Page 20

Chapter 19

T he fire had burned down to a drowsy orange glow, casting long, wavering shadows across the wooden floor. Someone was humming a melody I didn't recognize—the kind of tune that sounded like it had been passed down through generations of wanderers. Above us, faint traces of magic still clung to the rafters like mist, shimmering and fading with each breath of night air that slipped through the cracks.

Kazrek and I had retreated to a small table near the hearth, both of us pretending we were still waiting for the elusive Selior. The truth was simpler and more complicated all at once—neither of us seemed ready to let the night end. The world outside with all its problems felt distant enough that I could almost forget them.

Almost.

My eyelids grew heavy as I leaned against the wooden chair back, my limbs weighted with pleasant exhaustion. Without meaning to, I found myself drifting closer to Kazrek, my shoulder pressed against his arm, solid and steady beside me.

"I should go home," I murmured, even as my head tilted to rest against his shoulder. My shawl had slipped down, leaving my neck exposed to the cool night air, but I couldn't summon the energy to fix it.

Kazrek didn't speak, but his arm shifted, coming around to rest along the back of my chair. Not quite holding me, but close enough that I could feel the heat of him along my spine. I melted further into the touch, surprising myself with how natural it felt.

"You're tired," he said, his voice a low rumble that I felt more than heard.

"Mm." I didn't deny it. My eyes slipped closed, just for a moment.

His hand moved then, a gentle adjustment that brought me more securely against him. I tucked closer without thinking, drawn to his warmth like a moth to flame. This wasn't something I did—lean on people, physically or otherwise. But tonight, with the world soft-edged and distant, it felt like the most natural thing in the world.

His fingers brushed against my bare shoulder where my shawl had fallen, slightly rough against my skin. A soft sigh escaped me, one I hadn't meant to release. Kazrek's thumb moved in a slow, gentle arc across my skin, each stroke leaving a trail of heat that sank deeper than it should. I kept my eyes closed, afraid that if I opened them, the moment would shatter like glass.

The sound of heavy footsteps approaching broke through the haze. I didn't move, too comfortable to be bothered, but I heard Vorgrim's familiar gravelly voice above us.

"If you're both waiting for Selior," he said, his tone dry as autumn leaves, "you're wasting a perfectly good night."

I forced my eyes open, though my body protested at the effort. Vorgrim stood beside our table, regarding us with an expression that managed to be both knowing and entirely unimpressed.

"I'll stay up," he continued, hefting his cup. "He's less likely to spook if it's me anyway."

Kazrek's hand tightened slightly on my shoulder. "Vorgrim—"

"Take my room," Vorgrim cut him off, already turning away. "Door’s at the top of the back stairs. Don’t break anything."

He disappeared into the shadows before either of us could respond, leaving behind only the echo of his words and their implications.

I should have felt embarrassed. Should have straightened up, pulled my shawl back into place, remembered who I was supposed to be. Instead, I found myself sinking further into Kazrek's warmth, my inhibitions dulled by exhaustion and mead and the singular comfort of being held.

"Come on," Kazrek murmured, his voice rough. "Before you fall asleep here."

I made a noncommittal sound, something that might have been protest or agreement. He shifted, and suddenly his arms were around me, lifting me as easily as if I weighed nothing at all. My body responded instinctively, arms wrapping around his neck as he gathered me against his chest.

"I can walk," I mumbled into his shoulder, even as I nestled closer.

His chest rumbled with quiet amusement. "You’re half asleep and three-quarters stubborn.”

“That math doesn’t add up.”

The back hall was quiet, the stairs creaking beneath his boots as he carried me up. The room was simple—plain walls, a hearth of cooling coals, a wide bed with a wool blanket folded neatly across it. Kazrek lowered me to the bed gently, but when he stepped back, my fingers caught in his shirt.

His eyes found mine in the dim light, searching my face. The air between us shifted, thickened with something that had nothing to do with sleep.

"Rowena," he said, my name a warning and a question all at once.

I tugged lightly at his shirt, drawing him closer. The drowsiness from before hadn't left entirely, but it had transformed into something else—something warmer, heavier.

It wasn’t just the mead. Or the quiet. Or the firelight softening the edges of the night.

It was the way he’d carried me like I wasn’t a burden. The way he didn’t ask anything of me but still gave everything in return. The way his silence made space, not distance.

I’d spent so long holding everything together—Maeve, the shop, myself. I hadn’t let anyone in. Hadn’t trusted anyone to see the cracks and not use them to break me further.

But Kazrek hadn’t asked me to be anything else. He just… stayed. Steady. Present. Real.

