had no meaning. All he could feel was the gathering storm, and the hot wetness surrounding him. Quickening pulses spasmed deep inside her as his rhythm broke and he began to pound, taking her too hard and too soon.
But he could tell she needed the raw frenzy of their joining as much as he did.
“Oh, Goddess!” Ashe cried.
He felt the release like a bolt of lightning, blanking every nerve in exquisite torment. It felt like it went on and on, making up for an eternity of denial.
Ending too soon.
He gripped the couch, arm muscles quivering. There was no room to collapse, not without smothering Ashe or tumbling to the floor. They were both breathing hard, sticky with sweat. She looked startled, like he’d done something remarkable. Maybe not all my skills are lost?
“Do you sleep on this couch?” he demanded, his voice hoarse with panting.
Her hair had come loose, scattering around her in a ragged, tawny sun. She shook her head mutely.
Carefully, he found his feet, making sure his legs could still support him. “Show me your bed and I’ll do that properly.”
Ashe frowned. “But you did it just right.”
“Of course I did. And now I know what you like. A tiger to your tigress.”
“Hot damn,” she muttered.
Taking her had only kindled his need. Her flushed cheeks and swollen lips turned the flame into a blaze. He pulled her up and into a deep, hungry kiss.
This time, she melted in his arms like sorbet left in the sun. Ah, yes. He cupped the cheeks of her firm bottom, the feel of the warm flesh starting the heaviness in his belly all over again. He felt himself hardening already.
Immortality had its advantages.
She broke away, catching his hand. “This way.”
He registered nothing of how they got there. It was growing dark, lights glowing here and there on clocks and appliances. There were noises in other parts of the house—voices, doors closing—but it only served to enhance a sense of stolen privacy.
Halfway down the hall, Ashe stopped, her grip on his biceps rough. He let her shove him into the cold, rough plaster of the wall.
“How hard are you willing to play?” she demanded.
“How hard do you need it?”
She took his mouth, then the flesh of his shoulder in her teeth, biting down. Pain and pleasure shot through him like shards of light. Unbearable, and yet the throbbing in his groin flared into an ache. He grabbed her around the ribs, picking her up. Her tongue traced the side of his neck, her hair falling around them in a silky curtain.
“Take me,” she whispered. “Let me fight you.”
“I’ll win.”
“Make me forget everything but you.”
“With pleasure.”
Chapter 15
Hours later, Ashe lay beside Reynard, sore and exhausted. She was on her stomach; he was on his side, one arm curved around her. A blanket covered them. The top sheet was a poly-cotton shred-fest somewhere on the floor. She thought they’d broken a lamp, but she wouldn’t be sure until she got up. It was pitch-black in the room.
She felt quiet, content. Spent. Rage—about her life, her mistakes, her destiny, and the fact she had been alone for so long—had burned away. After they had bitten and wrestled and pinned each other down, Reynard took her with all the tenderness she’d never wanted before. Incredibly, he made her feel she deserved it. Although it might be his only chance at a night of passion, he had made it about her.
Rough and gentle, he had delivered them both, delighted in them both. That was better than oblivion. That salty-sweet combination was, as he had put it, her key. He was the first lover to discover her private need for both.
Roberto hadn’t. It was something she barely understood herself.
Ashe listened to his steady breathing. He was drifting in and out of sleep, as tired as she was. Reynard had given her everything she asked without judgment, and yet she had no sense that he was in any way deprived. He had taken his fill of pleasure, too. Reynard had strength to spare. Strength enough to master her—and to care for her.
He was everything she’d ever wanted in a lover.
She rolled onto her side, her back curling into him. His breath gusted across her neck, warming her skin. A faint snore said he was lights-out. The sound of it made her smile. It was kind of cute.
It’s been too long. For the first time since Roberto had died, she was able to float in the after-bliss of lovemaking feeling whole, clean, and cherished. Worthy of love.
It wasn’t a question of falling in love. That was something softer, something that came only when this first piece had fallen into place. On some deep, biological level he had earned the right to be with her. More than that, he had taken her. Every cell. Every pulse of her heart.
Ashe felt slightly awestruck, even as her eyelids drifted closed.
Boredom was the largest difference between being held a prisoner in the Castle, and being held a prisoner in one of the Castle’s cells. Miru- kai could not complain that he was mistreated. Mac had shut down the old cells that were no more than caves with doors. By contrast, the room where he had put Miru-kai was small but clean, the stone walls whitewashed to take away some of the gloom. There was a shelf with a thin mattress and a dark blue blanket neatly folded at the foot. Not princely, but palatial compared to what it might have been.
Still, it was a lockup. A grate of iron bars striped the white stone. The door was made of iron bars. Magic would not work in a room lined with cold iron. He saw no one but the occasional guard with his jingling ring of keys. There was absolutely nothing to do.
Boredom was an ingenious form of torture. He’d begun to listen for the guards’ footsteps as a means of passing the time. Miru-kai lay on the mattress, his hands folded across his stomach, and tried to relax. He was used to the bustle of his encampment. It was literally too quiet to sleep. All part of the complimentary torture service.
Miru-kai opened his eyes and stared at the stone ceiling. He could count the blocks of stone, but he had to save some excitement for later. He slipped off the bed and stood at the barred door, careful not to touch the irritating iron. He could see out, but there was nothing there but corridors of stone, the same view as anywhere in the Castle.
I shouldn’t be here. None of the fey should be here. Fairykind knew how to repair the earth the humans plundered, but the humans knew how to make the earth yield crops. Once, the two species had worked side by side—or so Miru-kai had been told. That was before his time, before the bulk of his people had retreated to the Summerland, closing the gates behind them and leaving their brethren to struggle on alone.
I could have been dancing in dew circles if my venerated parents had gotten off their royal backsides and left with the rest. Instead, he was stuck here, dealing with the dregs of the Castle.
Footfalls echoed in the corridor. Miru- kai drew nearer the bars. The heavy silk of his clothing rustled as he moved, reminding him he was a prince and not just a prisoner.
His visitor was Mac, his large form backlit by the flickering torches.
Once he saw who it was, Miru-kai backed away, not wishing to look too eager to talk. Still, he couldn’t resist some of those Law & Order phrases. “Now that you’ve let me—what is the expression?—stew in my own juices, have you come to tune me up?”
“Maybe I just want to gloat a little bit.” Mac stopped outside the bars, folding his arms. He didn’t come too
