Page 41 of Of Rime and Ruin (Sirens of Adria #2)

Chapter thirty-eight

Nahla

The plains are pretty, in the same way the Frost King is pretty—sharp lines and irresistible mystery.

A foreboding emptiness stretches in all directions, promising life if only you know where to look for it.

Or summon it. Morning greets the landscape with a swirl of violet clouds and a brisk wind.

Even the sky mimics the shifting shades of his eyes.

In the distance, a jagged mountain range squats at the horizon, dark silhouettes against the breaking dawn.

Rubbing the sleep from my eyes, I inhale the crisp air.

We’re off to an early start, hoping to catch the prey as they wake.

The morning scout said there’s a herd of woollygoats in these parts, about a half-hour ride to the north.

Around me, the hunters bustle, tossing their last supplies into saddlebags and mounting their snowbears.

Aethan stalks through the camp, his brow furrowed with deep concentration.

Stalking is the only way to describe his movement—back straight as a rod, shoulders rolled with effortless confidence.

Those eyes flashing, missing nothing. His lips twitch as he lets out a low, sustained spell.

He clenches his fist. In a second, each domed ice-shelter collapses into the snow, and the wind scatters them like dust.

My breath catches. Such raw force, rippling through his body.

And I fucked him last night.

He glances in my direction. Piercing eyes, straight into my soul. He doesn’t smile. Doesn’t speak. Only stares with the intensity of a blazing fire. Every nerve in my body awakens and screams at me to run. Toward him.

My core flutters, replaying the feeling of his cock pounding me into oblivion.

I fucked the Frost King last night. Slept in his shelter. Spooned him all night long.

Shit.

This is not what I had in mind when I agreed to come on this trip.

Hunting is the closest thing I’ve found to home since I’ve been taken prisoner.

It’s similar enough to way-making—riding at the helm of society, thrilling at the chase, and feeling useful for once—but it’s a strange comparison to make, as I freeze my ass off instead of basking in the high-tide sun with Keen and Ramona.

Are they doing okay without me? How far did they travel before my sister realized I deserted her?

Here I am, getting frisky in a foreign king’s furs, while my family and friends are… what? Are they searching for me? Or did they decide I’m a lost cause? Did Keen find another way-maker to train in my stead? Is Ramona in good hands?

The king is still staring at me. Cocking his head. My stomach flutters anew.

I wrench my gaze away from him, forcing myself to focus on the task at hand. Mount the snowbear, Nahla. It’s not that fucking hard.

I came on this hunting trip to avoid imprisonment and to help the hunters—not to fuck the king.

It won’t happen again.

“Hey, girl,” I coo, stroking my mount’s snow-speckled muzzle. “Up for an adventure?”

She grunts in greeting, tilting her head to look at me with her big eyes. I scratch beneath her chin before I grab onto the saddle. Slotting my foot into the hold, I swing over her back and land on the leather seat.

It’s not much, compared to the saddle that Keen and I use for riding Ramona, and this version has fewer straps.

There’s no water to worry about with a land-bound mount.

My legs squeeze her easily, keeping my position without threat of slipping away in the currents.

Maintaining a connection spell in the bitter wind will dry out my throat again, as it did yesterday afternoon.

Two straps hang from a band around her mouth, which I can use to steer her.

Tactile directions, instead of mental guidance.

Seems less efficient this way, but I’ll try it.

No more hypothermia, and no more fucking the enemy. Should be easy enough.

I’m more prepared for the wind this morning, thanks to the kindness of another female hunter with enough layers to share. I wear wool leggings beneath my leather travel pants, a thicker sweater, a hat, gloves, cloak, and a frostcat scarf. It’s a new day. A fresh start.

If I’m lucky, I won’t have to speak to Aethan all day, and we can leave the whole sex thing in the past where it belongs.

I was exhausted last night. A recovering hypothermic. He wooed me with his warm furs and careful words, and I let my guard slip. That’s all it was. It meant nothing.

Even if it was, fins-down, the best sex I’ve experienced in my life. But I’m never telling him that. No way in hell.

I keep my gaze forward. Cyrene barks orders from the front of the line. Most of the hunters are mounted now. I grasp the reins, ready to move. I can do this.

“No freezing to death today. That’s an order, Sunfish.” Aethan’s voice sounds next to me, and my stomach flips.

He grasps the edge of the saddle, then swings into a seated position behind me.

“What are you doing?” I hiss.

