“I’m not your nemesis,” I whisper against his chest. “I intend to save you.”
Because we’re some distance from the guttering fire, he tucks me inside his cloak and I stay, resting against him like I belong here. Njål touches me gently, stroking a big hand down my back. There’s some temptation to open my eyes, but I resist.
“When you say things like that, it becomes difficult for me to believe that you’re a simple brewer’s assistant.”
“Why? Because common folk can’t be daring? The bravest people I’ve ever known often have no idea how they’ll feed their families through the winter. They fight hunger and cold instead of dragons.”
“Point taken. I would rather fight a war against demons than return to my solitary state. The unseen enemies can be the fiercest.”
“I won’t leave you,” I promise.
A shiver rolls through me, as if Bitterburn has heard and marked my promise. Perhaps it’s my mental state, but I feel as if I cannot leave, like it’s no longer my choice.
“May I kiss you?”
Oh.
The soft rumble of his request, so close to my ear, sends pleasurable chills throughout my body, and my stomach flutters. I still haven’t seen his face, but I don’t mind. He said he wouldn’t touch more than my hand until I was ready, and I am. I want Njål’s mouth on mine like I want my next breath.
“Please.”
With exquisite care, he kisses me, so delicate that I barely feel it. That won’t do at all. With my eyes still closed, I tangle my hands in his hair. It’s coarser than it was when I soothed him to sleep, a bit tangled as well. I urge him on with soft pressure at the back of his head. I can tell he barely remembers how to do this—it’s been so long—and I lead the way, with soft turns of my lips, pressing and grazing, until he opens his mouth on a moan.
I deepen the kiss with a teasing tongue, reminding him how to give and take, stroke and slide, until he kindles. The kiss grows fierce, increased heat and demand. I can tell that he has sharper canines than most, and his stubble scrapes against my jaw. Nothing about his touch troubles me. In fact, I only want more. My body throbs, slick and hot, and I resist the urge to rub against him. I crave more kisses, and I ache at the idea of him stroking me between my legs, long caresses right there until I twist and writhe and wet his hand.
He makes irresistible noises as we kiss, deep in his throat, as if I’m utterly delicious. I suck lightly on his lower lip, then soothe it with my tongue, glad that I’m good at kissing at least. I have no more bedsport skills, but this feels incredible. My excitement builds as he pulls me closer, whispering incoherent accolades against my mouth.
“So good. You feel so good.” Agonized pleasure, just from the kissing. His lips rove to my neck, and he licks me like a dessert. He’s shamelessly hard against my belly, so big that it feels intimidating. “Amarrah . . . will you . . .”
Njål stops, he doesn’t ask for what he wants. He pauses with his lips against my shoulder, his big body curved over mine as he trembles. I don’t know if the keep is filling his head with lusty images, but this need is real. I created it and I want to do this.
Bold as brass, I slip my hands inside the front of his pants and rub. I don’t know what I’m doing, but it must feel good. He pants and pushes, sliding his hot, hard length against my palm, faster and faster, and then he helps me, adorably awkward with his claws, showing me how to grasp and tug. Njål wants it hard, and he goes wild when I get it right. Little grunts and whines escape him as I work. Soon, he shudders and does it in my hand, so it’s all messy and wet when he’s finished.
I’m not satisfied but I’m not ready to ask for anything. I can take care of myself later if I’m still feeling the tingle when I go to bed.
He rests his head on mine, still shaking slightly. “Are you all right? I didn’t hurt you?”
Eyes still closed, I laugh softly. “Not at all.”
“I lost myself a little. You . . . did I take advantage?”
“Freely given,” I assure him. “I’m glad I could please you.”
I’m used to having my eyes closed when he’s near, and I wonder if he’ll blindfold me when we become lovers. In my head, it’s when, not if. I think I’ll be all right with that.
He sighs. “Normally I have more self-control. I had no intention of pressing for that.”
“You didn’t, precisely. Don’t worry, if I hadn’t wanted to, I wouldn’t have. And no matter how the keep was whispering to you, I trust that you’d respect my wishes.”
“I would. I swear.” Njål is built like a mountain, I can tell that from touching him, but he would never use that strength to hurt me.
Not ever.
13.
I am a witch.
Two weeks after I cast those charms in the kitchen garden, green shoots push out of the earth. Out here, it’s tangibly warmer too. I can’t do anything about the wan sunlight, but it seems like it’s enough for plants to grow. It’s too soon for me to know what’s emerged, but I planted strawberries, yellow gourds, beans, potatoes, and onions. The rest of the crop will be a surprise, and it will take months—
Or maybe not.
If I’m a witch, then my blood will make the vegetables grow faster. I wonder what else I can do with that book of charms. The warding spell seemed complicated but if it means I could properly take ownership of Bitterburn, perhaps I ought to try. I might even find the key to unlocking Njål’s
