Page 48 of Sea of Evil and Desire (The Deep Saga #1)

46

Finn

T he moonlight draped her in silver. Her face was pale, her brow clammy against my chest as her arms wrapped gently around my neck.

My shoulder throbbed where the sword had struck, blood seeping into the ridiculous robe I was wearing, but none of that mattered—only her.

The cool autumn air ruffled my hair, and stars scattered the now-clear night sky. The atmosphere remained charged with magic, but it was beginning to fade.

I’d tried to stay away, convincing myself it was for her own good, but fate brought her back to me, and I was glad it had. Distance was a coward’s choice, and I would no longer be a coward. No, I would stay by her side. If she needed me, I would tear the world apart for her. If she asked, I would burn it to its bones.

She was far more powerful than I’d ever be. It terrified me, because it made her a target. Taranis and my father had both set their sights on her, which meant one thing: I had to stay close.

I had fought storms, faced monsters, and bled for a throne I did not want, but nothing had unraveled me like this girl in my arms.

When we reached her grandparents’ street, she stirred against my chest. Her warmth was the only real thing in this night of ghosts and shadows. I would gladly have walked that hill forever if it meant holding her a little longer.

My brave beauty.

I blew out a breath as I pushed open the front door to her grandparents’ place. Lucky I was magic, or the crooked stairs to her attic bedroom would have been a pain. The corners of my mouth twitched into a grin as I remembered the first time I’d brought her back here.

She was home, and she was safe.

I laid her on the bed and removed her damp clothes. The way my cock pushed against the fabric of her grandfather’s robe felt wrong. She was unconscious, but it had a mind of its own.

I averted my gaze as I pulled fresh pajamas over her hips, catching a glimpse of lace panties. Clenching my fist, I forced myself to look away before carefully adjusting the waistband into place.

I padded downstairs to the dark kitchen. Grabbing a washcloth, I exhaled and let the inappropriate arousal leave my body.

Returning to her side, I dabbed her clammy forehead with the moist cloth. She’d depleted herself and needed rest. You couldn’t fix a magic drainage with more magic.

“Where am I?” she asked groggily as her eyes fluttered open.

“Your room.” I smoothed the hair from her face as those ocean eyes looked up at me.

“I am so tired.” Her lids dropped, and she tried to blink through her contracted vision.

“You are not yet trained to wield such magic. It’s exhausted you.” I moved to the open window and shut it, running my palms over the walls, whispering in the old tongue of the sea.

“What are you doing?” She yawned, her lashes fluttering as she struggled to open her eyes.

“I am warding your room. Taranis will be angry.”

“Your arm!” She tried to sit up again, but exhaustion pulled her back. “There’s a first aid kit in the kitchen under the sink,” she managed, before sinking back into the pillow.

“It’s just a scratch.” I grinned and gently pulled the patchwork quilt over her, but her hand shot out, catching my forearm.

“Stay with me for a moment?” she asked, withdrawing her arm and patting the space beside her.

I swallowed hard, then climbed onto the bed, staying above the covers as I draped an arm around her.

I drifted off to the sound of her soft, steady breaths and her chest’s gentle rise and fall pressed to mine.

I woke to a searing ache in my arm, the nightgown stiff with dried blood where the wound had set.

One of my arms was thrown protectively over Morgana, her red hair fanned across the pillow, her body tucked beneath the patchwork quilt that rose and fell with each breath. Some of my blood had spread onto the quilt where my shoulder had rested.

Moonlight filtered through the window, painting silvery patterns across Morgana’s bare shoulder. I shifted carefully, muscles tightening as I tried to free my arm without disturbing her. As I eased my body from hers, my erection revealed itself. Shit . I swallowed.

She stirred, letting out a soft, sleepy moan. The movement pressed her quit-covered ass against my stiff cock, causing a tremor of new arousal.

I froze, breath held, my heart torn between guilt and the ache of wanting to stay and press myself deeper into her. She moaned again and nestled her ass further into my erection. My rigid cock prodded at her as images of the lacy panties she had been wearing flooded my mind.

I almost groaned as need coiled through me, and it took all my strength not to thrust my hips forward. I imagined her rolling toward me, her hands finding the aching parts of me. My cock nudged forward again, and she let out another sleepy sigh. A tingling sensation enveloped the space between my legs. My blood thrummed, and I stiffened further.

I exhaled and clenched my fist, peeling myself from the bed.

I glanced back at the sleeping girl. Strands of auburn spilled across the pillow like molten fire, a river of embers—a dangerous beauty.

“Goodnight, little shifter, and thank you,” I murmured into the darkness as I closed the door.

I sank onto the couch downstairs, poured myself a drink to expel the desire, and got to work stitching up my arm.