As he takes the reins from my hands, his fingers brush the top of my glove. The hunters move out. With a squeeze of his legs, Aethan guides my snowbear forward, falling in line.

“I’m fine to ride alone,” I mutter. “Look, I’m wearing a fucking hat today.”

The tip of his nose grazes my ear. He leans forward, and his chest presses against my back so that his voice rumbles through us both. “And it looks good on you, but you’re not riding alone.”

“You don’t think I can handle it?”

“Oh, you can handle it, Nahla.” His lips ghost over my cheek. “But I can’t. I’m a selfish male.”

“What’s that have to do with anything?” I protest.

I grapple for the reins, and he wraps his forearm around me, pinning my arms. When I squirm, my ass slides deeper between his legs.

“Careful, Sunfish,” he growls. “Unless you’d rather I keep you warm from the inside out.”

He’s hard already.

Warmth spreads through my center, and wetness pools in my leggings. He’s here to tempt me into fucking him again.

I suck in a jagged breath. “Listen, about last night…”

His fingers curl around my hip, securing me against his lap. My heart batters its bony cage, threatening to punch free. His nose skitters along my ear and dips to trace the exposed line of my throat.

“What about last night?” he whispers.

My eyelids flutter. Words jumble in my mind, leaving me with bumblefish soup. “I wanted to say…”

His lips press into the hollow beneath my jaw. “Hmm?”

I shudder as his voice rumbles. My body zings, craving him. I arch my back, and my ass nuzzles closer. Closer.

“I had a good time,” I admit, finally. The words sting on their way out. One night in his furs has me acting like a lovesick guppy.

His teeth graze my neck briefly, and then he straightens. “Thought so.”

With another squeeze of his legs, he pushes the snowbear faster.

We pass several hunters, making our way to the front of the line.

My snowbear plods through the snow, her shoulders shifting rhythmically beneath the shared saddle.

My pussy aches from the overuse last night, sensitive where it rubs against my leathers, and I clench with each one of her steps.

This day will test me. The sooner we find the prey, the better.

We travel a kilometer in silence. Soon enough, the sun lifts above the mountains and pierces the sky with angry bursts of red and amber. I relax a little at the sight of the sun; like a familiar friend keeping me company.

The hunters fidget and scan the horizon, looking glum. I can understand why—there’s not much life out here. With a quick scan of my magic, I locate several lifeforms. A herd of woollygoats to the west and a few frostcats prowling the perimeter. We’re not the only ones after a meal.

Cyrene raises the hand signal, pointing with two quick flicks of her fingers.

“You’re up, Nahla,” Aethan whispers.

I take a deep breath and stir the magic in my stomach. With a soft song, I weave a spell and lift from my mortal frame. My mind spirals west, skimming the earth in search of life. Ten dozen woollygoats graze witlessly, their whiskered muzzles snuffling among bare patches of frozen reedgrass.

I raise my hand and signal to Cyrene, like we practiced. Three flicks means I’ve found them.

Gently, I penetrate their minds. Come.

The woollygoats lift their heads, swivel their ears, and look in my direction. One by one, they fall in line as my command takes hold. Their hooves shuffle across the snow, bringing them into view.

Cyrene notches her bow.

Aethan rummages in the saddle bags. For a moment, my concentration breaks. From the corner of my eye, I track his movements. A bow. With effortless grace, he strings his arrow and lifts the weapon into position. His forearm brushes my back, and his breath leaks cool on my neck.

My breath hitches, and my spell wavers.

The lead woollygoat spots us and tenses. It hesitates, hoof hanging in the air. Through the connection, I feel the leaking of its fear.

I need to focus. Dammit.

With a small change in my tune, I smooth its worries. Calm. You’re safe. Come here.

The leader tilts its head, dipping its broad antlers, then places its foot.

The rest of the herd follows its lead. Soon enough, the herd prances into view.

I project a happy image for them—warm sunshine, endless fields of dewy reedgrass.

Ears forward, eyes wide with curiosity, they trot toward the waiting hunters.

A few more paces, and they’ll be in range.

Cyrene closes her fist. Arrows fly and meet their marks. Flesh squelches. Blood spurts. Several woollygoats collapse. My heart twists as each conscience goes dark, and bile sticks in my throat. At least they die happy this way.

I strengthen my spell, easing the fear of the remaining woollygoats. Come.

They march onward, stepping around their fallen comrades with stiff obedience. Their eyes glass over, entranced by the vision I project for them.

