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Before
Before
Grim POV (set before Lightlark)
I he first time Grim tore her clothes apart, she had surprised him in his room. He had just returned from battle. His armor had always felt as much a part of him as his own skin, but right then, it was smothering. A swarm of winged creatures, dreks, had escaped from a tear in the scar-a mile-long slice across his realm and the weakest point between Nightshade lands and what dwelled below. It had taken his predecessors centuries and endless power to finally seal the scar.
Now, after five hundred years of curses that restrained his own abilities, it was slowly ripping back open.
The dreks had left only bones in their wake, evidence of his best guards reduced to piles of remains. When he had arrived, the creatures were descending upon a second legion. He had watched a drek rip straight through one of his men with its blade-sharp talons, as effortlessly as a sword slicing through sand. Another soldier was simply carried up into the air, then through the scar, where beastly howls echoed.
Then, the dreks were dust. Grim had made them so. Still, it had taken too long to muster the ability needed to do it. Too long to replenish his power and use it to seal the scar once more. Too long even to notice it had been breached in the first place. He had been distracted.
For hundreds of years, he had been an unrivaled warrior. Perhaps due to his unwavering focus. Or his willingness to go to any extreme to win.
Both of which had recently changed.
Even now he was distracted. Most of his armor was on the floor by the time he sensed her.
Her.
Isla. The reason his thoughts no longer followed a steady path. The Wildling ruler who had mysteriously appeared in his stronghold only months ago. Not just in his stronghold, but in his bedroom. And - he thought wryly - her timing was impeccable. The Centennial was now looming half a year away, and the stakes could not have been higher.
Now, she was back. He turned slowly. Tentatively.
She was sitting on his bed in the near darkness of his chambers.
Isla blinked. Stood quickly. As if she hadn't meant to be sitting on his sheets. As if she herself was surprised that she had ended up there at all. As if that wasn't exactly where she had meant to position herself.
But he could sense everything she was feeling, thanks to his flair.
Every memory of battle dissolved. He could have been back there, facing swarms of scaled dreks, and his focus would be solely on her, in a red dress that was nearly sheer in some places. High up her thigh. Clinging to her like it was wet.
He prowled closer.
She raised her head. "I- I just wanted to make sure you were fine." Of course. She knew what he had just faced. After all, he had been with her when the news came in about the breach.
He arched his eyebrows. She was there for far less innocent reasons, and they both knew it. He would have teased her more if he didn't think it might keep her from returning. Instead, he motioned to himself and said, "I'm fine."
Isla swallowed. "I can see that." Her gaze slipped down his bare chest. She straightened. Opened her mouth to say something Grim knew would be some sort of retort, or threat, or excuse.
Before she got the words out, her gaze dropped even lower.
Her eyes went so wide then that he'd have laughed if he weren't in throbbing discomfort.
She jolted as if she'd been scalded, her cheeks flaming. She looked past him, contemplating her reflection in the mirror opposite as if assess- ing herself to determine what exactly had caused his current state.
As if she could ever understand what a mere glimpse of her did to him. From the moment they met, she had been a curse worse than all others. One specially crafted for him.
Sometimes he wondered if she'd been sent straight from his enemies as a potent brand of torture.
Especially during moments like these, when he might as well have been on fire for how much he was burning for her, longing to tear that clinging dress to shreds and explore everything beneath it. Worse, he could feel her own desire -the heat of it - pulsating from her, and it physically pained him that he wasn't already touching her.
But he wouldn't, not unless she told him to.
He expected her to turn. To leave him aching in the dark as she had countless times prior.
Instead, she stepped toward him.
He did not move a muscle.
Their relationship was a different type of duel, one marked not by the clashing of swords but by the torture of restraint. By innuendos volleyed back and forth that were getting worse and worse at shielding true feelings. It was less violent yet far more dangerous.
She reached out a trembling hand. Pressed it finger by finger along his chest.
His breath caught. He had done everything there was to do with a woman, yet somehow this simple touch threatened to undo him.
Her other hand was next. She marveled at him, her eyes narrowed in focus, her lips parted in wonder, like he was something interesting - something to be studied - not a monster with a thousand kills on his blade. Not a warrior who mere hours earlier had reduced dozens of creatures to dust. She bit her bottom lip, and at the minor action his body responded, making him grimace.
Isla was breathing more heavily now, testing the thin scraps of silk that crossed her chest. Grim studied the dress carefully, trying to commit every detail to memory - the narrow straps, the plunging neckline, the shape of Isla outlined by wisps of fabric. Judging by her expression, she'd noticed the direction of his gaze. He anticipated her usual retort. But instead of saying what she had the last time she had caught him staring at her, she stepped forward.
Into him. Suddenly every inch of him was pressed against the warmth of her body, her heat radiating through the flimsy dress. She traced the large scar in the center of his chest - the one she had given him the first time they met - then lower. Lower.
"Hearteater." The word was loaded. They had taken this too far already. Her eyes snapped to his, testing. Hers were the green of leaves in shadow. Dark green. His new favorite color.
