Prince Of Darkness

The moon hung low over Blackstone Castle, casting silver light across the ancient battlements. A storm was gathering on the horizon—Damion could smell it in the air, taste it on the wind that swept through the open colonnade. But for now, the night was still, and he had stolen something more precious than any victory on the battlefield.

Time.

He found her in the eastern garden, where she shouldn't have been at this hour. Where no queen should wander alone after dark, with only starlight and the distant glow of torches to guide her steps. But Aurora had never been a woman who followed the rules written for her, and that was precisely why his heart had surrendered to her so completely.

She stood beneath the ancient wisteria arbor, her blonde hair unbound and cascading down her back like a river of silk. The thin fabric of her nightgown—pale blue, nearly white in the moonlight—clung to her curves, and over it she'd thrown only a velvet robe that she hadn't bothered to tie. She was looking up at the stars, her profile elegant and serene, and for a moment Damion simply watched her from the shadows.

His queen. His wife. His reason for every battle, every strategy, every calculated risk.

"Are you going to lurk in the darkness all night," Aurora said without turning, her voice carrying a note of amusement, "or are you going to come here and tell me why you're not sleeping?"

A smile tugged at his lips. "How did you know?"

"I always know." Now she turned, and even in the dim light he could see the warmth in her eyes, the slight curve of her mouth. "You move like a predator, my lord Dragon. Silent, but I feel you nonetheless."

He stepped from the colonnade into the garden proper, his boots silent on the stone path. He'd removed his armor hours ago, wore only dark trousers and a loose linen shirt, the laces undone at his throat. He'd meant to sleep—gods knew he needed it before riding out again at dawn—but his bed had felt too empty, too cold, and he'd known exactly where to find her.

"You shouldn't be out here alone," he said, though there was no reproach in his voice. Only concern, and something deeper. Something that made his chest tighten every time he looked at her.

"I'm not alone." Aurora tilted her head, her hair sliding over one shoulder. "You're here."

"I meant before I arrived."

"Ah." She moved toward him with that fluid grace that never failed to captivate him, her bare feet whispering against stone. "But I knew you would come. You always do."

She was right. He always did. No matter how exhausted, no matter how his body ached from days in the saddle and nights planning campaigns, he would always find his way to her. She was his north star, his compass, the fixed point around which his entire world revolved.

When she reached him, she didn't stop—simply walked into his arms as if she belonged there, as if there had never been any other place for her. And perhaps there hadn't. Damion wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close, breathing in the scent of her hair. Jasmine and something uniquely Aurora, something that made his blood heat and his heart steady all at once.

"Couldn't sleep?" he murmured against her temple.

"The bed was too large without you in it." She tilted her face up, her hands sliding up his chest to rest against his shoulders. "And I had a feeling you'd come looking for me."

"Always." His hand came up to cup her face, thumb brushing across her cheekbone. "Though you make it dangerously easy for anyone else to find you as well."

Her eyes sparkled with mischief. "Are you scolding me, Commander?"

"I'm reminding you," he said, though his lips quirked, "that you are the princess of Meldonia. That makes you a target."

"Mmm." Aurora's fingers traced the open collar of his shirt, her touch light but deliberate, sending heat racing through his veins. "And you are the Dragon of the North, the most feared military commander in six kingdoms. That makes you a target as well. Yet here you are, wandering castle gardens in the middle of the night."

"I was looking for something precious that belongs to me."

"Belongs to you?" She raised an eyebrow, but her smile widened. "How very possessive, my lord."

Damion caught her hand, brought it to his lips. "Not possessive. Devoted." He pressed a kiss to her palm, then her wrist, feeling her pulse flutter beneath his mouth. "There's a difference."

"Is there?" Her voice had gone softer, breathier.

"One implies ownership." He pulled her closer, until their bodies were flush, until he could feel every curve of her against him. "The other implies worship."

Aurora's breath caught, and he felt the shiver that ran through her. "And which are you, Damion?"

He lowered his head until his lips were a whisper away from hers. "What do you think?"

"I think," she said, her hands sliding into his hair, "that you're trying to distract me from the fact that you're leaving again at dawn."

His jaw tightened. She saw too much, always had. It was one of the things he loved most about her, and sometimes one of the things that made his duty feel like a blade between his ribs.

"I have to," he said quietly.

"I know." She didn't look away, didn't let him retreat into the cold strategy that had kept him alive through a hundred battles. "I know you do. But I'm allowed to hate it."

"Aurora—"

"Shh." She pressed a finger to his lips. "We're not going to talk about the war right now. We're not going to talk about Alaric, or the northern front, or how many days you'll be gone this time." Her eyes held his, fierce and tender all at once. "Right now, in this garden, you're not the Dragon. You're just mine."

Something in his chest cracked open. He caught her hand, pressed a kiss to that silencing finger, then another to her palm. "I'm always yours."