The hunters reload. Aethan tenses, then aims. Cyrene signals.

With a twang, Aethan releases his arrow. It spirals perfectly and embeds in the center of a woollygoat’s heart. A clean shot. The animal grunts and stumbles, planting face-first into blood-stained snow.

I cut the spell, and the remaining herd stops short before the waiting snowbears. Their eyes widen, showing the whites. Then they bolt. In a clatter of hooves and puff of snow, they race for their freedom.

“Let ’em go!” Cyrene shouts. She throws her head and whoops. When she turns toward me, her expression is bright. “That was so easy! Done in five minutes? That’s gotta be a new record.”

Aethan lowers the bow, resting it against his knee. “Impressive,” he rumbles. His voice is strained, like he’s got something caught in his throat.

I turn around to check his expression. His eyes are dark as midnight, and his mouth pulls into a tight line. His jaw flexes, and he swallows hard enough for me to hear it. He tucks the bow into the saddlebag.

“You killed it,” I say, shock obvious in my voice. Most royals own weapons for show. Like Winona’s heirloom sword collecting dust above her mantel. She’s used it once, with no level of expertise.

The king’s shot was nothing short of masterful.

Finally, his mouth shifts, curling into a smile. “I’m a killer.” There’s a rough edge to his tone. “Is that a problem for you, Sunfish?”

“I wasn’t expecting you to have the skill.” I bite my lip.

“You made it easy for me. Your Voice is magnificent, Nahla.” He reaches for my face and cups my cheek. His thumb brushes my bottom lip, releasing it from my teeth. “Though I never pegged you as a killer. You’re… soft.”

“I’m not soft. I just don’t kill.” I thrust my chin in defiance. Let me pierce his mind, then he can tell me who’s soft . “My song makes them happy for their final moments, so it’s a win-win. The meat tastes better when the animal dies without fear.”

His gaze drops to my lips. He rests his forehead on mine, his breath spilling over my face, and we breathe together for a moment as my heart recklessly flutters. “So you’d sooner kiss a Beast than kill one. Is that right, Sunfish?”

My heart lurches to a stop. Without another thought, I grasp his shirt collar and pull his face into reach. Softly, with my lips, I trace the outline of his smirk, wiping the expression from his mouth. “That’s right,” I whisper.

He walks me around the side of our mount, pressing me against her flank where the hunters can’t see.

Then he kisses me hard. Fast. Hungry. His fingers slide from my face to grip my chin, tilting me to deepen the kiss.

His mouth crushes mine with the force of his desire until I’m breathless and dazed.

Dizzy from the scent of his skin, the taste of his mouth.

As quickly as we began, he breaks away and releases his hold on me. “Stay,” he says.

I blink at him as I catch my breath, already missing the press of his body against mine. My fingers brush my bottom lip.

He shrugs out of his cloak and drapes it over my shoulders. “No freezing to death without me,” he adds, before stalking toward his kill. His long white ponytail whips in the wind.

He pulls a bone knife from a sheath on his hip and with quick, efficient flicks of his blade, he field-dresses the animal.

The leather of his travel pants stretches around his muscular rear as he leans into each cut, dragging the knife through the carcass.

The hunters watch him work with widening eyes, and I check the direction of their gaze.

That ass is mine.

I blink, shocked by the strength of my thought. They’re not looking at his ass. The hunters watch his hands, his knife. When he clears the innards, they scoop them up and store them with the rest of the dressings. Then they tie the animal’s hooves and drag it to the storage sleigh.

There’s more to the king than meets the eye. He may not offer treats on his supplication days, but he kneels on the ground, hands covered in blood, to make sure his subjects eat. An inspiring leader. I pull his cloak to my nose and inhale his crisp scent.

Aethan cleans his knife on the snow, then sheathes it.

He saunters toward me, his gaze fixed on my mouth. A slow smile spreads across his face. My heart swells, and I fight the flurry of eels that tickle the lining of my stomach.

Am I developing feelings for this male?

Am I fucking crazy?

The Frost King. Who captured me, imprisoned me, froze me nearly to death, ensnared me with his magic. Refused to meet my requests. Growled at me.

Brought me fish and novels. Befriended me. Cared for me. Freed me from the cage of his own design.

Built a fire in my bedroom.

Posted Perrin to guard me, so I wouldn’t be alone.

Warmed me heart-to-heart.

He’s a walking contradiction. Enemy and lover, king and Beast. My mind aches with the weight of holding both sides of him together.