Page 37 of Vicious Is My Throne

I stumbled on my way over to the bed, falling headfirst into Tristan’s arms.

“You’re so tired, you can’t even walk. What was Raz thinking leaving you here?” he scolded gently, turning around before he lowered me to the mattress. My breath caught at the look on his face as he stared down at me, his gaze darting between me and the door.

“I should go,” he finally said. “Help Zor with tonight’s watch.”

The fire picked up the red in his hair and the outline of his strong, lean body beneath the loose shirt.

“What if…I don’t want you to go? Besides, Raz is already out there and three’s a crowd.” The words tumbled out fast, exhaustion taking a back seat when I realized…we were alone.

We were safe.

“Stay,” I whispered, reaching out my hand. “Please, Tristan. I want you to stay.”

He looked toward the door one last time then stripped his shirt over his head, back muscles bunching, toned arms flexing as he tossed it to the floor. His skin turned to burnished gold in the fire’s glow, smooth as velvet, flecked here and there with pale scars. Suddenly I wanted to know the story behind each and every one.

Who had marked him.

What he’d done to them.

“I’ve waited a long time for you, Anaria.” His swallow sounded so loud against the quiet. “Longer than anyone else.” Shadows flickered in his eyes, and there was a careful hesitation before he said, “I watched you, that day in the glen. I saw everything.”

I went still at the desire tightening his face, the doubt now clouding his eyes.

As if he thought I’d say no.

As if I could ever say no to him.

“I’d never seen anyone more beautiful than you that day. I wanted to worship at your feet, to be a part of everything.” He spoke so quietly I had to strain to hear. “But I couldn’t.”

“What stopped you?” I asked, curling my fingers around the sheet, pulling it up. “Tristan, if I did or said something to?—”

“No. It was never you, Anaria.” He laid his hand over his heart, covering up the mark.

“Everyone I’ve ever loved was taken from me. I’ve spent my life alone because allowing myself to feel something…to fall in love with someone…I was always too afraid they’d become victims of the king. And even after he was gone, I realized that losing you would destroy me.”

“But all those weeks afterward…you never said anything.” You never joined us, either, I wanted to add, but I’d only come off sounding petulant.

His wistful smile tugged at my heart. “I decided I couldn’t have you, but I couldn’t leave you. Couldn’t stand the thought of leaving. So I decided…” He blew out a shaky breath. “I decided that just seeing you every day would be enough.”

His darkness and pain leached into me as if they were my own. These past weeks at the Keep, days and nights when we’d tumbled in and out of bed, had been joyous for the rest of us.

But they’d been torture for Tristan.

I opened my mouth to apologize, to say something to ease my own guilt, but he cut me off.

“But then I realized something.”

When my eyes flicked back up to his handsome face, his lips curved into a wicked smile, those eyes glittering. A low, needy fire started burning in my belly when his fingers ever-so-slowly followed the trail of dark hair that disappeared into the waistband of his trousers.

“You offered me a gift, Anaria. I wasted my chance, that day in the forest, and I’ve regretted my choice ever since.” His eyes were clear and focused. “I’m not going to waste tonight. If you want me, then I’m yours.”

“I do. Want you.” Of all the emotions warring inside me, that one was the strongest. The need to take Tristan in my arms, into my body, make him mine.

Keep him forever.

Gods, he was gorgeous. My mouth watered as he unbuttoned his trousers, flicking them open one by one with maddening slowness, stomach muscles flexing, need burning in his face like glowing embers. I ran my tongue over my lips, and he made a rumbling sound, one of those wyvern growls, deep in his chest.

The mark on his chest was darker than the last time I’d seen it, thicker and more defined, and my heart started thundering. Oh gods, what if…

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