"Then kiss me," she whispered. "Kiss me like you're not leaving. Kiss me like we have all the time in the world."

He didn't need to be told twice.

Damion claimed her mouth with a hunger that had been building since the moment he'd left their bed, since the moment duty had called him away from her warmth. Aurora melted against him, her lips parting beneath his, her body molding to his as if they were two pieces of the same whole. The kiss was deep, consuming, filled with all the words they couldn't say and all the fear they wouldn't voice.

His hands slid down her back, feeling the curve of her spine through the thin silk, the dip of her waist. She made a soft sound against his mouth, her fingers tightening in his hair, and he backed her up until she was pressed against one of the stone pillars of the arbor, wisteria blossoms falling around them like purple snow.

"Damion," she breathed when he finally broke the kiss to trail his lips down her throat. Her head fell back, exposing the elegant line of her neck, and he took full advantage, tasting her skin, feeling her pulse race beneath his tongue.

"Say it again," he murmured against her collarbone.

"Damion." His name was a prayer, a plea, a promise.

He lifted his head, found her eyes dark with desire and something deeper—love, trust, the absolute certainty that they belonged to each other in a way that transcended crowns and kingdoms. "I will always come back to you," he said, his voice rough. "No matter what. Do you understand me, Aurora? Always."

She cupped his face in both hands, her thumbs brushing across his cheekbones. "I know. Just as I will always be here. Holding your heart."

"You don't just hold it." He turned his head, pressed a kiss to her palm. "You are it."

She smiled—that brilliant, fierce smile that had first captured him, back when she'd been a diplomat's daughter and he'd been a general with no interest in anything but war. "Flatterer."

"Truth-teller." He kissed her again, softer this time, reverent. "They call me the Dragon, Aurora. They think I'm made of fire and fury, that I'm invincible on the battlefield." His forehead came to rest against hers. "But you know the truth. You know exactly where to strike to bring me to my knees."

"Here?" She placed her hand over his heart.

"Here," he confirmed, covering her hand with his own. "You could destroy me with a word. With a look. With your absence."

"Then it's fortunate," she said, her voice thick with emotion, "that I have no intention of going anywhere."

They stood like that for a long moment, wrapped in each other, the world narrowed down to just the two of them and the beating of their hearts in sync. The storm on the horizon rumbled, closer now, and the wind picked up, sending more wisteria blossoms cascading around them.

"We should go inside," Damion said, though he made no move to release her.

She pulled back just enough to look up at him, her expression turning playful again. "If we're going inside, I should warn you—I have no intention of letting you sleep."

Heat flared in his gut. "Is that so?"

"Mmm." She walked her fingers up his chest. "You're leaving at dawn. That gives us..." She glanced at the sky, calculating. "Perhaps four hours?"

"Four hours," he repeated, his voice dropping to a growl.

"Four hours," she confirmed, rising on her toes to brush her lips against his jaw, "to remind you exactly what you're fighting for. Exactly what's waiting for you when you return.”

Damion's control, already frayed, snapped entirely. He swept her up into his arms, making her laugh—that bright, joyous sound that he carried with him into every battle like a talisman. She wrapped her arms around his neck, her eyes dancing with mischief and desire.

They moved through the castle like shadows, avoiding the main corridors where guards would be stationed, taking the servants' passages that Aurora had learned in her first months of arrival. She'd made it her business to know every corner of Blackstone, every secret and hidden way, and Damion had been grateful for it more than once.

Their chambers were in the eastern tower, high enough to see for miles, defensible and private. He kicked the door shut behind them and set Aurora on her feet beside the bed.

She turned to face him, the moonlight streaming through the tall windows painting her in silver and shadow. Her robe had slipped off one shoulder, and her hair was wild from his hands, and she had never looked more beautiful.

"Four hours," she said again, softer now.

"Four hours," he agreed, reaching for her.

Aurora's hands slid under his shirt, her palms warm against his skin, and she smiled against his mouth. "Then stop talking, my Dragon, and show me what four hours can hold."

Damion pulled her flush against him, one hand tangling in the golden waves of her hair that cascaded past her waist, the other spanning her small waist—so delicate he could nearly encircle it with his hands. The contrast between them had always driven him wild: his massive frame towering over her petite body, the way she had to tilt her head back to meet his eyes, how perfectly she fit against him.

He claimed her mouth again, deeper this time, his tongue sliding against hers as his fingers worked at the tie of her robe. The velvet fell away, pooling at her feet, leaving her in only the thin silk nightgown that did nothing to hide the curves beneath. His hands roamed down her sides, feeling every dip and swell, before cupping the generous weight of her breasts through the fabric.

Aurora gasped against his mouth, arching into his touch, and he groaned at the feel of her. "You're so beautiful," he murmured, his voice rough with need. "So perfect."

