Page 92 of Cursed Shadows 2

Weakling.

Those are the words echoing in my mind at his soft, lovingviciousness. I need him to want me. I need him to love me again.

But I doubt now more than ever that I’m strong enough for this war between us. No matter how far I’ve come, the battles I’ve won, the end of the war seems so far away—and I am tired.

I speak through the thickness of tears, “Show me what it would be if that night never happened, if it was the way it was always meant to be.”

His frown presses against my temple. An unspoken question.

“Show me what our first time would have been like when you loved me still.”

I turn to face him. The tips of our noses touch and our gazes hook. He spares my tears no glances.

I lean in—and kiss him.

The flutter of his lashes disturbs my own.

Then I speak against his perfect lips, “I want you to pretend.”

Daxeel does just that.

20

††††††

All Quiet, the weight of his arm stayed draped over my middle. But there was no cocoon as we slept.

Distance was wedged between us, wide enough for another person to slip into, and it felt so much like a hole shredding bigger and deeper into an abyss.

That abyss echoes in my chest as I watch him tie up the laces of his boots. His trousers and sweater already on. Fresh memories flicker in my mind at the sight of him, at the stark difference between then and now.

A shield draped over me, his mouth comes down on mine. Softly. Slowly. Deeply. He kisses me and I melt. Then more along my face and cheekbones and even on my eyelids.

Sat on the edge of a rickety wooden chair, he gets ready to leave before the Quiet has even shifted into the Warmth.

How I love the way he worships me. Slow kisses, chaste and lingering. I gasp into his mouth, legs tensing over his hips.

He moves in and out of me gently, he glides with whispered moans he utters against my lips.

I’m losing him too early. Daxeel needs to head back to Kithe, change and gather what he needs before returning to Comlar, where the contenders will gather in the courtyard.

And I hate that any of this is happening at all.

As loving as he is, he is dark fae, he is male, and he can’t fight his nature. His domination of me is tender, but I recognize it all the same. It’s in the way he threads his fingers through mine and pins my hands down on the bed. It’s in the sweep of his mouth over my cheek, an almost kiss, but how he keeps his head above mine, always above me.

“Don’t go.” My voice keeps quiet as I push up from the pillow. The furs slip from my chest and reveal the see-throughbodice of my chemise.

Daxeel’s natural kohled eyes lift to the outline of my breasts. He yanks the laces tight, then straightens up in the chair. “I stayed as long as I could.”

He pushes my arms above my head, steals them both in one hand—and holds them down. His free hand wanders my body, and it can’t settle on one thing. His hand wanders the length of my side, feeling the curve of my hip, the dip of my waist, then up to my face where his touch is tender and loving, but then to my neck where he keeps a gentle hold, but holds me down all the same.

Daxeel shoves up from the creaky chair, then rolls out a stiffness from his shoulder. My bed is small, especially for a dark male, so I doubt it’s a comfortable sleep for him in my bedchamber.

He moans.

Not groans or grunts or snarls. It’s a soft sound at my ear.

Do you know what it’s like to have one of them, a dark male,moanfor you?

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