And maybe that was what undid me.

I wanted to be touched like I mattered. I wanted to feel something that wasn’t survival. I wanted this—him—not because I needed a distraction, but because for the first time in far too long, I didn’t want to be alone.

"I'm not that tired," I murmured, letting my meaning settle between us.

He went very still, his massive frame rigid with tension. I could feel the heat of him even through his clothes, could see the way his chest rose and fell with carefully measured breaths.

Slowly, deliberately, I lifted my hand to his face. My fingers traced the sharp line of his jaw, feeling the slight roughness there. His skin was warm beneath my touch, and I could feel the way his pulse jumped when my fingers brushed the sensitive spot beneath his ear.

"Unless," I whispered, uncertainty flickering through me, "you don't want to."

Something in Kazrek's expression cracked. His control—always so careful, so measured—splintered like ice in spring thaw.

His hand caught mine where it rested against his jaw, and in one fluid motion, he was over me, pressing me back into the bed.

His mouth was hot and rough against mine, his breath catching as I arched into him. There was no pretense between us now—no more sidelong glances or lingering touches pretending not to mean anything. He kissed like a man who’d held himself back too long, and I kissed him like I’d forgotten what it meant to be wanted.

His weight above me didn’t feel like pressure—it felt like an anchor, like shelter. One of his hands slid down, cupping the side of my thigh through the fabric of the dress. I gasped into his mouth when his fingers tightened, pulling me closer, slotting our bodies together with a kind of desperate reverence.

He tore his mouth from mine like it cost him to do it. His forehead pressed to mine, breath hot against my lips. “You need to know—” he rasped, “I want this. I want you.”

That hit something deep in me. A need I hadn’t dared name. Not just to be touched, but to be chosen. Desired without apology.

I nodded, but it wasn’t enough. “Say it again,” I breathed.

Kazrek drew back just far enough to meet my eyes. “I want you,” he said, slower this time, like it was a vow. “Not just tonight. Not just like this.”

My hands fisted in the fabric of his shirt, dragging him down to kiss me again. He caught the edge of it as he went, pulling it over his head and tossing it aside without ceremony.

The sight of him stole whatever breath I had left.

Green skin, marked with darker tattoos that traced the curve of his shoulders and the hard lines of his chest. Scars, too—old ones, earned and worn without shame. His body was massive, carved from war and labor and time, and yet there was nothing brutal in the way he moved now.

He lowered himself back over me, bracing on one forearm, his free hand sliding down the length of my thigh, hitching my dress higher with every slow pass of his fingers. I felt like I was burning from the inside out—skin flushed, blood pounding.

“Rowena,” he said again, but this time it wasn’t a warning.

It was a plea.

I dragged my hands up his sides, feeling the strength beneath his skin, the heat of him. He groaned when my fingers curled into the back of his neck and pulled him down again. We kissed like the last tether had snapped, like we’d been holding back a flood that could no longer be dammed.

His hand slipped beneath my skirts, rough fingertips skimming up my thigh, over the bare line of my hip. I gasped against his mouth and arched into his hand, shameless in the way I chased his touch.

Kazrek didn’t hesitate.

His fingers found me, and he groaned into my neck like he’d been starving for the feel of me. I buried my face against his shoulder.

“So wet,” he muttered, reverent and half-wrecked. “You’ve been wanting this.”

I nodded, breathless. “Yes. Seven—yes.”

He kissed down my neck, trailing heat along my skin. My hands scrabbled to unfasten the laces at the front of my dress, fumbling in my haste. Kazrek growled low in his throat, then sat up just enough to help me, his hands moving with barely checked urgency. The dress slipped away, pooled beside the bed, and then I was bare beneath him.

His eyes drank me in, wide and dark, his breath coming fast.

“You’re…” he shook his head, as if the words wouldn’t come. Then, softer, “I’ve never wanted anything the way I want you.”

The words landed hard. Not rushed or reckless. Not some fevered promise whispered in the dark. But deliberate. Certain. I had spent so long shrinking, compressing myself into something small and manageable. I had made myself into usefulness and endurance. But here, now, beneath him—I felt wanted. Not tolerated. Not needed. Wanted .

And not in spite of the things I thought I had to hide.

Because of them.

Because I was sharp, and tired, and stubborn.

Because I hadn’t broken.

Because he saw me, even in the dark.

Kazrek didn’t touch me right away. Instead, he leaned back, his weight shifting as he sat back on his heels between my legs. His palms rested heavy on my thighs, and for a moment, he just… looked at me.

Really looked.

