Page 27 of Mistake of Magic
“Because Shade told me to clean up my own mess.” River snapped his mouth shut, his face heating. He hadn’t meant to say that. Half a millennium of training and fighting, and the crown prince of Slait Court could come up with nothing better to say.
“Your mess can clean up herself.” Raising her chin, Leralynn moved the washbasin closer, trying and failing to hide a wince in the process. “I grew up in a stable, not a palace. I’m used to it.”
River’s chest clenched, his body no longer willing to acknowledge reason as Leralynn slipped from his fingers. He stepped toward her, the single pace of distance between them feeling like an abyss to be leapt blindly in hopes of finding the other side. Grasping Leralynn’s hips, River lifted her from the floor and pulled her into his body. “Having grown up at a palace,” River said over the pounding of his heart as he perched himself on the lip of the girl’s bed, her small weight settled sideways on his lap, “I’m much more dainty about such things.”
17
Lera
My breath halts as River pulls my aching body against his chest, his muscled thighs warm and hard beneath my backside. His tunic scrapes my bare skin, the heat of his body wrapping itself around me with throbbing insistence. I can’t move. The small reserve of bravado that fueled me to walk back to the suite and remove my sand-filled clothes emptied the moment River’s calloused hand splayed across my abdomen.
I close my eyes, taking a deep, shuddering breath filled with River’s clean, woodsy scent. I’ve never been here before, on River’s lap. In his arms. It feels like settling onto a grand, intoxicating boulder. My heart pounds.
It isn’t fair, how easily River carries power. He seems unaware of how large, how dominating, how bloody impenetrable he is. Born to rule, trained to command, chosen to lead elite warriors who can probably stare down armies. I couldn’t so much as stare down Zake a couple weeks ago, and here I am, trying to stand toe to toe with the male who made the Elders Council uneasy. Not am—was. It’s gone now, whatever strength I conjured in the arena, melted beneath the touch of a male who any smart human should fear.
“I was harsh with you,” River whispers into my hair. More a confession than an apology.
If I could move, I’d elbow his square jaw and knee his groin and holler every vile insult I could think of into his pointy immortal ears.Instead, my cheek presses into the groove below his shoulder, nestling beside the large pectoral that pulses with his own rapid heartbeat. His skin is warm and velvety soft, so in opposition to the hard muscle—the hard male—underneath. Tears spill down my cheeks, soaking River’s shirt.
“I’m not crying,” I clarify.
“It’s just the sand irritating your eyes,” River agrees, his left arm holding me against him while his right hand rubs a small circle on the back of my neck.
After a few minutes of soothing silence, I reluctantly pull away enough to peek at River’s face, bracing myself for either the pity or resigned disappointment that I know I’ll find. A warrior prince looking down at a sobbing little mortal girl.
Except River isn’t looking at me at all. No, River’s strong face is tipped up to the ceiling, his jaw clenched tightly. The light from the window reflects in his gray eyes and shimmers in droplets of silver that line the male’s lower lids. Threatening to spill onto his chiseled cheekbones.
My thoughts scatter, suddenly as irrelevant as tufts of dandelion. “River?” I press my palm against his face, feeling his warm, rough skin. “River, what’s wrong?”
The male lowers his head, his lips pressed into a grim line.
I run my thumb over River’s cheek, over the muscles in his jaw, urging them to relax. “What are you thinking about?”
The apple of his neck bobs for a moment, and I’m certain he won’t answer. But he does. “I’m thinking that it’s been three hundred years since I’ve held someone like this,” he whispers, his eyes not meeting mine. “And that if you wanted to destroy me, all you’d have to do is walk out the door. And that, after this morning, you just might.”
My chest tightens. Pulling my legs up beneath me, I rise onto my knees, straddling River’s lap, and bring my face in line with his. Up close, his short brown hair looks tousled, with fine grains of sand hanging on disobediently curving strands. I brush the sand away, letting my fingers linger on River’s tense brow. “I’m half-naked.” I reach for a small smile. “It is highly unlikely that I’ll be walking out of this room just now.”
River’s gaze finally touches mine, his eyes so full of need and fear that I don’t recognize the hard quint commander behind them. Raising his hands, he pushes my hair away from my face and down my back, detangling it gently with his fingers. The slight tugging is divine against my scalp. Then his calloused palms trace the length of my neck, my shoulders, my aching arms.
My skin tingles, each touch of River’s fingers leaving a trail of warmth.
“We aren’t going back into the practice arena tomorrow,” River whispers. “Or ever. Not like that.”
I swallow. “Why?”
River’s voice is raw. “Because I won’t risk you hating me.”
I grip his eyes and lean in, my nose almost touching his. “Coward.”
A startled growl vibrates through his chest.
“I’m not walking away from you, River,” I say, keeping my face where it is, my heart pounding. “And you sure as hell aren’t walking away from me.”
Before he can reply, I press my lips against his, feeling his caught breath all the way through me. Cupping River’s rough cheeks, I deepen the kiss, claiming his mouth—claiming him—with an intensity that has him gasping.
River’s hands still, his whole body going rigid before suddenly waking with a surge. He pulls away, his eyes wide as his broad chest heaves. “Leralynn,” he whispers, his free hand tangling in my hair as he tips my head back and captures my lips with his own.
My scalp tingles, River’s command of my mouth and body taking on his usual warrior’s confidence. His power. The longing of three hundred years in each strong, skilled stroke of his tongue. One hand cups the back of my head, the other tracing a hot, rough path up my bare side, covering my wrapped breast, tracing my collarbone, then hooking around my waist and pulling me closer.
