tongue and his cock, of all the wicked ways he could use them. She dreamt of his strong arms guiding her own, the weight of twin swords in her hands as they trained for dual wielding. His gentle touch, soaping her hair as he washed it when it pained her to do so. His laugh, rich and deep, when he finally allowed himself to relax…

‘Because I fucking love you.’

The words careened into her, and the weight of his body fell upon her own, crushing her to him, his lips finding hers, whispering her name against her skin.

Thea lurched awake with a gasp, the air clouding before her face, her palm pressed to the hammering in her chest. The dreams had been so visceral that she swore she could smell him, traces of rosewood and leather lingering in the tent. For a moment, she breathed in the scent wrapping around her, that deliciously masculine essence she had once known so well.

She swallowed hard, trying to force her heart rate back to normal as the memory of the fallen Warsword faded.

But the scent of him did not abate.

And as she scanned the tent, she saw why.

At the entrance was a small box wrapped in brown paper, a lightning bolt drawn across its surface.

Hawthorne. He’d been here.

With a scream of fury, Thea snatched it up and burst from her tent, startling Cal, who was still sitting at the fire.

‘Where is he?’ she shouted. ‘How did he get in my tent?’