His eyes roamed over every inch of my bare skin—hungry, yes, but not in the way that made me feel consumed. In the way that made me feel seen. Like he was memorizing me. Like he couldn’t believe I was letting him have this. Letting him have me.

Heat flooded my cheeks, my chest, my stomach. Not from shame—but from the staggering intensity of it. Of being looked at like that.

I swallowed hard, resisting the instinct to fold inward, to hide myself. To shield the softest parts of me before he could change his mind. But Kazrek didn’t flinch. Didn’t smirk. His hands flexed, slow and warm against my thighs, and then he gently spread my legs wider, baring me completely.

A fresh flush rushed over my skin. I felt open. Exposed.

His eyes darkened, and a low sound rumbled in his chest—like a growl held just behind his teeth.

My breath came quicker, chest rising and falling as he dragged his hands slowly up the insides of my thighs, thumbs grazing skin that felt too tender to be touched. He didn’t move quickly. There was nothing frantic in the way he took me in—just heat. Intensity. That endless patience I had seen in him since the beginning, now turned toward me.

“You look like you were carved by Grulthar himself,” he said roughly, eyes never leaving mine.

I had no words for that. Only feeling.

Only need.

Only the aching throb of want building deep in my core as he knelt there between my legs, looking like he might tear the whole world apart just to keep me open for him.

Kazrek’s hands skimmed slowly up my thighs again, this time with more intent—more weight behind the touch. When his thumbs reached the crease at the top of my thighs, he paused.

His gaze never left mine as he lowered one hand between my legs, sliding his fingers through the slick heat there. His touch was exploratory at first—just the pads of his fingers gliding through my folds, spreading me open, learning the shape of me. He didn’t rush, didn’t chase the obvious. He took his time, mapping every reaction, every twitch, every stuttered breath.

He found the right spot—my breath hitched, my hips lifted—and he made a quiet, pleased sound deep in his throat. His thumb pressed there, circling slowly, and I nearly sobbed.

Then—one finger, thick and careful, pressed inside.

My body seized around him with a sharp gasp. He waited. Let me breathe. Then a second finger followed, stretching me wider, deeper. The stretch burned in the best way—filling, claiming. I was already moving against his hand, hips tilting in desperate rhythm, needing more friction, more pressure, more him.

“Kaz—”

“I know,” he breathed, mouth brushing against my thigh. “I’ve got you.”

He worked me open with slow, steady thrusts, his thumb still circling, coaxing my body into readiness. I was unraveling beneath him, the pressure building fast, sharp and sweet and impossible to hold back.

And just when I thought I might fall apart again—

He pulled his fingers free.

I whimpered, the loss sudden and cruel, but he was already shifting lower, already gripping my thighs to spread me wide once more.

And then his mouth was on me.

The first sweep of his tongue made my whole body jolt—sharp, electric. His hands gripped my thighs, holding me open, steady, as his mouth moved against me in slow, devastating strokes. There was nothing tentative in the way he licked me. He knew what he wanted, and it was me.

I cried out, one hand flying to the back of his head, threading into his thick hair. He groaned when I pulled, the sound low and dark, vibrating through me like thunder in my bones. He liked that. The way I tugged. The way I trembled.

He buried his face deeper, licking me in long, deliberate passes before narrowing the focus—suckling at my clit with unbearable precision, like he was trying to imprint himself on every nerve ending I had. His tusks grazed against the soft skin of my thighs, and instead of fear, all I felt was need—sharp and clawing.

“Please,” I whispered, not even sure what I was asking for.

Kazrek didn’t stop. If anything, he redoubled his efforts, hands tightening on my thighs as he pulled me closer to the edge.

I was shaking now. Unraveling . My legs tried to close, overwhelmed by the intensity, but he held me there—firm but careful—his thumbs stroking soothing circles into the meat of my thighs even as his mouth worked me mercilessly.

The pleasure was rising fast, bright and fierce, impossible to contain.

“Kaz—Kazrek—I—”

The orgasm slammed into me like a wave hitting stone—shattering, blinding. I cried out, back arching, hands fisting in his hair as my whole body locked up, then shook apart around his mouth.

He didn’t stop.

He licked me through it, slow and patient, until I couldn’t take any more. I whimpered, breath hitching, thighs trembling—and then he lifted his head. His mouth was wet with me, his eyes burning, chest heaving.

“Rowena,” he rasped, voice so low it scraped across my skin. I didn’t know if it was a warning, a plea, or just my name made sacred on his tongue.

I reached for him, dragging him up by the back of his neck, kissing him hard. I tasted myself on his lips and didn’t care—I wanted him inside me, now, now .