She didn't heed his warning. Instead, she lifted to her toes, as if to slide ever closer. It did little to bridge the space between them; she still wasn't even close to his height. She frowned and fell back on her heels. But there was a resoluteness in her expression that filled him with both desire... and dread.
Part of him wanted to warn her to stay away. To tell her this could only end badly. To convince her that he was dangerous. That she couldn't trust him.
Another part - selfish and much larger - ached to grab her by the waist, to lift her to his height, to taste her. To show her every way a person could experience pleasure. To give her that pleasure, over and over, and witness what it did to her. But he couldn't, not until he heard those words, the ones just weeks earlier she had sworn she wouldn't-
"Touch me." The command broke his train of thought. "Please."
He froze. He couldn't have heard her correctly. He remained very still.
Isla frowned. She ran her hands dangerously close to his hips, then lower, as if to demonstrate her meaning. "Please, Grim, would you just touch -"
He ended her sentence with his mouth. Again. The first time had happened in the heat of the moment - quickly, too quickly to enjoy. This time, though, he tilted her head back, cradled the nape of her neck, so he could taste her thoroughly. The first taste had left him pining for her. Now, he was well and truly addicted.
She moaned into his mouth, and he released an involuntary growl.
"You know," he whispered into her ear, "I really like this dress." He slowly traced its plunging neckline, fingers slipping down her chest. Her pulse quickened below his hands, and he lingered, tracing her body beneath the fabric, watching her arch her back slightly, leaning into his touch. "But it's in my way."
He gripped the silk with both hands - paused until she nodded in approval and tore it straight down the center.
He didn't stop there. The dress never stood a chance. Within moments, it was shreds of fabric on the floor, and she stood, transcendent, in front of him.
Grim burned with a want stronger than anything he'd felt in his five hundred years.
But what he felt at the sight of her - all of her - wasn't just desire. There was something else; something unexpected.
He was overcome with gratitude.
Gratitude for the universe allowing someone so beautiful to exist. Someone so perfect, it defied logic.
Gratitude that she had come here, to his room, risking everything. Gratitude that she had begged him to touch her. And that they had all night for him to do so.
He must have been staring at her for a long time, because she began folding into herself, shielding her body with her hands. Panicking. She sat down on the edge of the bed.
"Is... something wrong?" she asked.
He had to laugh. Wrong? "Nothing, absolutely nothing, is wrong with you, Hearteater," he said.
She had asked him to touch her.
He would do so thoroughly.
Grim carefully moved the hands that were covering her chest and replaced them with his own. Then he replaced those with his mouth. His hands traveled over her hips, his fingers brushing the tops of her thighs... then he stopped. He looked at her, giving her a chance to end it all. Isla parted her legs ever so slightly. Very well. He slid a hand down her stomach and across the smooth skin beneath it, until he reached the part of her he was seeking. He needed to know she felt it too; that her desire matched his.
It did. He felt it. Growled again. "Are you always like this around me?" he asked.
Isla gasped at his touch. Then glared when she processed his words. He grinned. He couldn't help it. He liked baiting her; he liked the way she looked when he did, because he knew he'd captured her full attention.
"You certainly think highly of yourself," she said, breathless.
Grim let his hand explore her, and a soft moan escaped her. "It's hard not to, when I can feel the effect I have on you. Tell me, Hearteater, has anyone ever touched you like this?"
She ignored him. Her eyes fluttered closed.
"Is it just me who elicits this response?" Her head fell back, her chest bared to him.
"No need to reply," he told her. "The sounds you're making are all the confirmation I need."
She scowled. "You just like to hear yourself talk, don't you?" Her breath hitched.
His grin widened in response. "I do. But I like to hear you talk more. So, tell me." He stopped abruptly. Withdrew his hand.
The disappointment on her face at the sudden lack of contact pleased a deep, animalistic part of him. "Are you always like this around me?" he repeated.
She scoffed at him. "Are you always this desperate for validation?"
"No. Not from anyone. Only you." It was true. Perhaps that was why he wanted her to say it to admit, in words, that she wanted this as much as he did.
She blinked.
"If you want me to continue, answer my question." His own chest was heaving. A part of him ached more than ever before. "Please." He wondered if he had ever spoken that word.
No, he didn't think he had.
Even with the plea, Grim expected a cruel response. But just like she had melted him down to a primal state, it seemed his own touch had made her tire of being clever.
"Yes," she said, and any thread of sanity that remained in him snapped. She wrapped her arms around his neck. Her nails dug into his skin. Her mouth was at his ear. "Always," she whispered.
Grim was unleashed.
His hands gripped her waist, lifting her into the air. He hooked her feet behind him and brought them both onto the bed. By the time he laid her across his sheets, his hand was back where it had been. She moaned into his mouth as she opened herself completely to him. Her chest was pressed against his. He leaned down so that she could hear every word he was about to utter.
"Next time, I'll use my mouth," he told her, and she cried out. "And then, after that-"
He was cut off by the feeling of her own hand on him. His heart raced. He cursed beneath his breath. Something about her touch turned his veins to flame.
