Untitled chapter 1
Hours later, Talia was still shaking.
At the disaster they’d narrowly avoided, at the deaths she’d witnessed before that wave had struck, at the power of the queen on the plain. The power of the prince who had prevented the ensuing steam from boiling alive any caught in its path.
Talia had thrown herself back into healing during the chaos since. Had left the royals and their commanders to oversee the aftermath, and had returned to the Great Hall. Healers drifted onto the battlefield, searching for those in need of help.
All of them, every single person in the keep or the skies or on the battlefield, kept glancing toward the now-empty gap between two mountain peaks. Toward the flooded, decimated city, and the demarcation line between life and death. Water and debris had destroyed most of Coldmere, the former now trickling toward the Silver Lake.
A vision of what would have been left of them, were it not for Zivara Sunborne.
Talia knelt over a ruk rider, the woman’s chest slashed open from a sword blow, and held out her bloodied, glowing hands.
Magic, clean and bright, flowed from her into the woman, mending torn skin and muscle. The blood loss would take time to recover from—but the woman had not lost so much of it that Talia needed to expend her energy on refilling its levels.
She needed to rest soon. For a few hours.
She’d been asked to inspect the queen when she’d been carried in to a private chamber by Prince Theron, the two of them borne off the plain by Cyra. Talia hadn’t been able to stop her hands from shaking as she’d hovered them over Zivara’s unconscious body.
There had been no sign of harm beyond a few already-healing cuts and slices from the battle itself. Nothing at all beyond a sleeping, tired woman.
Who held the might of a god within her veins.
Talia had then inspected Prince Theron, who looked in far worse shape, a sizable gash snaking down his thigh. But he’d waved her off, claiming he’d come too near a burnout, and just needed to rest as well.
So Talia had left them, only to tend to another.
To Zoran, whose injuries … Talia had needed to summon Sibyl to help her with some of it. To lend her power, since Talia’s had been so depleted.
The unconscious warrior, who had apparently tumbled right off Farasha as he and Wren had passed through the gates, didn’t so much as stir while they worked on him.
That had been hours ago. Days ago, it felt. Yes, she needed to rest.
Talia aimed for the water station in the back of the hall, her mouth dry as paper. Some water, some food, and perhaps a nap. Then she’dbe ready to work again.
But a horn, clear and bright, blared from outside.
Everyone halted—then rushed to the windows. Talia’s smile grew as she, too, found a place to peek out over the battlefield. To where the rest of the khagan’s army,
Prince Ruel at its front, marched toward them.
Thank the gods. Everyone in the hall muttered similar words.
From the keep, an answering horn sang its welcome.
Not just one army had been spared here today, Talia realized as she turned back to the water station. If that wave had reached Ruel
…
Lucky. They had all been so, so very lucky.
Yet Talia wondered how long that luck would last.
If it would see them through the brutal march northward, and to the walls of Stonefall itself.
Zoran let out a low groan as he surfaced from the warm, heavy embrace of darkness.
“You are one lucky bastard.”
Too soon. Too damn soon after hovering near death to hear Sable ’s drawl.
Zoran cracked open an eye, finding himself lying on a cot in a narrow chamber. A lone candle illuminated the space, dancing in the golden hair of the Fae warrior who sat in a wooden chair at the foot of his bed.
Sable’s smirk was a slash of white. “You’ve been out for a day. I drew the short stick and had to look after you.”
A lie. For whatever reason, Sable had chosen to be here.
Zoran shifted his body—slightly.
No hint of pain beyond a dull throb down his back and tight pull across his stomach. He managed to lift his head enough to rip away the heavy wool blanket covering his naked body. Where he’d been able to see his insides, only a thick red scar remained.
Zoran thumped his head back on the
pillow. “Wren.” Her name was a rasp on his tongue.
The last he remembered, they’d ridden through the gates, Zivara Sunborne’s unholy power spent. Then oblivion had swept in.
“Helping with the healing in the Great Hall,” Sable said, stretching out his legs before him.
Zoran closed his eyes, something tight in his chest easing.
“Well, since you’re not dead,” Sable began, but Zoran was already asleep.