He groaned into my mouth as I fumbled for the laces of his trousers, tugging hard, impatient. He shifted, helping, bracing on one arm while the other freed himself with quick, practiced movements.

And then—he was there.

Hot. Heavy. Thick. He shifted above me, guiding himself to my entrance, the thick head of him sliding through the slick heat between my thighs. But when he pushed forward, I tensed—hips locking, legs tight around him without meaning to. My body wanted him, ached for him, but the sudden stretch, the pressure—it hit something deep and old in me. The part that always held on too tight.

Kazrek stilled immediately. He didn’t pull away. Didn’t flinch. Just braced himself over me, his breath warm where it ghosted across my cheek.

His hand moved to my thigh, palm wide and grounding. “Easy,” he murmured, his voice low and rough. “I’m not going anywhere.”

I closed my eyes, ashamed of the resistance, of my own hesitation. But then his hand slid higher, across my hip, up the curve of my ribs—each stroke a quiet reassurance.

“You’re safe,” he said, not demanding, not coaxing. Just knowing.

His mouth found my jaw, my throat, the corner of my lips. Soft kisses, patient pressure.

“You can let go,” he whispered against my skin. “You can.”

And Seven help me—I did.

My legs eased open around him, hips tilting to receive. I exhaled, long and trembling, and felt myself yield.

Kazrek groaned, a sound torn from deep in his chest, and began to press forward again. Slowly, so slowly, he pushed inside, his thickness stretching me open in increments, until my breath hitched and my hands fisted in the blanket beneath me.

“You’re doing perfect,” he growled, voice raw with restraint. “You feel like—fuck—like you were meant for me.”

Tears pricked at the corners of my eyes—not from pain, but from how he said it. Like it was the truth.

When he was fully sheathed inside me, his chest hovered over mine, his forearms braced on either side of my head, eyes locked with mine.

“Still with me?” he rasped.

I nodded, but it wasn’t enough. So I wrapped my arms around him, pulled him deeper, moved my hips, slow and sure.

And finally, finally , I said, “Yes.”

Kazrek groaned as his hips rolled forward in response, slow and deep, and my breath caught as he filled me again—so much, too much, and yet exactly what I wanted.

His hand slid beneath my thigh, lifting it to curl around his waist, opening me further. The angle changed, and I gasped—his name tearing from my throat, unbidden and wrecked.

His head dropped, mouth brushing the hollow of my throat. “That’s it,” he growled. “Let me in. Let me have all of you.”

A sound escaped me—half sob, half moan—as his mouth dragged along my collarbone, his tusks grazing my skin. I tilted my head to bare more of my throat for him, wanting to give him all of it, everything.

His pace quickened, hips driving deeper now, urgency rising like a tide. One of his hands tangled in mine above the bed, fingers locking tight. Anchoring. Claiming.

Every thrust sent sparks up my spine, the tension coiling tighter and tighter until I could barely breathe. My body was wrapped around him, beneath him, with him in a way I hadn’t let anyone be in years—maybe ever.

“Don’t let go,” I whispered.

Kazrek’s golden eyes burned into mine. “Never.”

He kissed me then—hard, possessive, tender. And still he moved inside me, deep and relentless, each thrust dragging me closer to the edge.

I clung to him—one hand still knotted with his above the bed, the other fisted in the muscle of his back, feeling the flex and strain of him with every motion. His breath was ragged against my cheek, his skin slick with sweat where our bodies met. The room was spinning, narrowing to the heat between us, the rhythm of our bodies, the throb of pleasure building inescapably at my core.

“Kazrek—” I gasped, the sound catching on another cry as he hit something inside me that made everything shatter and spark.

“I’ve got you,” he rasped, voice wrecked. “I’ve got you, I’ve got you—”

The climax crashed through me, violent and exquisite. I arched beneath him, a cry tearing from my throat as the pleasure tore me apart and stitched me back together in the same breath. My body convulsed around him, and that was all it took.

With a sound between a snarl and a groan, Kazrek buried himself deep and stilled. His body went taut, shuddering as he came—his forehead pressed to mine, eyes clenched shut like he couldn’t bear to look and not fall apart.

We stayed like that, tangled and trembling, suspended in the breathless stillness that followed. My body was still pulsing around him, oversensitive, but I didn’t want him to move. Not yet.

His weight stayed braced above me, careful not to crush. One of his hands stroked my hip, lazy now, grounding.

I finally opened my eyes to find him watching me. No mask. No restraint. Just… Kazrek. Wrecked and raw and mine.

My throat was dry, but I found the words anyway. “You didn’t let go.”

A faint smile tugged at his mouth. “Never."