It took every bit of restraint for him to remove her hand with the one that wasn't busy, lacing her fingers through his. "Let me focus on you." He brought their joined hands down to the other side of her head. He leaned down so that he could watch her more closely. "I don't want to miss a moment of this." Her lips were parted, her cheeks flushed. Her hips moved against his hand. Grim knew he would be picturing this exact moment for many nights to come. "That's it, Hearteater," he said. "Make it good for you."
He gave her everything she demanded. Until she was panting with pleasure, until she cried out his name.
Just before it was over, Grim looked her in the eyes and said, "Remember this, Hearteater, the next time you want to stab me through the chest."
Then he watched her come undone. He swallowed her moans with his mouth and pulled her to him, his hand splayed across her lower back. He held her like he never wanted to let go, like he was afraid the world might take her away from him.
Only minutes later did he set her down and study her face. Read her reaction.
He watched her gaze come into focus, traveling across his abdomen and lower, where it rested. She smiled coyly. Then, she met his eyes.
"I'll remember," Isla said.
Diamond
Diamond
Grim POV
He felt the pull in his marrow.
The necklace. Hearteater. She needed him.
Grim could have been across the world, he could have been on a battlefield, he could have been injured and dying, but nothing would have stopped him from dropping everything and portaling to her.
The closest he could get was the edge of the woods. He cursed the Place of Mirrors and its hold on his abilities as he raced through the foliage faster than he ever had in his life, cutting down anything in his path.
Why had she pulled the necklace? He had been trained to anticipate every outcome in a dangerous situation, and endless possibilities battled in his mind. None of them were good. At the Centennial, Isla was a target. She had been attacked before. It had taken all his willpower not to follow her everywhere. She was strong. He needed to trust that strength.
Now, though, he wondered if that had been a mistake. Fear spread like poison through his chest. Not much scared him anymore. His fears had been smothered through training, or through time. Love had been trained out of him. Love kills kingdoms, his father used to say. He had never loved any woman in his hundreds of years. He had never been with the same woman twice.
Until her.
Now, all he felt was fear. He had been terrified watching her step onto this cursed island, being a spectator to her trial performances, knowing she was off with the king most days. He'd had to pretend to be the person he had been before her. Uncaring. Unloving. It was the only way to stop his instinct to take her back to Nightshade with him, where they both belonged. Fear stabbed him through the heart again as the trees thinned. What would he find?
If something had happened to her, if she was hurt-
Nothing would save the world from his fury.
The glass door nearly shattered as he tore through it. His sword was already in his hand on instinct, ready to destroy anything that stood between him and her.
There she was. Relief nearly drowned him. His eyes searched her body for injury, his hands cupped her face. "Heart - are you hurt?"
"I'm fine," she said, and he knew that tone. Relief turned to wariness.
He knew her. He had seen and felt her every shade of emotion over the year they had spent together.
Even if he hadn't, though, it would have been clear that she was upset. He dropped his hands.
The possibilities raced through his head. Had she discovered something? His heart hammered. There were so many secrets between them. Had she remembered?
Then - pure panic. Was Aurora awake? Had she told Isla everything?
Finally, she said, "Why didn't you tell me that Wildling created the island with Sunling and Nightshade?"
He fought to mask his relief. Of all the things he was keeping from her that she could have discovered, this was the least disastrous.
"Some things are better uncovered ourselves," he said. Partially, he was speaking about her buried memories. Even if she didn't remember now, one day she would. "There are many things others told me that I would have preferred to have learned on my own. In time. When I could understand it all better... "
"Were you ever going to tell me?" she demanded. Her tone was sharp. She was angrier about this than he might have expected.
Guilt consumed him as he thought about how upset she would be once she learned the truth. All of it.
She might be angry at first... but eventually she would understand. He was doing this all for her. For them. She had to see that.
"You had just arrived somewhere new," he reminded her. "Not knowing much. Forced to carry the burden of the curses, to represent your entire realm. Powerless. You were terrified. I couldn't make it worse. I didn't want to."
"Is there anything else you're hiding from me?"
He swallowed. For a moment, he wanted to tell her everything.
The impulse died quickly. He had to keep the rest of his secrets until the curses had been broken and he and Isla had all the power they both so desperately needed.
The long pause cost him. Isla took a step back. "There is, isn't there?"
All there was left to do was nod.
"What is it?"
Grim cast about for something he could give her that would be true. He thought about the first time he had shared his feelings for her. Now he had the opportunity to do it again. "I haven't told you what you do to me."
"What?" She looked shocked. Good.
"I haven't told you that you've ruined me."
"Ruined?"
He nodded. "Ruined. Tortured. You haven't stopped tormenting me since the first moment I saw you."
It was true. Every word.
Still, she looked surprised. As if he hadn't spent months showing her how much he loved her every single night. But how could she know?
The words tumbled out of him. "A few conversations with you, and I was ready to make the most disadvantageous trade - all of me in exchange for any part of you you'd be willing to spare." He remembered being forced to work with her. How irritating it had been, realizing that perhaps he didn't want her dead. How frustrating it had been to stay up late at night, regularly breaking the furniture in his room out of anger, when his thoughts about her became relentless. "You have invaded my mind. I have questioned my sanity. I think about you all the time."
