Page 56 of A Monsoon Rising

For him it was an unfurling, it was breathing out for the first time in years, it was the world going white at the edges and the soul rushing south. He came snarling like the wolf, spilling inside his wife as she collapsed against his chest. Thrusting up into the wet heat of her, making her take every last drop.Allowing himself to believe, in this moment, that he would never be alone again.

I’m done fighting this.Another coherent thought, breaking through the fog of his mind. Here, at last, was something that felt right. Something real.Whatever else happens, I won’t fight it anymore.

And if that made him a monster, made him a traitor—then so be it.

He kissed her again.

I’ll never be the same.

The storm swept through and the waves spiraled up and Talasyn came down, Alaric’s lips soft against hers through her aftershocks until she slid lower along his body, utterly spent.

I will always remember this.

An errant tear streamed down her cheek, and she hid it against his throat, pulling him close.

Just him and me and the monsoon.

CHAPTERTWENTY-ONE

They made it to the coracle on the cliff eventually, once the rain had slowed. An hour later, a ship from House Matano arrived to ferry them to Iantas, while some of its crew stayed behind to retrieve the Kesathese shallop on the beach.

At the castle, Talasyn waved off the concerned twittering of Jie and the Lachis-dalo and fled to the royal suite of rooms, while Alaric was busy assuring Sevraim that he had not in fact drowned at sea and come back to haunt him. She bathed, meticulously scrubbing at their combined release that had leaked down her thighs, while her mind turned over with all the possible ramifications, all the doubts.

A restlessness was gathering in her soul. After bathing, she drifted into her study and leafed through the messages piled on her desk. There were the agricultural reports and breakdowns of the state budget that Urduja always made sure were copied and sent to Talasyn from the Roof of Heaven, as well as a slew of invitations from the other noble houses to various festivities.

“Your Grace.” A servant appeared in the doorway. “His Majesty requests your company for a late lunch. Or an earlysupper. ‘However the Lachis’ka prefers to think of it,’ he said.”

Talasyn was famished, but her courage failed her. She and Alaric hadn’t spoken a word to each other the whole journey home, and she didn’t think she could bear to face him over something as innocuous as a meal so soon after what they’d done on the beach. She couldn’t even meet the servant’s eyes. “Tell him I’m busy.”

The servant bowed and left. A long while later, Alaric strolled in, fresh from his own bath. He slouched against the doorframe, hands in his pockets, studying her with a quiet alertness. Talasyn very firmly cleared her throat and made a show of going through her files—even though the words on the parchments had lost all meaning—but he made no move to leave. Trust this man to be incapable of taking a hint.

“Ran from me again,” he observed.

“Don’t flatter yourself,” she scoffed. “I have a lot to do, as it’s plain to see.” She held up one of the letters for his perusal, a boldly inked invitation to a parade that had been elegantly penned in Sailor’s Common as a courtesy to the Lachis’ka’s consort.

Not that said consort appreciated it. “Ah, yes, very important stuff. Not at all an excuse.”

A growl of frustration formed low in her throat. “It’snotan excuse, I—”

“Don’t want to finish what we started?” he suggested helpfully. “Fear this pull that exists between us?”

A growing tightness tugged in her belly like a thread on a spool. It was the anticipation and dread that one felt before a battle. She crumpled the letter in her fist. “I don’t have to listen to this.”

“You’re right. You don’t have to.” Alaric’s maddeningly full lips curved into a smirk. “Feel free to make your exit, then.”

The uttergall. He’d been the one who came barging in and he knew it, judging from how absolutelysmarmyhe looked and sounded right now. He wastauntingher.

Talasyn dropped the hapless invitation to the parade and charged. There were too many emotions left over, too much had been building up, and she seized the first possible outlet for all of it by letting her temper spike in a sharp flare as she hurtled toward Alaric. “I was here first,” she seethed, “you unbelievablyannoyingman—”

His arms opened to receive her and she crashed into his wide, solid chest, and then they were kissing. A hot, openmouthed tangle of biting teeth and punishing tongues. There was no grace to it, but how could there be when they were both on edge, when he’d been spoiling for a fight and gotten this instead?

He spun her around and walked her backward, their lips still connected, out of the study and into their bedchamber. At some point over the last hour or so, the monsoon had regained strength. It lashed at the exterior walls of Iantas, a sonorous melody of raindrops pattering on wind-carved granite. The meager daylight spilling into the room veiled the angles of Alaric’s face in silver as he deposited her onto the bed, as she rolled on top of him.

Fumbling, grasping, they worked together to unbutton his tunic, a process impeded by how loath they were to stop exploring each other’s mouths. Once he was shirtless, he peered up at her through hooded eyes in something like challenge. She had no clue where to begin; there was justso muchof him bared beneath her, his pale skin a fine contrast to the wine-colored sheets.

But Talasyn was never one to back down. Lightning flashed through the balcony doors in splinters of brilliant white as she lowered her lips to the curve of his jaw. She felt Alaric closehis eyes, his lashes fluttering against her face, his hand stirring ever so slightly between her thighs in a way that spurred her on.

Soon she had embarked on the rather delightful journey of marking him up, biting and sucking, soothing the skin with her tongue as he bucked against her. Soon his neck and chest were littered with mottled red bruises that stood out like crushed rose petals against his skin.

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