Dark Skye (44 page)

In a huskier voice, he said, “We live there.” With his free hand, he pointed out another structure high on a cliffside, at the edge of the village. Though unconnected to the other structures, it wasn’t more than a hundred yards or so from them.

“Hmm.” They started toward it.

“
Hmm
what?”

“I guess I was expecting a palace or something.
Our
roofless house is really close to other roofless houses, huh?”
How ’bout those wedding night sex acoustics?

“We’re not without problems in our kingdom, Lanthe. We live immortal lives, yet our lands are finite. We face overpopulation.”

Interesting. “When we talk to Aristo, you can tell him we’re going to go found a Vrekener offshoot colony in a different realm. We’ll call it
LantheLand.
”

“As appealing as LantheLand sounds, I don’t see it happening. The Vrekeners will always live together. Our unity is our strength.” Thronos stopped to gaze down at her. “So eager to leave? When you just got here?”

“I fear things won’t turn out with your brother as you expect them to.”

“Maybe I don’t expect a resolution. Maybe I just need to say I tried.”

That
she could accept. She nodded, and he continued leading her toward . . .
their
home.

On the way, he pointed out a trio of obelisks of differing heights. “I learned to fly by dropping from those columns—the smallest one when I was but two or so.”

She imagined him as a toddler, fearlessly leaping into a parent’s arms, wearing the determined expression she knew so well; maybe that look had
been born there. His wings would probably have been oversized for his little body. “I’ll bet you were absolutely adorable.” A thought struck her. “Does your mother still live?”

“Most Vrekeners don’t go on without their mates.”

So Sabine had essentially killed
both
of his parents. Were Lanthe and Thronos kidding themselves?

He swiftly changed the subject. “On the other side of Skye Hall is the bastion, an area where we eat and socialize. It used to be a prison, but we had to reclaim the space.”

“Vrekeners socialize?”

“Of course. There’s a gathering hall on each island.”

“How does that work, if you can’t drink or gamble? I’m guessing dancing is out?”

“We have sporting events and contests. Those of a more studious bent gather to read and debate.”

Bully.
When all the dust settled, Lanthe would be portaling to Rothkalina weekly, just to tie one on. She’d force Thronos to come with her. “I’m sure your people will be overjoyed to have someone like me living among them.”

“At first they might not know what to think. But they’ll come to see you as I have. It will happen.” His utter certainty reassured her, his confidence proving contagious.

They started up a steep walkway with a series of switchbacks. “I’m surprised you guys bother with steps.”

“We do have Sorceri who live here. And injuries occasionally happen to the wings of the young.”

A very generous way of putting the latter. He was doing everything possible to make her comfortable.

“How many islands are there? How many Vrekeners?”

“Tens and tens of thousands are spread over one hundred and seventy islands.”

She’d had no idea there were so many of them. But it made sense that an immortal faction would thrive in a hidden realm.

“I’ll take you over the entire kingdom in the coming days,” he said as they reached the landing in front of his—
their
—place. The wooden door was of simple construction, with a rustic latch and no lock. He opened it, ushering her inside.

Filled with curiosity about the man he’d become, she took in details. The best word to describe the area: spartan. The few pieces of furniture were no-frills—a table with a couple of backless benches, additional benches in a sitting area. Just as with the rest of the realm, there was no color.

And no freaking roof. This lack had looked weird from the outside but was even weirder from within. The structure felt like a dollhouse, as if they were being watched from above. No wonder Vrekeners were so concerned with private behavior.

Thronos led her along a hallway, past a study lined with books; she decided to come back later and investigate at her leisure. With limited space in his home, every tome he kept must be important.

“Where’s the kitchen?”

“We eat in the bastion.”

“So no servants?”

“Not in the Skye.”

Ugh.

Past a surprisingly modern-looking bathroom was a spacious bedroom, with just a nightstand, a chest of drawers, and an enormous bed. The mattress was larger than a king-size, probably because of wingspan considerations.

When her steps teetered, he grabbed her elbow.

“Lanthe?”

“Sorry. I’m light-headed after coming from the bottom of the ocean.”

“You should lie down.” He led her to the bed.

She sat at the edge. “In the legendary Bed of Troth?” It’d been crafted of a dark wood and looked sturdy. In a head-on collision with a truck, this bed would dominate. The headboard and footboard were carved with mysterious Vrekener markings. “So this is where we’ll do the deed?”

As if the words were pulled from him, he said, “I will wait until you feel better. I’ve waited this long.”

Since he’d been a teenager. Lifetimes of curiosity and building lust.

“Thronos, I’ll be fine if you give me a few minutes to get used to the altitude.”

She could hear his pulse accelerate as he said, “So tonight, we’ll . . .”

All in, Lanthe?
Accompanying him to heaven meant marriage. Marriage meant possible pregnancy.

Which was a lot for any sorceress to have to decide in one night. Was she really going to take this step?

She’d told him that if he ever gave her a loving expression like the one that Volar had sported, she’d consider giving it up.

She regarded his face and found herself saying, “I figure I’ll go ahead and claim you.”

He grinned. “Then I need to retrieve something from the Hall. I’ll be right back. Make yourself at home—because it is your home.” At the doorway, he turned back. “I’m reluctant to let you out my sight. I feel like I should be chasing you, or we should be saving each other from some calamity.”

“I’ll be here waiting for you.” When he exited with a look of longing, she reclined to gaze at the stars.
I’m in Thronos’s bed.

Weird.