"All the time?" she asked, her voice breathless, and he forced the memories down, the ones he cherished most.
"Late at night, I ache for you. I ache for you all the time," he said, his voice a low growl. It was torture, being this close to her and not touching her.
Her eyes widened. She stared at his lips the same way she had the first time they met. She wasn't angry anymore. No, he knew this expression very well too. She wanted him. Needed him. His restraint snapped, and he closed the narrow gap between them. She did too, and before he
knew it, he was kissing her.
A mistake.
She gasped into his mouth, and he pulled away. He had been so reckless, so idiotic to kiss her when she was supposed to-
Before he could get far, she tugged him back. Her arms locked around his neck, every part of her pressed against every part of him. Grim didn't dare move.
And then she pressed her lips to his. He might as well have never gone through centuries of training. The moment her skin brushed against his, his plans and duty were discarded, and he was inundated with memories: her lips trailing down his stomach, him panting against her neck beneath his sheets more than he ever had in battle.
Any self-control vanished as he gently guided her backward until she was pressed against the glass wall. She shivered beneath him but didn't hesitate. Her lips parted and he tasted her, kissing her the way he knew she liked it. His lips trailed down her neck, his teeth slightly grazing her throat in the place he once lightly bit her. When his mouth reached her necklace an ache went through him, deeper than his desire. He missed her. She didn't know it, but he was hers. He had been hers for a while.
And she was his.
He moved her cape aside and ran his lips along her bare shoulder. It had been torture watching her in these dresses without being able to peel them off her. Every night he thought of her, wishing she was lying next to him. Wishing her hands were touching him.
She moaned, the familiar sound nearly bringing him to his knees. He gripped her waist with both hands, shifting her more firmly against the wall. She reached up and unclasped her cape. It fell gently to the floor.
His eyes snapped back to hers. He could still stop this. He should let it end here. But she was already pulling at the buttons on his shirt. He didn't stop her. A moment later it joined her cape on the floor.
And then, she just stared at him.
She would never know what it did to him, watching her study him so brazenly, so carefully, like he was more than just the kills on his blade. More than just the monster everyone believed him to be. More than the monster he believed himself to be. I should stop this, I should stop this, he thought as she tentatively reached out, and pressed her hand against his scar. Sparks erupted at her touch, making him shiver. He watched her trace the mark and had to work to keep himself still.
"What is this from?" she asked. He nearly smiled.
He remembered that day well. Finding her in his palace beside the other women eager to join the ruling line. It might as well have been just the two of them in that room and every room after it. From the moment he laid eyes on her, he thought she was the only perfect thing he had ever seen in this imperfect world. Part of him knew these new feelings were dangerous. Want so deep, it had no limit. She hadn't spoken a word, but her eyes possessed an intensity he wanted to study. He didn't just want her body, he wanted to know exactly what she was thinking. She had been nervous, but also defiant. And filled with a similar need.
He saw that same need now in her expression, and placed his hand over hers before her touch could undo him. He had to stop this. "Heart-eater," he said. "Right now, you're killing me."
She reached up and took his crown between her fingers. Let it drop to the ground between them. Her own soon joined it.
She stepped over them, right against him, and she could see the want in her eyes. For him.
And damn him, but he would give her anything she wanted.
Grim lifted her in his arms, and this time, he kissed her the way he had wanted to for months, greedily, like he might not for a long while. He held her as tightly as he had that first night that they had been together. That night. He had replayed it over and over in his head, though his memory never did the reality of her justice.
Her ankles locked behind him, and he nearly lost himself as all of him lined up against all of her. She would feel exactly how much he wanted this. She would see just what it was that she did to him. He stilled, watching her eyes slightly widen. Waiting for her next move. Ready to end it, if that was what she wanted.
Gaze never leaving his, she slowly ground herself against every aching inch of him, and he cursed. It had been too long.
They both groaned as her hips rolled, her pace quickening. His desire surged, every nerve pulsing with raw need. He was utterly at her mercy as she continued to move against him, and with a burst of unchecked want, he gripped behind her thighs, pressing her even closer. Her head fell back, her back arched off the wall, and her chest curved toward him, prickled with need.
He made easy work of the front of her dress, his fingers impatient, wishing he could rip the fabric to pieces the way he had so many times before. But not yet, not here. They would have plenty of time for that later.
Finally, the fabric dropped to her waist, and she let out a low gasp that had him wanting her even more as he lowered his head to graze his teeth and lips across her chest. Her skin, hot beneath his tongue, was the sweetest form of torture, a pleasure that made him reckless. "More," she pleaded. "Please."
Her teeth sank into his shoulder as his hand slipped beneath her skirts and he skimmed her center with his fingers.
He cursed. His hand moved lower, his fingers sliding beneath another layer of fabric, then deep inside her. Deeper. She tensed around him for just a moment, then relaxed and began responding to his touch, greedy for everything he gave her. "That's it," he said, and he could hear the strain in his own voice, feel the tension in his body as he held back his own desire. Her head tilted toward the ceiling, and he gently angled it back to him so her eyes met his. The sight of her, flushed with need, lips just slightly parted, nearly did him in.