Zoran awoke later. Hours, days, he didn’t know.
The candle was still burning on the narrow windowsill, down to its base. Hours, then. Unless he’d slept so long they’d replaced the candle altogether.
He didn’t care. Not when the dim light
revealed the delicate woman lying facedown on the end of his cot, the lower half of her body still on the wooden chair where Sable had been. Her arms cradled her head, one outstretched toward him. Reaching for his hand, mere inches from hers.
Wren.
Her dark hair spilled across the blanket, across his shins, veiling much of her face.
Wincing at the lingering ache in his body, Zoran stretched his arm just enough to touch her fingers.
They were cold, their tips so much smaller than his. They contracted, pulling away as she sucked in a sharp, awakening breath.
Zoran savored every feature as she grimaced at a crick in her neck. But her eyes settled on him.
She went still as she found him staring at her, awake and utterly in awe of the woman
who had ridden through hell to find him …
Tired. She looked spent, yet her chin remained unbowed.
Zoran had no words. He’d given her everything on the back of that horse anyway.
But Wren asked, “How do you feel?”
Aching. Exhausted. Yet finding her sitting at his bedside … “Alive,” he said, and meant it.
Her face remained unreadable, even as her eyes dipped to his body. The blanket had slid down enough to reveal most of his torso, though it still hid the scarred-over wound in his abdomen. Yet he’d never felt so keenly naked.
It was an effort to keep his breathing steady beneath her sharp-eyed gaze. “Talia said you would have died, if they hadn’t gotten to you when they did.”
“I would have died,” he said, voice like
gravel, “if you hadn’t braved hell to find me.” Her gaze lifted to his. “I made you a
promise.”
“ So you said.”
Was that a hint of color stealing across her pale cheeks? But she didn’t balk. “You said some interesting things, too.”
Zoran tried to sit up, but his body gave a burst of pain in protest.
Wren explained, “Talia warned that though the wounds are healed, some soreness will linger.”
Zoran gritted his teeth around the sharp stab in his back, his stomach. He managed to get onto his elbows, and deemed that progress enough. “It’s been a while since I was so gravely injured. I’d forgotten what an inconvenience it is.”
A faint smile tugged on her mouth.
His heart halted. The first smile she had
given him in months and months. Since that day on the ship, when he’d touched her hand as they’d swayed in their hammocks.
Her smile faded, but the color on her cheeks lingered. “Did you mean it? What you said.”
He held her stare. Let some inner wall within him come crumbling down. Only for her. For this sharp-eyed, cunning little liar who had slipped through every defense and ironclad rule he’d ever made for himself. He let her see that in his face. Let her see all of it, as no one had ever done before. “Yes.”
Her mouth tightened, but not in displeasure.
So Zoran said softly, “I meant every word.” His heart thundered, so wildly it was a wonder she couldn’t hear it. “And I will until the day I fade into the Afterworld.”
Zoran didn’t breathe as Wren gently
reached out her hand. And interlaced their fingers. “I love you,” she whispered.
He was glad he was lying down. The words would have knocked him to his knees. Even now, he was half inclined to bow before her, the true owner of his ancient, wicked heart.
“I have loved you,” she went on, “from the moment you came to fight for me against Draven and the ilken.” The light in her eyes stole his breath. “And when I heard you were somewhere on that battlefield, the only thing I wanted was to be able to tell you that. It was the only thing that mattered.”
Once, he might have scoffed. Declared that far bigger things mattered, in this war especially. And yet the hand grasping his … He’d never known anything more precious.
Zoran ran his thumb over the back of her hand. “I am sorry, Wren. For all of it.”
“I know,” she said softly, and no regret or
hurt dimmed her face. Only clear, unwavering calm shone there. The face of the mighty lady she was growing into, and had already become, and who would rule Dunhollow with wisdom in one hand and compassion in the other.
They stared at each other for minutes. For a blessed eternity.
Then Wren untangled their hands and rose. “I should return to help Talia.”
Zoran caught her hand again. “ Stay.”
She arched a dark brow. “I’m only going to the Great Hall.”
Zoran caressed his thumb over the back of her hand once more. “ Stay,” he breathed.