How many times had he lain here and thought of her? He’d told her he’d dreamed of her for hundreds of thousands of nights. How many of those times had been in this bed?

Now she began to get nervous. Because he was a virgin (her first and only virgin), she felt even more pressure to make this unforgettable.

But how could the reality possibly measure up to five hundred years of fantasy?

T
hronos was tempted to fly to the Hall, but didn’t want to deal with that grinding pain right now. So he ran, withstanding a lesser agony in his leg.

He was actually going to claim Melanthe tonight! He’d been so close in Feveris—or in his hallucination—yet then he’d had that bliss wrenched away from him.

He couldn’t shake the feeling that something would befall them before he could return to her. He resolved to avoid Aristo. Though his brother might be away, Thronos entered the Hall quietly.

He passed the sorcery power vault and the sacred scribe’s room, where the extensive list of offendments was kept. This close to the hallowed writings, he experienced a twinge of guilt for all the things he’d done with Melanthe before they’d been wed.

Some things couldn’t be helped. They would marry this night, a proper wedding.

He headed toward his family’s storage room. Inside, he combed through boxes of ancient mementos and books. By the time he’d located the specific case he sought, in the most out-of-the-way spot, he was covered in dust.

Whoever had organized this closet clearly hadn’t thought Thronos would
ever
get married.

Case in hand, he hastened back to his mate. Though pain coursed up his leg, he found himself growing hard in anticipation of this night. He could feel his horns straightening, becoming more sensitive—

He froze. Had the distinct impression of being watched. Rubbing the back of his neck, he turned and scanned the shadows. Spied nothing.

Surely any Vrekener or Sorceri ward drifting about would hail him, and no one else could find this place.

He shrugged off his disquiet by the time he’d reached the house. He swallowed nervously as he unlatched their front door. When he passed the bathroom, he saw her mesh top hanging beside the shower, with her skirt and hose folded atop a hamper. Her blue mask dangled from a towel hook.

Seeing her things here gratified him to a staggering degree.

She’d showered. Should he? Another delay. He glanced down at himself, at the dust.

With an impatient curse, he set down the case, ripping off his garments. Under the water, he rested his head and hands against the wall. Though the temperature was ice cold, it did nothing to diminish his erection.

He recalled his mate’s tightness . . . would he last long enough even to get inside her? Would he hurt her?

She’d taught him how to get her ready. He bit off his foreclaws. Thinking better of it, he took the next ones over as well.

When he returned to the bedroom, he had a towel wrapped around his hips and the case at the ready.

His heart stuttered a beat. She was kneeling at the end of the bed, running the pads of her fingers over the footboard. She wore her long shining hair loose, and she’d donned one of his shirts, rolling the sleeves up to her wrists. The sight of her clad in something that belonged to him affected him in inexplicable ways, made him want to squeeze her in his wings, to rub his horns all over her trembling body.

Mine, all mine.

Melanthe in his bed, awaiting him. She was
too
beautiful.

He watched her gaze leisurely take in his face, his chest, lower. . . . She parted her lips on a sigh, and her little tongue wetted them.
Gods almighty.

Her eyes glittered with appreciation—for him.

She mightn’t even be real. Feveris hadn’t been, nor those time loops.

Soon he’d wake from slumber, aching for her, greeted by his customary pain—always more excruciating in the morning. He would clench his fists, renewing his determination, resuming his search. . . .

With a grin, she waved at his blatant erection behind the towel. “Are you doing your Nereus impression?”

A laugh escaped him before he even realized it. “You really are here.” Her mischievous smile got him tied up in knots, always had. “I never thought I’d see you in this bed.”

“That makes two of us.” She had removed her prized necklace, setting it on his nightstand. On
their
nightstand. “By the way, the hot water’s broken.”

“Oh?” Probably not a good time to tell her that there was never any hot water for showers.

“So what’s in the case?”

He sat beside her, opening it to reveal the claiming sheet sewn for him ages ago. The material carried the pleasant scent of preserving herbs.

She unfolded it with a frown. “This is what you had to retrieve? It won’t be big enough for your bed.”

“We’re expected to keep that sheet between us. It’s tradition.”

“How is that going to work . . . ?” She trailed off when she found the stitched opening in the middle of the material. “Well, how kinky. But isn’t this supposed to be rubber?” She poked her forefinger through the gap, waggling her eyebrows at him.

He blinked at her. “Why would it be rubber?”

She sighed. “So many things I’ll have to teach you. I’m all for tradition, but do you really want something between us?”

He pulled her onto his lap, wrapping his arms around her. “Somehow we managed to get to this bed before sleeping together. I want to do this right. A proper marriage.”

“This claiming business is important to you, huh?”

“It is.” His forehead rested against hers. “But, Melanthe, you must be certain of this. We haven’t been together for long. And while I can’t have others—obviously wouldn’t even if I could—you could find someone else.” He began stroking one of her supple thighs. “If we take this step, you’ll have to pick me over all the men you’ll meet in your eternal life. Because I won’t ever let you go.”
As if I would now . . .

She laid her silken hands on his face. “I picked you over all others when I walked through that portal with you. I want to be
your
wife.”

His heart felt too big for his chest. “My wife.” He dipped down, rubbing the base of one horn up and down her neck.
Mine.
She had to know he was marking her with his scent.

When she tilted her head away to give him more access, to let him do as his instinct commanded, he wanted to kiss her until her little toes curled.

“Just one last consideration,” she murmured absently. “I’m probably not even in season anymore, right? We could’ve been in the belly of the beast for weeks.”