"Look at me, heart," he said. "I want to watch you come undone."
There was that intensity again. The unfiltered want that flashed in her eyes as she moved on him with abandon, as she took everything she needed. She was all he ever dreamed about, so he memorized every detail. The way her shoulders hiked, the way her body tightened around him, the way she let him swallow her final moans with his mouth. The way she melted against him when it was over, out of breath, her lips brushing against his scar and heart.
His heart. She might have just missed it with her blade that day - but he would give it to her again and again anyway.
Golden
Golden
Oro POV
It was the night before battle, and Oro had spent all day thinking about strategy, worst-case scenarios, the portal, and last-minute preparations. Now, as he climbed the stairs of the castle, he only thought of her.
It was so unlike him to be in love. His friends used to tell him he was incapable of it, and he used to believe them.
Now, she was the first person he saw every morning, and his life had begun to make sense.
Earlier, when she had told them about the portal, he had never seen her look so distraught. Isla blamed herself for everything. They were similar in that way. He wished he could take all her troubles and claim them as his own. He was king, and if only that meant he could banish anything that brought her heartache.
He quickened his pace to his room because he needed to be near her. He didn't know quite when it had happened, but she had become his gravity. He flung the door open and expected to see Isla pacing around the bed or sitting on the floor with her head in her hands, but he certainly did not expect to find her standing against the opposite wall, in a strapless dress that clung to her every curve, waiting for him.
He went still.
For weeks, she had only worn training clothes, and they were their own torture, tight against her body. She looked perfect in everything - distractingly beautiful always-but in this dress...
It reminded him of the Centennial, when he had wanted her and tried his best to deny it. From the first time he met her, he thought she was the most perfect thing he had ever seen, and he had hated himself for it. Truly, he had hated her for making him feel. It had been so much easier to go through life without emotion.
It was clear she wasn't wearing anything beneath the dress. She really was trying to kill him.
"I take it you like it." Even her voice was beautiful.
His own was strained. "If by 'like,' you mean I want to tear it to shreds with my teeth, then yes. I like it very much."
Oro closed the door behind him and stalked across the room. He paused, quickly committing the gown to memory, because after he was done with it, there wouldn't be much of it left.
In a moment, he had her against the wall, and she inhaled sharply. He ducked toward her mouth, needing to taste her, when she stopped him, placing a gentle hand against his chest.
"Can we pretend?" she asked.
"Pretend?"
"Pretend for just a moment that you're not the king, and I'm not your enemy."
He frowned. Enemy? He loved her more than words could express. He would spend his entire life proving that to her, if she let him. "Isla," he said. "You could never be my enemy."
Her voice trembled. "I'm Nightshade. I opened the portal without realizing. I helped him find the sword. I made it possible for Grim to destroy everything."
Anger boiled at the sound of that name. He shoved it back down. "You didn't know. Most of this happened in the past."
"Can we pretend there's no past, then? That it's been you and me from the beginning?"
You and me. He had never imagined being in love, or wanting a family, but he wanted it all when it came to her. For the first time in centuries, he had allowed himself to wish for a future containing laughter and smiles and happiness. For the first time, he had allowed himself to dream.
Tomorrow, it could all turn to ash. Tomorrow-
No. She was right. She wished for one last night to pretend, before the war began, and right now he was inclined to give her anything she wanted.
"Tonight... we can pretend anything you want, love," he said.
She studied his face carefully. "I want you to do something for me," she said. "I want you to make my dress gold."
"I'll call for Leto after all this is over."
"No." She shook her head and motioned toward her dress. The bodice was low, her chest almost completely exposed. Oro swallowed painfully. "The one I'm wearing," Isla clarified. "Turn it gold."
His chest constricted as he understood her meaning. He hesitated. Gilding a table was one thing. Gilding a thin layer of fabric clinging to the person you loved most in the world was another entirely.
Especially after what had happened when he was just a boy - the mistake that had defined his childhood. It had taken centuries to gather the courage to use the ability again. It had taken almost as long to forgive himself for the accident.
She must have sensed his hesitancy, because she went on her toes and said against his mouth, "I trust you. You won't hurt me." Then she whispered, "Turn it gold. Please."
The hand he had pressed against the wall next to her head flexed. His blood had turned molten, and he hadn't even really touched her yet.
I trust you. It did not have the bitter aura of a lie. She trusted him, and it was the greatest gift in the world. He would earn that trust.
His fingers lightly gripped the side of her waist, thumbs rubbing downward, and they both watched as the red fabric of her dress gave way to the thinnest gold foil, spreading down her stomach to the floor. It was an impractical choice. The gold foil was so thin, even the slightest movement would rip it.
Seeing her in the Sunling color - his color - caused a primal sound to escape him. Just when he was about to reach for her lips again, she said, "Now melt it off me."
Oro felt his brows knitting together. "I'll hurt you." She wasn't Sunling. She couldn't withstand the heat of melted gold.
"You won't."