For a heartbeat, he thought she’d say no, and was prepared to be fine with it, to accept these last few minutes as more of a gift than he’ddeserved.
But then Wren sat on the edge of his cot,
right beside his shoulder, and ran a hand through his hair. Zoran closed his eyes, leaning into the touch, unable to stop the deep purr that rolled through his chest.
She made a low noise of wonder, perhaps something more, and her fingers stroked again.
“ Say it,” she whispered, fingers stilling in his hair.
Zoran opened his eyes, finding her gaze. “I love you.”
She swallowed hard, and Zoran gritted his teeth as he sat up fully. This close, he had forgotten how much he towered over her. Atop that horse, she had been a force of nature, a defiant storm. His blanket slipped dangerously low, but he let it lie where it pooled in his lap.
He didn’t miss the dip of her stare. Or the long, upward drag of her eyes along his torso.
He could almost feel it, lingering on every muscle and scar.
A soft groan came out of him as she continued to look her fill. Asking for things that he sure as hell was in no shape to give her. And that she might not yet be ready to give him, declarations aside.
He was immediately challenged to prove his resolve as Wren ran slightly shaking fingers across the new scar on his abdomen. “Talia said you might always have this,” she said, her hand mercifully falling away.
“Then it will be the scar I treasure most.” Sable would laugh until he cried to hear him speak this way, but Zoran didn’t care. To hell with the rest of them.
Another one of those small smiles curved her lips, and Zoran’s hands tightened in the sheets with the effort it took not to taste that smile, to worship it with his own mouth.
But this new, fragile thing humming between them … He would not risk it for all the world.
Wren, thank the gods, had no such worries. None at all, it seemed, as she lifted a hand to his cheek and ran her thumb along it. Every breath was an effort of control.
Zoran held absolutely still as she brought her mouth to his. Brushed her lips across his
own.
She pulled back. “Rest, Zoran. I’ll be here again when you wake.”
Anything she asked, he’d give her. Anything at all.
Too shaken by that soft, beautiful kiss to bother with words, he lay back down.
She smiled at his utter obedience, and, as if she couldn’t help herself, leaned in once
more.
This kiss lingered. Her mouth traced his,
and at the slight pressure of her lips, the gentle request, he answered with his own.
The taste of her threatened to undo him entirely, and the tentative brush of her tongue against his own drew another rolling purr from deep in his chest. But Zoran let Wren explore him, slowly and sweetly, giving her whatever she asked.
And when her mouth became more insistent, when her breathing turned ragged, he slipped a hand around her neck to cup her nape. She opened for him, and at her low moan, Zoran thought he’d fly out of his skin. His hand slipped from her nape to run down her back, savoring the warm, unbreakable body beneath the layers of clothes. Wren arched into the touch, another of those small noises coming from her. As if
she’d been just as starved for him.
But Zoran made himself pull away. Made
himself withdraw his hand from her lower back. Panting slightly, sharing breath, he said onto her mouth, “Later. Go help the others.”
Dark eyes glazed with desire met his, and Zoran adjusted the fall of the blanket over his lap. “Go help the others,” he repeated. “I’ll be here when you’re ready to sleep.”
The unspoken request lingered, and Wren pulled back, studying him once more.
“ Sleep only,” Zoran said, not bothering to hide the heat rising in his stare. “For now.”
Until she was ready. Until she told him, showed him, she wished to share everything with him. That final claiming.
But until then, he wanted her here. Sleeping at his side, where he might watch over her. As she had watched over him.
Wren’s face was flushed as she rose, her hands shaking. Not from fear, but from the same effort that it now took Zoran not to
reach for her.
He’d very much enjoy driving her out of her mind. Slowly teaching her all he knew about pleasure, about wanting. He had little doubt he’d be learning a good number of things from her, too.
Wren seemed to read that on his face, and her cheeks reddened further. “Later, then,” she breathed, limping to the door.
Zoran sent a flicker of his power to wrap around her ankle. The limp vanished.
A hand on the knob, she gave him a small, grateful nod. “I missed that.”
He heard the unspoken words as she disappeared into the busy hall.
*I** **missedyou*.
Zoran allowed himself a rare smile.
