The circular effect of want and desperation made their embrace into almost a tussle, until falling onto the bed, Raed began licking his way down her body. She wanted more, wanted him, but his strong arms held hers down, until his tongue drove all struggle from her. It was the ultimate indulgence, and Sorcha knew life seldom afforded her such moments. She was happy to voice her delight, so he knew what he drove her to.
When finally she spiraled into pleasure, only then did Raed slide up her body and enter her. Yet, when he began to stoke slow and deep inside her, Sorcha twisted under him, spilling him onto his back.
“Now,” she laughed wickedly, “who is the prisoner?”
The Young Pretender chuckled in response, his hands falling back on the sheets. “I am yours once again, fierce Deacon—to do with me as you will.”
“I will,” Sorcha returned, rocking her hips upon him. “But there will be long hours of interrogation for you, I fear.”
Raed tilted his head back on the pillow, closing his eyes as her hands clenched on his chest. For an instant— just a split second—Sorcha saw something else there too, the hint of something darker. The Rossin flickered across the face of the man she was so addicted to. It was a reminder of the Beast within.
Yet, Sorcha was too far gone to deny either of them pleasure. When Raed’s eyes opened again, the hazel of them had gone dark green in the half-light of the candles, and his breath hissed over the perfect line of his teeth.
She had never thought to see him again, and so she would make the most of this moment—and make it last as long as possible. Sleep was, after all, highly overrated.
FOURTEEN
Alone with Consequence
When finally Merrick slept, it was not the deep rest he really needed.
Every Deacon knew there was one place where the barriers they trained so hard to create slipped. Sleep, which every mortal needed, was a perilous place. Luckily there were few geists that could penetrate that landscape—but it didn’t mean that it was secure.
Merrick was on a great plain of sand, standing naked looking up at the stars. The air was cool, a breeze coming as if from some distant sea. He felt open to the world and to nature as he could not remember being since childhood. Even his nakedness did not disturb him.
Above the sky was a stretched silk of deepest blue, unmarked by any moon—all there was were stars. Merrick had studied long hours. He knew every constellation and formation in the night sky both north and south. The stars above him were in the constellations he recognized, but not a single one was in its correct place. It was as if some great hand had adjusted the parchment of the sky, and now many of the southern shapes were in the northern sky.
Where was he? The edges of fear trickled over him. On the horizon five stars detached themselves from the firmament and spun toward him. At first he was amazed, but then horror overcame him. The stars loomed bright and larger as they bore down on him.
Merrick turned to run with the stars burning and snapping at his heels. Under his feet the sand was fickle. It pulled him toward the stars, rushing past his toes. He stumbled many times, his breath rammed in his throat, his heart hammering in his chest. Yet he was unable to make any distance.
Ahead a palace erupted from the sand, and suddenly the dreadful singing of the stars stopped. Now sand was blown against his face, stinging it like acid. Merrick stopped, panting, terrified, and craned his neck to look up at the building.
The white stone was carved with many seated figures, all of them the same, all of them wearing the crystal mask of the Prince of Chioma. When the crystals moved, it seemed as though he might be able to see beyond them and make out a face. Yet, whenever he leveled his gaze upon that space, all he beheld was a blindingly golden light that hurt his eyes more than the sand. Something beautiful and terrible was beyond.
With a grinding sound that made him clap his hands to his ears, the statues all stood, but as they did, they broke and shattered.
The voice was female, seductive, and it surrounded Merrick. It was not his mother. It was not Sorcha. Yet he knew it. He knew it from childhood.
Somehow, though, the stars were gone. All of them. The sky above him now was totally blank. Instead, the golden light was spreading across the horizon, banishing the darkness.
The light was all around him, wrapping him in its embrace. Merrick bowed his head, accepting the light if it would have him. He fell to his knees—
And that was when the screaming woke him.
While Sorcha lay tucked in his arms, her breathing slow and deep, Raed found he could not do the same. Their sweat was drying slowly in the sheets, and yet he could not rest as his mind was troubled.
When he had turned to see her simply standing there, he’d felt as though he’d been hit between the eyes. Yet it was Sorcha, wearing the same unassuming clothes and blue cloak of the Deacon as when Raed had last seen her. Merrick, a little more muscular, a little more adult around the face, stood at her shoulder. In that instant, even Raed, without the training of the Order, felt it. The Bond they talked about. The one that Sorcha had formed so flippantly in a moment of danger.
If there were gods, they had an interesting sense of humor.
Raed trailed one hand down her cheek. She murmured and stirred under it, wriggling closer to his naked skin. He’d been afraid to see her—afraid that what they had shared in those moments on the dirigible had been merely a reaction to the danger. Now he didn’t know what to think—or where to file away these sensations.
With him, women and relationships had always been shortlived things; his status as hunted criminal in the new Empire forced them to be. Dare he start thinking that these interludes with Sorcha could be strung together into something approaching a real relationship? It would mean she would have to surrender all of her current life.
Raed knew he certainly had nothing left to give up, or to offer her, for that matter. As a fugitive, the Young Pretender had to make do with moments of happiness, so he wasn’t going to spoil this one thinking about what he could not have.
He also wouldn’t tell her about the Rossin having broken free so recently; he knew what would happen after that. Sorcha would offer to find Fraine herself and send him back to the ocean and safety, and he feared that with the Bond she could force him to do just that. t souldn’t risk it. His sister’s life was at stake.
Gently blowing aside a strand of Sorcha’s long red hair, Raed worked his way down to rest in behind her as close as he could: one hand wrapped around her waist, the other gently cupping her breast. He had just closed his eyes, when the scream rang out.
Both of them scrambled out of bed and reached for weapons before their clothes. With her hair curling down her back and around her breasts, Sorcha went to the window, inched open the shutters, and looked out. Raed waited.
“Something is happening in the garden.” Sorcha slammed the shutter tight. “Lots of torches and guards.”
Without further discussion they got back into their clothes, while outside they could hear a commotion growing. They were not the only ones to be disturbed.
Sorcha glanced at Raed. “You can’t go out the way you came in. Here.” She threw her cloak about him and pulled the hood up. “I think there is enough trouble out there that they won’t notice you’re not exactly female.”
He grabbed a quick kiss. “By the Blood, you do know how to flatter a man.”
She was right; out in the hallway there was much running and wailing as women woke to the chaos outside. They pushed through the panicked women and ran down the stairs.
