Page 15 of What Whispers in the Dark (Promises of the Marked)

It wrapped around that aching, ruined, hopeless part inside him enough that the mask he vowed to never remove, that he forbade anyone to see, melted.

He felt his eyes softening with some small flicker of abandoned hope.

Vulnerable, completely disarmed, as that sense of longing for something he would never have overpowered him.

Wanting her. Desperately needing to feel someone else’s warmth, gentle hands, someone else’s tender lips— no.

Fuck. No. Not someone. Alora.

Only Alora.

And he could not bear another moment of it.

It was ripping him apart despite being so broken already.

Even if for a moment … to simply pretend she was his …

that her lips were his … that he was not a beast, a weapon, a starsdamned valueless whore only worth what they could use him for and take from him.

His heart crying out, Garrik leaned down against his blade.

The sharp iron taste of his blood coated the midnight air.

And knowing he would hate himself come dawn, his mind growled fuck it as the monster he was begged the stars, Maker of the Skies, begged Alora, “Forgive me,” and crashed his lips to hers.

The realm—this one and all the others—even the Stars Eternal seemed to stop breathing.

The ground beneath him may have shuddered.

But he could not be certain of anything other than her lips accepting his as he claimed them.

The moment his mouth touched hers, the moment she leaned into it, accepting him, it fractured the worthless part of himself.

Garrik let his tongue swipe along her lip, let himself enjoy the feeling of warmth there when his encounters had been so so cold.

This was supposed to feel disgusting. Vile. But it … it didn’t. Not this time. Not with Alora. If anyone else touched him, his body would have felt as if it were under siege. Instantly nauseated and rejecting every minor sensation that feathered across his skin.

But … no. No. This was not the same. He wanted this.

The touch of Alora’s hand … Alora’s lips …

A low hum rumbled in his throat, and he decided he would not conceal it.

Not like he did with her. It trickled down his spine, through every fiber of his being, deep through the marrow of his bones, and out his nerve endings.

Punching his flesh with a heat he had never experienced before. A slow burn he wanted to be wrapped in.

Starsdamn. Her lips were better than a peaceful dream. Better than soaring on Smokeshadow wings through a star-gilded night sky. Better than breathing. They felt like salvation. Every perfect thing the skies had ever blessed Elysian with.

A groan slipped through his lips, impressed by the amount of control his body displayed because his mind was hopelessly gone.

Before he could convince himself otherwise, his grip unanchored from the tree, as if to test that precious control. Too fucking risky , yet his silvery rings glistened in the torchlight as he cupped her cheek and rested it under her jaw and trembling neck.

Garrik could not stop himself there. Of their own accord, his fingers laced in her gleaming hair, angling her head so he could have a better taste. Marveling at the silken touch, gripping—pulling—her to him with desperation while her lips met his every desperate kiss, stroke for stroke.

So much for control.

He wanted to consume her like she had consumed him.

Every. Damn. Day. Every damn hour.

To the point it was painful in his longing because, after that night, it would be over.

There would be no more. There could not be.

For a wild moment, he warred with every nerve and bone and primal instinct, needing to practice restraint; otherwise, he would tear into her right there on that forest floor.

He almost did. Almost asked his shadows to?—

No . No .

A growl escaped him. He let it rumble through him as he savored every forbidden taste.Needing to be closer— so much closer— he barely felt his wrist rotate, twisting his sword between them before he threw it from reach.

Alora made some sound of approval that emptied his mind of any curses he could muster, emptying it of every thought, even his kingdom and his starsdamned name.

He needed more. Wanted to wrap himself around her until he did not feel himself anymore but only Alora.

But he was in control—he was. This could not go any farther than this. No further than a single touch, a kiss?—

His icy hand did not receive the missive, found her other cheek, and cupped it, too. Pulling her even closer as she leaned into him and intensely kissed him back.

Garrik’s heart hammered as she urged him on—almost demanding it. Molding her lips to his as if they were designed for each other. Feverish and heavy and as desperate as him.

There was no containing it. Garrik inhaled her as if she were oxygen. Entering not his lungs but his entire being, as soft noises escaped between her lips that he swept his tongue over.

