Page 349 of Kingdom of Ash

Aedion tore his mouth from hers and began to explore her neck, her jaw, her ear. She breathed his name, running her hands down his powerful back as it flexed under her touch.

More. More. More.

More of this life, this fire to burn away all shadows.

More of him.

Lysandra slid her hands to his chest, fingers digging into the breast of his jacket, seeking the warm skin beneath. Aedion only nipped at her ear, dragged his teeth along her jaw, and seized her mouth in another plundering kiss that had her moaning again.

Footsteps scuffed down the hall, along with a pointed cough, and Aedion stilled.

Loud—they must have been so loud—

But Aedion didn’t budge, though Lysandra unwrapped her leg from around his waist. Just as the sentry walked past, eyes down.

Walked pastquickly.

Aedion tracked the man the entire time, nothing human in Aedion’s eyes. An apex predator who had found his prey at last.

No, not prey. Never with him.

But his partner. His mate.

When the sentry had vanished around the corner, no doubt running to tell everyone what he’d interrupted, when Aedion leaned to kiss her again, Lysandra halted him with a gentle hand to his mouth. “Tomorrow,” she said softly.

Aedion let out a snarl—though one without any bite.

“Tomorrow,” she said, and kissed him on the cheek, stepping out of his arms. “Live through tomorrow, fight through tomorrow, and we’ll … continue.”

His breathing was ragged, eyes wary. “Was this from pity?” A broken, miserable question.

Lysandra slid her hand against his stubble-coated cheek and pressed her mouth against his. Let herself taste him again. “It is because I am sick of all this death. And I needed you.”

Aedion made a low, pained sound, so Lysandra kissed him a final time. Went so far as to run her tongue along the seam of his lips. He opened for her, and then they were tangled in each other again, teeth and tongues and hands roaming, touching, tasting.

But Lysandra managed to extract herself again, her breathing as jagged as his own.

“Tomorrow, Aedion,” she breathed.

“We have enough left in our arsenal for our archers to use for another three days, maybe four if they conserve their stores,” Lord Darrow said, arms crossed as he read through the tally.

Manon didn’t dislike the old man—part of her even admired his iron-fisted control. But these war councils each evening were beginning to tire her.

Especially when they brought bleaker and bleaker news.

Yesterday, there had been one more standing in this chamber. Lord Murtaugh.

Today, only his grandson sat in a chair, his eyes red-rimmed. A living wraith.

“Food stores?” Aedion asked from the other side of the table. The general-prince had seen better days, too. They all had. Every face in this room had the same bleak, battered expression.

“We have food for a month at least,” Darrow said. “But none of that will matter without anyone to defend the walls.”

Captain Rolfe stepped up to the table. “The firelances are down to the dregs. We’ll be lucky if they last through tomorrow.”

“Then we conserve them, too,” Manon said. “Use them only for any higher-ranking Valg that make it over the city walls.”

Rolfe nodded. Another man she begrudgingly admired—though his swaggering could grate.

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