"Damion," she breathed, her small hands working at the laces of his shirt with increasing urgency.

He helped her, yanking the shirt over his head and tossing it aside. Her eyes darkened as she took in the expanse of his chest, all hard muscle and battle scars.

In one smooth motion, he grasped the hem of her nightgown and pulled it up and over her head.

She stood before him completely bare, her long hair tumbling around her shoulders and down her back, her bright blue eyes locked on his. The moonlight painted her pale skin silver, highlighting the curve of her waist, the fullness of her breasts, the gentle flare of her hips. She was breathtaking—a goddess made flesh, and she was his.

"Aurora," he said reverently, his hands coming up to cup her face.

She smiled, that fierce, loving smile that undid him every time. "Touch me," she whispered.

His hands slid down her throat, across her collarbones, before cupping her breasts. He brushed his thumbs across her nipples and watched them harden into tight peaks, watched her eyes flutter closed and her lips part on a moan.

"Look at me," he commanded softly, and her eyes opened, hazy with desire.

He lifted her easily—she weighed nothing to him—and carried her the few steps to his bed, laying her down on the dark furs. She looked like a fantasy spread out before him, her hair fanning across the pillows, her chest heaving, her thighs pressed together in anticipation.

Damion made quick work of his remaining clothes. He watched her eyes widen slightly. She'd seen him countless times, but there was always that moment of appreciation, of desire, that made his blood run hotter.

"Come here," Aurora said, reaching for him, and he went to her like a man drawn to flame.

He settled between her thighs, his large frame covering her, and the feel of her soft skin against his was almost too much. He kissed her deeply, thoroughly, while his hand slid down her body, over her stomach, lower still until he reached the heat between her legs.

She was already wet for him, slick and ready, and when he slid one finger inside her, she arched off the bed with a cry.

"Damion!"

"That's it, love," he murmured, adding a second finger and stroking deep. "Let me hear you."

He worked her with his fingers, his thumb finding that sensitive bundle of nerves and circling it in the way he knew drove her wild. Aurora's hips moved against his hand, chasing the pleasure, her nails digging into his shoulders as the tension built.

"Please," she gasped.

He kissed down her throat, her chest, taking her nipple into his mouth while his fingers continued their relentless rhythm. "I want to watch you fall apart."

"Damion, please."

Her body tensed, her back arching, and then she was crying out his name as she shattered, her inner walls clenching around his fingers, her whole body shaking. He worked her through it, drawing out every last tremor, watching her face as pleasure washed over her.

Beautiful. She was so damn beautiful.

When she finally came down, her eyes opened, bright blue and filled with lingering desire.

Damion positioned himself at her entrance, the head of him pressing against her slick heat. He pushed in slowly, watching her face, and her mouth fell open on a gasp as he stretched her, filled her, claimed her inch by inch.

"Yes," she moaned.

When he was fully seated inside her, buried to the hilt, they both stilled for a moment. The feeling was overwhelming—the tight, wet heat of her surrounding him, the way her body yielded to accommodate him.

"Aurora," he breathed, his forehead pressed to hers.

"Take me," she whispered, her legs wrapping around his waist.

He did, pulling almost all the way out before sliding back in, setting a slow, deep rhythm that had them both groaning. His hips rolled against hers, each thrust deliberate and powerful, and Aurora met him stroke for stroke, her small body taking all of him.

"Harder," she gasped.

Something primal surged through him at her words. He gripped her hips, his large hands nearly spanning her waist, and increased his pace, driving into her with more force. The sound of their bodies coming together filled the room.

"You feel so good," he groaned.

"Yes," Aurora cried out, her nails raking down his back.

He shifted the angle slightly, hitting that spot deep inside her that made her see stars, and she screamed his name. Her inner walls fluttered around him, and he knew she was close again.

"That's it, love," he growled, his pace relentless now.

"Damion."

She shattered again, her body convulsing beneath him, her cries echoing off the stone walls. The feeling of her clenching around him, the sight of her lost in pleasure, pushed him over the edge. With a roar, he buried himself deep and found his own release, spilling inside her.

They stayed locked together, trembling and gasping, as the aftershocks rolled through them. Damion's arms shook with the effort of holding himself up, not wanting to crush her with his weight, but Aurora pulled him down, wanting to feel all of him.

"I love you," she whispered against his shoulder.

"I love you," he replied, pressing kisses to her temple, her cheek, her lips. "More than everything."

They lay tangled together, their breathing slowly returning to normal, and Damion carefully withdrew from her body before rolling to his side and pulling her against him. She fit perfectly in the curve of his body, her back to his chest, his arm wrapped around her waist.

But four hours was a long time, and neither of them was ready to sleep.

Aurora turned in his arms, her blue eyes gleaming with renewed desire. "Again," she said simply, and he felt himself already hardening at the promise in her voice.

"Insatiable," he murmured, but he was smiling.