Page 52

Chapter fifty

A strid’s back met the hard planes of Dimitri’s unyielding body as he got into bed behind her. His callused grip caged her throat, and she leaned into it, lifting her chin. She blinked skyward, silently cursing herself for not asking Keres how long the drug would take to knock him out.

The length of Dimitri’s cock prodded her, and it wasn’t the feel of him that spiked her temper.

It was his hands skimming over her waist while he thought of his dead queen.

She wasn’t a surrogate for his grief, and she’d fight him so hard there’d be no room in his mind for his mistress while he fucked her.

Dimitri nuzzled her hair and inhaled deeply before curling his wings around her.

“Get your wings off me,” Astrid snapped, shoving at her boney prison before she threw her elbow into his chest.

The wings constricted tighter and his arms circled her middle. He inhaled again and grazed his teeth over her throat.

“I’m… tired.” Dimitri’s words were slurred but he didn’t release her.

His death magic reached for her, but it wasn’t the sharp sensation of serrated teeth that occurred when she stabbed his heart. It was gentle, drawing little more than a taste as he held her.

“What are you doing,” Astrid breathed as the feel of his body against hers created a pleasured haze over her mind.

“I like the way you smell,” he murmured.

Astrid ignored the way his breath fanned under her jaw and along her throat. Ignored the fact she wanted to lean forward and rock her hips while he fucked her.

She held still, clinging to her logic and reason. “What do I smell like?”

“Dreams,” he groaned, “and forgotten times.”

Dimitri pulled her onto her side to lie beside him. Being used as a throw pillow was little better than being fucked while he thought of another female. And his words… Her sword was a poet, and her traitorous mind bloomed with the red lilies he carried.

He’d never brought her flowers.

Astrid struggled to turn in the tangle of his arms and wings. When she faced him, his ever-present mask of arrogance was absent. Anguish dulled his features, and his luminous eyes were muted beneath his turmoil.

“Do you bring her flowers every year?”

“Yes,” he answered immediately.

The corner of his lips lifted, and his expression softened like he was remembering a fond memory. The moment was short lived, and he pulled her against his chest, resting his chin on the top of her head.

Astrid contemplated her situation. The drug Keres gave her hadn’t knocked him out.

She suspected his death magic took enough from her to keep him conscious.

Much like he had done when he fucked her above the clouds.

He was more talkative under the drug’s influence, and she wouldn’t waste the boon the Mothers’ serpents laid at her feet.

“Tell me about Queen Vesta,” Astrid said against the hollow at the base of his throat.

“She was kind. Beautiful,” he replied.

Astrid stroked his side, mirroring his actions, as she plotted her interrogation.

“Did you love her?”

“Very much.”

His confession hurt far more than it should have. Astrid breathed in his winter scent and buried the sting of his betrayal. Dimitri was here with her and any feelings he once felt were irrelevant. She needed information. How did Queen Vesta earn his loyalty and how could she replicate it?

“She favored you in court. How did you win her loyalty?” she asked, certain Dimitri would chronical every depraved encounter—

“A son is born with his mother’s loyalty,” he answered flatly.

Astrid blinked, fighting the touch of his shadows and the bliss of his hands on her body. “You’re Ambrose’s brother?”

“Yes.”

Astrid recalled what she knew of Vesta. Dimitri was Ambrose’s older brother. “You were documented as still born,” Astrid whispered more to herself than him.

“I was.”

Which was why King Constantine killed everyone in the birthing chamber. Vesta wouldn’t surrender her infant, and Constantine wouldn’t give his queen to the flames. The Queen isolated herself for seven years.

It wasn’t in mourning.

She was raising Dimitri.

Astrid pushed away from him to gaze into his molten gold eyes. “Why aren’t you King of Ledivion?” she asked, cupping the side of his face. “You’re the rightful heir.”

His lashes lowered and he looked away. “I’m an abomination. My blood is cursed.”

Astrid’s chest squeezed. Constantine fed him that lie, and self-loathing sprouted from every scar his father carved into his soul.

She drew his hand from her waist and brought it to her lips. Dimitri drew his wings higher, as though they could shelter them from the rest of the world.

“You’re not an abomination. You were just born in the wrong kingdom,” Astrid whispered reassuringly.

She folded his fingers down until only his index remained and snapped her teeth over the point. He winced, but didn’t pull away. She ran her tongue over his finger in a slow, deliberate swipe and swallowed.

“If you were born in Clorea, you would have been revered as a god.”

Dimitri smeared his injury over her bottom lip and pulled her into a searing kiss. Astrid opened for him and his tongue swept over hers. The metallic tang of his blood filled her mouth, and she moaned, deepening their kiss.

She wrapped her leg over his waist and rocked her hips. The head of his cock slid over her pussy and Astrid made an exasperated sound, needing him.

Dimitri broke their kiss and leaned away as he palmed her ass. Astrid’s night-streaked nails dug into his chest as his cock stretched and filled her. He pulled her in, claiming her mouth as he moved inside her. She took his thrusts, each deeper than the last until she’d taken his entire length.

He toyed with her piercing and devoured the sounds he elicited from her. Dimitri was never gentle, but he took her slow as his shadows caressed her soul. Making her feel every inch of him—every tilt and rock of his hips.

Astrid tossed her head back and he trailed kisses down her throat. Dimitri nipped her collarbone and moved lower to lick and suck on her nipples. She cried his name and arched her back, clinging to him.

He worshiped her, raining bliss through her body as he drove her to orgasm after orgasm. Astrid tangled her hands through his dark hair and pulled him closer, needing the rough feel of his hands while he fucked her.

Dimitri caught her wrists and lifted them above her head. The curve of his talon threaded the gold bracelets circling her wrists and sharply pulled her away.

He held her waist, not missing a beat as he gazed down at her. He slid his palm down her sweat slick body, between her breasts.

“I want to see you, neva,” he rasped, thrusting into her harder. “I want to watch you come and know you’re mine.” His eyes lifted to meet hers. “Are you mine?”

“Yes,” Astrid cried.

Each stroke tightened the tension coiling within her. It strained so tight, Astrid could hardly breathe. He pinched her nipple, tugging, and the pain mixed with pleasure had her coming so hard pinpricks of light glittered on the edge of her vision.

Dimitri rolled Astrid onto her back and fucked her harder. He drove into her. Once, twice, and stilling on the third as he tensed above her. His cock pulsed as he came, pouring himself into her. Astrid panted and his hand spanned over the back of her head.

“Say you’re mine,” Dimitri purred, languidly thrusting into her.

“I’m yours,” Astrid whispered.

She’d been delivered to her sword just as he’d been delivered to her. The Mothers’ serpents led her to him.

He wrapped her in his arms and kissed her throat before murmuring, “Nikogda ne ostavliai menia.”

She didn’t understand his words, but the longing in them was unmistakable. Astrid ran her fingers through his dark hair and whispered, “I promise.”