Page 85 of Clash of Storms
You are my True Flame, Malin. The other half of my soul.... And if I claim you, just once, I'll never be able to let you go.
He could still taste her on his lips and feel the scratch of her nails on his back, but the very idea of splaying wide his heart made his gut clench. He was the Blackfrost. She'd hated him once. And every day she softened further, but what if she couldn't look past that?
She'd wanted a kind, gentle drekling male.
What if he scared her away? He craved her affection like a drug. He couldn't stand it if she abruptly withdrew.
No. He needed to seduce her slowly, allow her to begin falling for him before he could reveal the truth. She'd begun to trust him. It was enough. It had to be enough.
Slowly he rolled onto his side, the rough calluses of his palm skating over her hip as he propped himself up on one elbow. "You're not ready."
"Am I not the one who should decide that?"
He bowed his head, resting his forehead against hers.Maybe I'm not ready. Ten years of aching desire ravaged his soul. Hisdrekiraked its claws on the inside of his skin, hissing its claim. Sweet Goddess, what he wouldn't give to claim her.
But....
A thousand times but.
The Queen. His father. The princess. This entire mess.
His wary heart.
None of it vanished, just because he'd made a choice.
How couldhedeserve her? He, with all the blood on his hands? The secrets he kept....
"If you still feel the same way once we've rescued Andri," he said hoarsely, "then I swear nothing shall stop me. It will give you a chance to think it over. I'm adrekimale, Malin. A possessivedrekimale. Be certain you're ready for that and all it entails."
Malin watched him, and he would have given half the world to know what she was thinking right then. Reaching up, she twined a lock of his hair around her fingers. "As you wish." Her lips lifted to his. "But in the meantime... why don't you see if you can make me scream your name again."
He tumbled her onto her back with a ferocious growl, capturing her mouth in a heated kiss.
Challenge accepted.
19
Sirius slipped inside the king's chambers, moving with a predatory grace. He felt like the world around him was made of treacle; every step felt slow and heavy as if he strained against momentum.
He held a knife against his thigh, and his heartbeat pulsed in his ears as he caught sight of his target.
There was a moment of confusion—Where was he?—but he couldn't seem to stop himself from moving inexorably forward, his gaze locking on the middle of the king's back, right between Reynar's shoulder blades.
"Remember who you are."
Sirius's grip flexed around the braided leather of the hilt. It would be too easy. The king's back was turned, the golden waves of his hair brushing his collar as he surveyed himself in the mirror. He didn't even see the threat coming.
The violent eruption of his heartbeat almost tore his chest in two, but he couldn't stop it. Sirius screamed on the inside, but it was like watching it all unfold to someone else.
The king turned. He gasped as the knife drove straight into his heart, and then he was slumping forward, coughing blood as Sirius caught him.
He caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror, the king in his arms.
Rurik's face stared back at him, eyes flat and emotionless. Empty.
The knife clattered to the floor.
And suddenly he was wide-awake and on the floor, his hands covered in blood as he knelt over the fallen king. His body felt as though it snapped back under his control, and time was suddenly racing past him.