Before he could protest again, a Starling shield raced across her skin. She had replicated the same protection he had given her before. It was expertly summoned, barely noticeable. It looked like a faint sparkle against her skin.
He took her in, a vision in gold and glittering silver. She was so much more powerful than she knew. He was glad she was finally realizing it.
"Now," she repeated. "Melt it off me."
She wouldn't have to ask him again. He ran his knuckles down the center of her chest, to her stomach, and watched the dress melt down her body like a candle, revealing every inch of her, little by little. The gold flowed into a puddle that hardened in a circle around her feet, and she was completely bare in front of him. Her Starling shield fell away.
It seemed impossible that someone so perfect could exist. The shape of her was etched into his mind forever, and seeing her like this...
"You're looking at me like I'm something to worship," she said nervously. It was then that he realized he'd been gaping at her for several moments.
"Do you want me on my knees for you, love?" His voice was just a rasp.
"Yes," she said, her eyes widening slightly, then darkening. If Oro wasn't already aching for her, that single word would have done it.
"Are you sure?" he asked.
She nodded. When he didn't immediately move, she added, "I think I might die if you don't touch me."
He had never knelt in front of anyone else, but slowly, eyes never leaving hers, he went on his knees before her. "We wouldn't want that," he said. Then, he gripped behind her leg and folded her knee over his shoulder.
She gasped, and it was kindling to the fire that burned in his chest whenever she was around. He still didn't think she understood what she did to him, so he would take his time showing her. There was no gown to push aside; the rest of the molten gold was lost to the ground beneath his knees.
At the first press of his mouth she made a sound that would echo through his mind indefinitely. He would never get enough of her. She flooded all his senses, and that was the way it should be, the way he wanted it always to be.
Their eyes were locked when she shattered, gasping. Her hand hit the wall, and energy spiraled out of it, cracking the stone in several directions.
Oro gently lowered her leg back to the ground, and looked up to find her staring at him with eyes that pierced right through to his center. Her cheeks were pink, her parted lips redder than usual. "How are we ever going to leave this room?" she asked, shaking her head, a pinch between her brows. She was serious.
He was serious too as he said, "If it was up to me, we never would." Then, he swept her into his arms and carried her to the bed.
Oro placed her on the sheets, and she reached for him. Her hand found his chest, and his shirt burned away, the flames licking his skin. She was using his power to undress him. Chills raced down his spine. He'd wanted her since the moment he saw her draped in gold, but now he was consumed by need. He watched her eyes trace down his body like she wanted to devour him.
She reached toward him. "I-"
"No," he said, shaking his head. "Tonight is about you." She nodded, and he kissed a tender path across her chest.
Her head fell back as he traced her with his tongue, moved his lips across her heated skin.
Then, with a burst of energy, she pushed him over and climbed atop him.
"I want you," she said, moving against him. "I want all of you."
He wanted her too. She had no idea how much he wanted her.
But not tonight. Not on the eve of war.
When all of this was over, he would bring her to his favorite place - a secluded beach on Sun Isle with green water the color of her eyes. He would lay her across one of the rocks on its edge and show her his love through every touch and kiss.
Now he sat up, gripped her backside, and shifted them both until his back hit the headboard. Her hands fell to his shoulders, and he reached between their bodies, where she wanted him.
She gave him a look that said it wasn't what she meant - she wanted all of him - but when he began to touch her, her eyes fell closed again.
"More," she said, reaching down to direct his hand exactly where she wanted it. When he obeyed, she gasped and pressed her forehead against his. Their shared breath quickened, and her eyes met his as she said, "I love you. I could never not love you."
I love you.
The first time he had felt the bond between them, when he had desperately reached for her in the Place of Mirrors, it had blown his world wide open. His entire life to that point had been devoted completely to his people. There was no room for emotions or pleasure. Suddenly his universe had a center, and its name was Isla.
He pressed his thumb where she liked it most, and she curled her nails into his bare shoulders. It sent chills down his spine, the same way it had when he took her flying for the first time.
She moved on him with abandon, arching her back until she collapsed onto his chest with a final sigh. He swallowed the sound with his mouth, kissing her like they might not see another night, intent on memorizing her taste.
"I love you too," he finally said. "No world exists in which I do not love you."
At that, she pressed her lips against his neck, then moved lower. Suddenly, she was tugging the rest of his clothes off.
"Isla-" he said.
"Oro." She looked up at him through her lashes, and the way she said his name... the way she looked at him...
He fisted the sheets in his hands, and they burned away beneath his fingertips. It took all his self-control to make his palms cool again, to burn out the flame.
Isla must have noticed, because the rumble of her laugh against him had him seeing stars. He smiled, then sucked in a sharp breath. In his dreams, this was what forever looked like.
This wouldn't be the last time they would say they loved each other. This wouldn't be the last time they burned through their bedsheets. This wouldn't be the last time they laughed together. No.
He knew he would do anything to make it so.
Bond
Bond
Isla POV
Love kills kingdoms.
It was what his father had told him long ago, the explanation why Grim had never felt loved by his family. The only person who had ever shown him an ounce of true care had been one guardian, and she had ended up dead.
