Page 64 of Arise the Queen
Heat rolled from him in waves, making every inch of Gwendolyn’s body burn and beg for his touch—never had she felt so alive! And now that she understood what passed between mates, sheknew… and her body demanded to be assuaged. The scent of his musk cocooned them as their bodies writhed together, grasping and groping, still upon their knees, creatingan intoxicating aroma that permeated the air. Gwendolyn inhaled it greedily, as Málik's teeth, sharp as blades, teased her already bruising lips, drawing the tiniest bead of blood… and then… as though it were manna itself, he dared to lap it, groaning deep in the back of his throat.
Gwendolyn reveled in the salt of her own blood. It coated her tongue, the flavor provoking a shiver—a mix of desire and fear.
But nay, not fear. She did not fear him… or this.
The metallic scent filled her nostrils, mingling with the musk of desire, and Gwendolyn felt a new awareness of the life force flowing through their bodies, binding them together. Now, she understood what he’d meant about Aengus scenting their bond… knew, because she scented it, too, and the smell was heady.
Once more, he lifted himself against her, and Gwendolyn was not shy about returning this gesture. She did not mistake what this meant—knew exactly what he craved. It sent a jolt of white-hot need coursing through her veins, and she reveled in the firmness of his desire. More than anything, she longed to turn the tender flesh of her neck to him, plead for more… feel him drink of her, to beg for the elixir she knew he could provide. There was so much they still needed to speak about, but right now, she didn’t wish to think at all. Words could only betray her.
His hands on her body were insistent, tracing little paths of fire along her arms, her waist, her back, leaving her breathless and aching for more.
Yielding to him fully, Gwendolyn did not resist when he lowered his fingers to the apex between her thighs, rubbing with two fingers over her leathers, allowing him to stoke the fire within her. And meanwhile, his fangs grazed the flesh of her neck, sending another shiver down her spine as she whispered, “Take what you will…”
With a halting breath, she then stretched her head to one side, longing to lie beneath him. It was an act of trust and vulnerability… but it was not “I love you.”
Eyes blazing with hunger, he relented, capturing her neck with his mouth, his teeth piercing her skin, and Gwendolyn gasped aloud at the heady sensation. Like the fangs of a viper, he infused his life force into her, but this time he also suckled from her, forging their bond deeper than any oath could demand, their very souls intertwining in an ancient act of love and sacrifice.
This was not the same as before, but it was not the first time he took as he gave. And in that moment, Gwendolyn remembered another time… the warmth of the sun on her face as they lay together amidst a field of sunflowers. In this moment of exquisite vulnerability, she felt a raw surge of power flowing into her veins, their connection pulsing with a radiance that seemed to defy even the looming darkness. He drank insatiably but reverently, feeling the pull of his fangs inside her veins, the slight pressure promising more pleasure than pain. Her heartbeat quickened, a mix of apprehension and desire swirling through her, understanding the forbidden nature of what she desired—to drink from him in return. She longed to taste him—to shove him down on the grass and take what she would. Climb atop him.Ride hard.Right now, she wanted that fanged mouth she’d spied in theunderlandpool, wanting so desperately to mirror his every action. She nipped him—gently, hungrily, and his answering moan was tormented. His silver hair brushed her bare skin, his incisors sending jolt after jolt twisting through her veins, making her gasp again and again as he greedily gave of his essence, a bond that pulsed with every heartbeat. This act of carnal exchange was not merely intimate, it was a surrender, a baring of souls. Uncaring of any chance they might be discovered, their dance of desire continued brazenly beneath themoon's watchful gaze, every touch igniting a fire that threatened to consume them both.
“I want?—”
“I know what you want,” he growled.
And then suddenly, as quickly as their lips had met, Málik withdrew, his breath ragged as he gazed into her eyes, his voice tinged with regret. “If, in truth, you wish to keep your crown, you cannot have what you want.”
Gwendolyn’s brows collided, but she nodded, her hand lifting to her breast to still the pounding of her heart. Intuitively, she understood what he was saying. To be fulfilled in that way, she must give up all she wanted in this life—her duty, her mortality, her crown, her people, her city, her vengeance… and, well… she could not do that… not when she was so close.
With a heavy heart, she disentangled herself from Málik’s arms, unsated, disappointed, heartbroken… only to be startled by a rustle of leaves.
At once, the fog in her head dissipated, and she reached for the sword that usually lived at her back, finding it gone. Her hand moved at once to the blade in her boot, her gaze scanning their surroundings.
Scrambling to his feet, Málik’s silver eyes assessed the situation as six men emerged from the trees, each one bigger than the last. Their gazes intent upon Gwendolyn, they advanced, drawing blades. Málik stepped in front of her, a snarl erupting from his throat, and the sight of him, with bloodied lips, was unmistakably Fae. He grinned then, revealing a jagged mouth of porbeagle teeth, and said, “Come closer at your peril.”
All six halted at once, but did not re-sheath their blades, and the tallest of the group sneered. “What business brings you to Baugh’s lands?”
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“Baugh?”
It took Gwendolyn a moment to clear her head—not solely for the muddle of unspent passions, but also because of the sudden desire for bloodlust she’d experienced over the belligerence of these barbarians. If only to appease her frustration for this evening’s disappointment, she longed to slice their throats. And nevertheless, she bent to re-sheath Borlewen’s blade, raising a hand, peering over at Málik to temper his ire.
His eyes, too, were still glazed, and Gwendolyn had never quite noted that shade of feral blue. He said nothing, and did not re-sheath his sword, but she stepped in front of him, leaving him at her back.
“I am Gwen?—”
“We know who you are, Daughter of Corineus. We simply did not expect you would survive your husband.”
They did not address her as queen, nor her father as King, but it was that word she took the greatest offense to. And yet, Gwendolyn tempered her ire, knowing that she had not come so far only to engage in a war of words… or worse.
“He is not my husband.”
The Caledonian shrugged. “Simply because you have made him a cuckold does not mean he is not your husband. In case you forget, our emissaries were there to witness the Promise Ceremony where you exchanged your vows, and then your wedding to follow…”
Gwendolyn did not cow. “A man must have claimed something at least once to call it his own, and Locrinus never did. I am a free woman!”
“Says who?” the man persisted, his tone bleeding with sarcasm. He tipped his head toward Málik, and Gwendolyn’s cheeks burned—not with chagrin, but with fury.
“Says the Llanrhos order,” she said, and felt, more than saw, that Málik’s gaze snapped to her—apparently, Bryn never told him.
