Page 23 of The Bone Doll (The Ruthenian Chronicle #1)

Her Bones Sing

Syra lay on her back in a clearing – with Viktor just across the fire – and traced the constellations in the sky.

Like that night so many weeks ago, the stars aligned again.

She knew now what it meant. A path, a journey.

The Bone Doll hummed in her pocket almost contentedly, and she wondered if the Bone Doll had orchestrated this entire venture so that it could finally be free.

“My grandfather told me that he found the sky spirit’s bones when he walked amongst the stars,” she said. “And I remember him singing the chant he used to bind the spirit, to trap it in this doll.”

Viktor propped himself up on an elbow, listening.

“That chant was to tether or marry,” she said. “But there is a chant that releases or annuls.”

“But you can’t walk the skies,” Viktor said.

“No,” she said. “But maybe I can make a path. I just need a few things.”

“In the morning?” he said.

“When we’re a little closer to the tundra.”

She turned over. Alongside the crackling fire, she fell asleep easily.

And in the morning, they continued their journey.

Beyond Vishnaya, the quagmire had dried; and if Viktor hadn’t pointed it out, Syra would not have realized where they were.

She was also much less angry at him this time through.

Her distrust had melted into contentment; and Viktor strode through the wilderness like a wolf leading its pack.

And if she did not need to find a way to release the spirit inside the Bone Doll, Syra might have asked to pause for a few days – or even a week – to relish their time together.

Alas, though the Bone Doll remained quiet, she knew it would only be patient for so long before it no longer believed she would free it.

So they maintained a quick pace through the forest. They overnighted again with Aron and his family in Bereza, sharing tales of their travels over horsebread and boiled turnips.

And then they walked through the remainder of the Ruthenian forest to the edge of the tundra.

The sparse, yellow grass and patchy lichens spread as far as Syra could see, the gray sky endless above her. Only then did she hesitate.

Another week and she would be back in her family’s mya.

Another week and she would be sleeping between her siblings.

Another week and she would be convening with the other vidutanas.

Would it feel the same, though? Her mother was dead, killed by a long winter and a persistent cough.

That would always be a hole in her life, like the empty spot where her grandfather used to be.

Then, the Bone Doll would be gone – but that surely was a good thing.

She wanted to go home. She had wanted it from the moment she had left.

So why did the tundra seem colored by loneliness and trepidation?

Viktor stopped, turning back to look at her. “Are you all right?”

“I need to rest.” She gestured to a trio of wide, flat rocks that protruded from the ground and then made her way towards it.

As she set her pack down on one of the rocks, Viktor rummaged through his. “Have some water and cheese. You’ll feel better with food in you.”

“Viktor.” Syra shook her head, her fingers fumbling with the pin on her cloak. “I don’t need food.”

Viktor stilled like a rabbit spotted by a fox. A deep and almost painful-looking desire kindled behind his gaze. But he did not move, did not say a word.

“Come here,” she whispered.

She stepped up to him, running her thumb along his jaw.

His breath caught as she kissed him, his hands trembling as they found her waist. Moving back a hairsbreadth, Syra held his eye and then let each layer of her borrowed clothes fall away.

Viktor’s cheeks turned rosy as she turned her attention to him, undressing him slowly and laying kisses on his newly bared skin.

Bending forward, he kissed her ear and then pressed his mouth to her throat – slowly, purposefully – making her sigh.

Then, she tilted his face to her and kissed his mouth, deeper this time.

They found themselves on the cool, dry grass. Syra climbed onto his lap, her hands on his shoulders and his cock hard between them. She and he stared at each other, their breaths rasping in time.

“Okay?” she said.

He nodded, the need and vulnerability in his expression conveying more than words could.

Syra ran her palms along his chest, across the corded muscles in his arms. And Viktor touched her reverently, his fingers grazing the back of her thigh, the curve of her waist, the swell of her breast. Their kisses turned exploratory and worshipful: he kissed along the freckles on her collarbone; and she suckled the small scar on his bottom lip.

He groaned, his hips lifting, as her fingers wrapped around his cock and then guided him inside her.

She shifted her hips unhurriedly, letting him sink deeper; and he exhaled as though she had knocked the wind out of him.

He cupped her face with both hands, anchoring himself to this moment and to her.

It made Syra gasp. She couldn’t remember the last time someone had touched her with …

wonder. Letting herself groan in pleasure, she rocked against him slowly, her core melting with the heat of their coupling.

Viktor ran his thumb across her lower lip, and Syra kissed it.

“You feel like–” Viktor began and then moaned as she lowered herself down, pressing their bodies together.

Tingling pleasure trilled along Syra’s skin as he kissed her collarbone, her throat, her mouth again – as though he was trying to memorize the shape of her through kisses.

She arched into him, her nails digging into his chest. Not enough to hurt.

Just to claim him. And his hips lifted to meet hers, making her whimper with every thrust from below.

Then, she felt it. It had been waiting for days. Maybe weeks. Maybe from the moment she saw his amber eyes and orangebush lichen-colored hair. Her bones began to sing, and her heart rushed like a winter gale. A tight spiral of need whirled within her, faster and angrier.

She gripped his shoulders harder, pressing her cheek to his as her breath broke. “Don’t stop.”

He shook his head, panting and fucking her reverently. Desperately.

When Syra came, it felt like being lifted up to the stars – and pulled to the depths of the underworld. Both. Crying out, she tightened her thighs around Viktor’s hips and moved up and down him slowly, tearing herself apart while he watched with something close to awe.

Then, Viktor joined her, stiffening as he spent himself.

His arms wrapped around her – one hand tangled in her hair, the other splayed against her spine. “I love you,” he murmured into her hair.

Syra pressed a kiss to his ear and admitted, “I love you too.”