She invited him in.

The Savage fucking Prince. She let him in.

He wanted to scold her for such foolishness, for not thinking , yet only gratitude surfaced.

Alora made a wordless sound, eyes fluttering, edging on the same delirium that mirrored his, as something pulsed between them. Their magic—it was the only explanation.

Just as he had felt the first time she kissed him in his tent when it was only a game for her but …

so much more for him. With that solitary taste, he knew he would do anything she asked of him.

It set a new rhythm in his heartbeat, and burned on the skin of his chest above it as if he were being marked by one of Thalon’s ink pens.

Without meaning to, he heard it. That hurt and doubt slicing through her mind. A moment he foolishly did not anticipate as the name of her demon tore through whatever thing was surging between them like an inseverable tether.

Kaine.

Like he was not already one thread-thin slip away from losing it, Garrik’s entire being raged to butcher that worthless piece of Elysian shit.

Destroy him. Prepared to send his shadows across every hill, and forest, through the charred remains of Telldaira and unleash his darkness. For her, he would.

But Alora pressed into him, as if his lips were her salvation, too.

There was enough yearning in the movement that he instantly recognized why.

As if she needed to know there were kind and gentle hands out there, hands not seeking pleasure from pain.

That the corrupted hand of Elysian’s worst demon on her cheek and in her hair would not fall to slap it, would not mark her or make her bleed.

Yes, clever girl. Take what you need from me. Stars-knows she deserved it, considering her past experiences were cruel and uncaring and painful. Take his shattered pieces to carve out her own. Use them to form something new. Use me.

Garrik’s breath hitched. By some miracle, she did not notice.

Use him … like everyone else did.

But if she needed to…

For Alora … he would willingly give it. A thousand times over. If she needed blood, he would tear into his veins and bleed.

Barely managing to pull from her lips, Garrik was primed to tell her when a hunger settled in her eyes. She extended a hand and brushed it against the rigid scars on his abdomen, then curled to his side, missing a concealed bruise by a hair.

Alora drew him back like she couldn’t have enough of him.

He knew the feeling.

Aided by torchlight, the sound of her little gasps and moans had him imagining falling to his knees and worshiping her like the Celestial she was against that tree. He let himself drown in those noises, wondering what other sounds his mouth could have her make.

Impossible to think past the way he would carry her to his bed—only after she would ask it of him.

Eager to feel every part of her, his fingers would lightly glide over the soothing warmth of her shoulders and delicately peel her tunic down until he would drunkenly slip open every button, pooling the fabric on the floor.

How he would, utterly awestruck that someone so unworthy might be deemed to serve before her crown, sink to his knees before her.

Allow her to run her too-perfect fingers through his hair as he slid down, down, down her pants, watching her eyes for the moment she would change her mind.

And he would.

He would stop if she needed him to, despite his own desire. What he wanted never mattered.

But by the skies, if she let him continue…

Trailing kisses over her flawless porcelain skin.

He would watch her intoxicating sapphires ignite as his lips—his cursed tongue—would glide to the soft flesh between her core and thigh, and worship that, too.

Until that tongue would flick across the wetness pooled there, finding her gleaming and swollen for him to have a taste.

Throbbing and waiting for him before sinking into her, soaking in every moan as he licked and teased and feasted .

Giving her the pleasure she deserved.

As if she could hear his mind, Alora gasped against his lips.

Edging insanity, he thanked the stars for the restraint he had. Desire had his blood roaring, cock stiffening. Weeping. Hard and straining against his pants by his own choice for the first time in decades.

Throat tight, he caught himself before conceding to that dire, primal male instinct, but it did nothing to stop him from the next foolish thing he did tonight; pressing his hips into her, pinning her to that tree.

The hand on her cheek traced down her jawline, reveling in every pebble of her skin. He took liberties in brushing down the column of her delicate neck and over the captivating curves of her body until his palm found its home on her thigh.

She swayed toward him.

No. Stop me, clever girl. She should not be drawing closer. It was too dangerous.

For who? He was not entirely sure.

But everything sparking inside him wanted to surrender to her— needed to.