Love kills kingdoms, but it might have just saved this one. Because Grim would do anything to ensure Isla would live.
He often thought of himself as heartless-incapable of the emotions he felt from others - but she had become his heart. She had become every thought in his head, every feeling, every curiosity, every ounce of motivation to be better than those who had ruled before him.
Before her, he had believed love was the greatest lie, the cruelest fantasy. He hadn't recognized the flash of feeling for what it was until he had felt it himself. Then he understood. He understood why warriors would die protecting others, outside of obligation. He understood why rulers had been warned against this connection; he understood why this emotion could lead to shared power in the first place; he understood why love kills kingdoms.
He found himself making lists of things that might make her smile. He found himself wanting to be the type of husband that got his wife flowers, even though she was more than capable of growing them herself. He found himself studying every ebb and flow of her emotions like some sort of scholar, wanting to become an expert in her.
He had never been patient-but for her he would wait hours at the dinner table, he would sit through countless dress fittings, he would pore over a map to find a place she might want to visit.
That was how he had found this chocolate shop, in the slice of village he used to frequent during simpler times. He had been leading her there when Isla pinned him in the alleyway and kissed him so hard he nearly forgot his entire purpose. Now, he sucked on his bottom lip. savoring the taste of her.
"I love chocolate in a way that is probably concerning. But I want something else right now. Do you understand?"
Was it possible for a heart to stop? That was what happened every time he felt her emotions deepen and sharpen to his shade of want.
Yes. He understood perfectly.
And there was nothing she could want that he wouldn't give her.
Grim was infinitely grateful for his flair then. Because one moment they were in the village, rough stone digging into his back-and the next, they were lying in their bed.
Their bed. He never wanted it to be just his ever again. He never wanted anything again unless it also belonged to her.
Their kingdom. Their future. Their pleasure.
She was still fully clothed in an annoying number of layers, but he made quick work of them: seams splitting and fabric tearing, until his lips were tracing down her bare chest.
He lingered at her heartbeat, pressing a kiss there. There was nothing of greater value to him. He relished its steady beating, because it meant she was alive, and he refused to ever hear it stop again. No, he wanted it racing even faster.
Lips against her skin, he said, "Open your legs for me, heart."
Instantly, her pulse began racing under his mouth. He chuckled against her, feeling the hike in her emotions mirroring her heartbeat. She did as he asked slowly, and he swallowed, seeing her bared for him.
Just as slowly, his fingers slid down her stomach, and she shivered. Her chest peaked. His touch was cold, according to her, and so he stopped for a moment, pressing his fingers against her flushed skin to warm them. Then he continued, taking his time. He lingered in the space between her hip bones, lazily dragging back and forth, tracing them, dipping and then retreating while he nipped at her chest until a frustrated sound escaped her parted lips. He looked up to find her glaring at him.
Impatient, just like me, he thought, as he finally slid his fingers down, giving his wife what she wanted.
At the first press of him against her, they both groaned. Her pleasure brought him more satisfaction than his own. He craved it. For months, he had pictured every way he would please her, if she ever let him again. He had made plans, so many plans. Right now, he began to make slow circles, right where he knew she liked it. Her legs spread wider.
Grim hummed against her skin, relishing the way her breath spiked along with her pulse. "Let's see how fast we can make your heart race, Hearteater," he said, turning his head so his ear was pressed right over her chest.
"What-"
He moved again, and her words broke off in a choked gasp.
Grim made a low sound of satisfaction. "It's already working."
"Cocky demon," she cursed, before she groaned in a way that would live forever in his mind. He went quicker. Harder. Then, in one smooth motion, his fingers slipped to where she wanted them, and her back arched off the bed.
"Like that?" he asked, and her rapid heartbeat gave him her answer before she gasped it.
She ground against his palm, taking everything she wanted; and he was transfixed watching her, not even flinching when her nails dug into his shoulders.
"Faster," she demanded, her breathing labored.
"I think if your pulse gets any faster, Hearteater, you'll be in troublet
He looked up and fought back a smile in response to her glare. That was when he withdrew his hand.
Her lips parted in indignation until his arm wrapped around her back, and he carried her to the head of the bed. He gently laid her down against the sheets, then just looked at her.
He must have been staring for too long because she said, "Your heart. It's racing too."
Grim looked down to see her palm against his chest. "It's always racing around you."
She smiled, and he wanted to feel it against his lips, so he dipped his head and kissed her, tasted her, until her legs wrapped around his back.
His clothes turned to ash under her touch, and he growled against her mouth, pleased at her handling of Nightshade ability. His ability. He could feel her using it, like fingertips dragging across the bridge between them.
It was not the only thing he could feel. Now that they both weren't wearing any clothing, he felt her right against every aching part of him and he rocked his hips, slowly dragging himself against her. Her legs tightened around him in response, fusing them closer, and then she began to move back and forth, her pace quickening. He cursed into her mouth, then his tongue stroked hers in the same steady rhythm; his teeth took her bottom lip between them, sucking; then her head tilted back, and his lips continued down her neck until he reached her chest. He licked and nipped across her sensitive skin, until she was writhing beneath him and pleading in a way that made all his feelings sharpen into one pulsing, endless want. His hand reached down.
