Page 57 of Storm of Desire
"No." The blatant lie sounded like rough gravel on his tongue. "I was wondering what you consider akiss."
"What doyouconsider akiss?"
"A chaste press of his lips toyours."
Árdís laughed, a smoky sound that reminded him of another time. "It wasn’t chaste, if that is what you’re asking. But it was on my lips, and it never went further." She sighed. "Sirius kissed me long before you came into mylife."
A tension he hadn’t known he was holding relaxed withinhim.
"And what of you? No otherwoman?"
He ought to say yes. He wanted to spike her wheels, destroy some of her equilibrium, the way she'd done to him. Instead, all he could summon was a shrug. "Would itmatter?"
Árdís fellsilent.
Her hands were laced around his middle, and yet he could almost feel the tension in them, as if she didn't want to touch him in that moment. The press of her breasts against his back didn't come; she hadn't drawn breath, but it was a quiet sort of shock. No swift intake. No gasp. It seemed as though she'd swallowed that brief spurt of pain and was trying to manage it, somewhere deep withinher.
He'd wanted it to hurther.
He'd wanted her to feel some part of the pain he'dfelt.
And yet, all it left him with was a bad taste in his mouth, and the sense he wasn't cut out forcruelty.
"No," he added curtly. "There has never been another woman forme."
And there probably never wouldbe.
He heard the gentle exhale of her breath, and squeezed his eyes shut for a brief second. Despite her studied nonchalance, this was affecting hertoo.
"You were gone for seven years," he added, in a roughened voice, "but it never felt as though you were dead. I was so certain you weren't. I would have felt it somehow. And there are tales ofdrekiseducing mortal women, or stealing them away. It was the only thing I could focus upon; that you'd been stolen from me, and all I had to do was find you and rescue you,and...."
Then she'd be back in his arms where she belonged, and this hideous nightmare would beover.
There was always a happy ending to the tales his mother told him as achild.
But not thistime.
Perhaps that was why this hurt so much. It was one thing to lose her to adrekior death. The pain hurt, but the memories he had of her—ofthem—had been pure and untainted, his love for her the one thing that sustained him through those dark days. He'd been able to put one foot in front of the otherfor her. Not once had he given up, pushing his body out of bed each morning in his quest to find her, taking grievous injuries and fighting on, because he'd known she was out there somewhere, and when he foundher....
When he found her, he could wrap her in his arms and never let her go again. They would be together, and somehow he'd forget the dark days, the pain, the torment. He would remember what it felt like to be loved, to behappy.
He would be the man he'd once been, without so much weight on hisheart.
Discovering the truth had torn himapart.
He'd have sold his soul to the devil forher.
He'd have offeredhis life, in order to protecther.
He'd have burned the world to ashes for her, or fetched the moon from the fuckingsky.
But she'd walked away and hadn't lookedback.
Had she ever truly lovedhim?
"Haakon?" Árdís rocked against him, and her arms tightened around his waist. "What'swrong?"
"They're not particularly pleasant memories. I don't want to think about the last seven years. I don't want to speak aboutit."