"Do you want this?" he asked.
"Yes," she said, and then he was pushing forward, torturously slow. His arms shook with restraint-his entire body coiled with unrelenting, blinding need as he waited for her to adjust and tell him to keep going. She did; and then slowly, slowly, he inched further and further and further, until she was panting into his ear, and he was groaning against the crown of her head. "More," she said.
He didn't need her to tell him again. He gathered her to him, and nothing - nothing - would ever be better than this. It was wordless, this connection, this knowing, this learning of each other. This way they seemed perfectly made for one another. He cherished every bite of her lip, every moan he swallowed with his mouth, every hike in her pulse, every shift in emotion as he did something she liked. Every time it happened, he did it again. Again.
He knew her. He knew where to gently thrum his fingers, where to run his teeth, where to suck and taste. He knew how to make her gasp his name.
Months spent without her had nearly been his ruin. Every second had been torture. He had nearly driven himself mad with regret, with fear that he would never be the one to make her smile, or laugh, or writhe beneath him again.
Now he savored every moment they had together, because he knew the distinct pain of living without her.
It had only been a few days since she had let him in again. Sometimes, he watched her as she slept, as if she might disappear like a dream if he shifted his attention from her for even a moment.
Now that she was back, he wouldn't ever give her a reason to leave again.
He was hers. Infinitely and wholly hers. He only hoped that even a piece of her heart would remain always his.
Grim didn't know how to love; Isla had been right. But this... this was one of the ways he could show her how he felt. One hand gripped the sheets and the other splayed across her lower back, pulling her even closer to him. Her heels dug into his spine. And he gave her everything he could, every shred of himself, anything he could and couldn't spare.
This. This was where he always wanted to be, overtaken by this need in his very marrow to get even closer to her, to fortify this bridge between them. His every sense was full of her-her faint flowery scent her sweet taste as he licked up her neck, the feel of her body tightening around him, the sound of her ragged breathing, the sight of her squeezina her eyes shut as her hips bucked.
He looked at her and remembered what he had told her before - when you've seen something truly beautiful, everything else starts to look painfully ordinary.
By the time she was pulsing, he was nearly there himself; he was seeing stars and gritting his teeth as she clenched around him. Then, just before he could join her over the edge, she pushed him onto his back and crawled atop him.
He reached up to steady her-to touch her greedily, everywhere - and then she started moving on him. He cursed as he watched, making small circles against her hip with his thumb, gazes locked, her green eyes searing right through him, as if she could see every broken, jagged piece of himself he had cobbled together for her. Then, chest heaving, she tilted back and his grip on his abilities slipped; his shadows surged through the room. He barely stopped them before they broke the windows.
Isla smiled as she leaned down to press herself fully flush against his chest, dragging herself against him, as if savoring the friction. "Careful," she said as she kissed up his throat. "This whole palace is glass. We'l break it."
The thought of them shattering this entire castle with their pleasure made him lose any semblance of control. His hands curled around her lifted hips, and he pinned them to his in one quick motion that had her gasping. Then he started moving, chasing his releast. She whispered orders into his ear, then bit down against his earlobe, and that was it. He flipped them over again and kept going, raising himself on one arm to watch her.
"Heart," he said, almost without meaning to, breathing hard. She looked up at him, face flushed, lips parted and swollen from where he had lightly bitten them. He slowed his pace, dragging out each movement. He was on the ledge of his sanity and pleasure, but wanted to make this last as long as possible. He didn't know the right way to tell her how much he loved her, or how good this felt, or how nothing had ever felt like this until her; but he would try. The words were scraped from the very core of him as he said, "You make every emotion feel like something I can drown in."
He lifted her hand to his heart and pressed firmly. She needed to understand. She needed to know what she did to him. He barely recognized his voice, choked and rough with feeling. "My heart was always steady until I met you. Now, it's... it's always like this."
Living without her wasn't living at all. He couldn't imagine ever doing it again.
"Mine too," she said, and he pressed his palm to her chest again. It was beating wildly under his touch. They both felt their pulses racing together, syncing like another language, another connection between them. They sped up as he quickened his pace. As he lowered his forehead to hers. As she reached up with her other hand to pull gently against the small chain around his neck, the symbol of their marriage.
That simple movement made his blood roar in his ears. It made his want turn into a gleaming force around him. He was driving into her, harder, like he was trying to fuse their very souls together, and then his world was ending and beginning right in front of him. She met him stroke for stroke as she found her own release; and then they were staring at each other, eyes wide, sharing breath.
She hadn't let go of his chain. Gently, he took her own necklace between his fingers and smoothed his thumb across the stone.
It was the greatest relic that had ever existed in Nightshade history. Few knew its importance, and those who did were outraged that he had given it to his bride. He had given it to her without question. She was his heart. His life. The center of his universe.
He would do anything for her. Anything. He would prove it to her again and again.
They remained there, watching each other until their pulses gently slowed, an unbreakable bond between them.
Mini Holiday Novella
Mini Holiday Novella
Grim & Isla
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