House of Sky and Breath (Crescent City) (82 page)

“Are we?” She held out a hand before her, studying her splayed fingers. “I don’t see a ring, Athalar.”

He nipped at her toes, earning a squeal from her. “You want a ring, I’ll get you one.” Another kiss. “You want iron, steel, or titanium?” Wedding bands in Lunathion were simple, their value derived from the strength of the metal used to forge them.

“Titanium all the way, baby,” she crowed, and Hunt bit her toes again.

She squirmed, but he held her firm. “These little toes make me think some dirty things, Quinlan,” he said against her foot.

“Please tell me you don’t have a foot fetish.”

“No. But everything where you’re involved is a fetish for me.”

“Oh?” She leaned back farther into the cushions, her dress slipping up her legs. “So I make you want to get a little kinky?”

“Uh-huh.” He kissed her ankle. “Just a little.”

She arched into the touch. “Want to have drunk, sloppy sex, Prince Hunt?”

He rumbled a laugh against her calf. Only from her lips would he tolerate that title. “Fuck yeah.”

She pulled her leg from his touch and stood with that dancer’s grace. “Unzip me.”

“Romantic.”

She gave him her back, and Hunt, still seated, reached up to tug at the zipper hidden down the length of her spine. The tattoo of the Horn appeared, along with inches of golden skin, until the first tendrils of lace from her thong were revealed. The zipper ended before he could get a view of what he wanted.

But Bryce peeled the dress from her front, letting it drop. She hadn’t worn a bra, but the black thong …

Hunt ran his hands over the firm cheeks of her ass, bending to bite at a delicate strap of her underwear. She let out a soft, breathy sound that had him kissing the base of her spine. Her long hair brushed his brow, silken and as lovely as a caress.

Bryce turned in his grip, and—what luck—he found himself right where he wanted to be. From where it sat high on her hips, her thong plunged into a dramatic vee, a veritable arrow pointing to paradise.

He kissed her navel. Flicked her nipples with his thumbs as he licked up toward them. Her fingers slid into his hair, her head tipping back as he closed his mouth around a taut bud. He rolled her nipple over his tongue, savoring the weight and taste of it, his hands drifting around her waist, tangling in the straps of her thong. Tugging it down her hips. Her thighs. He moved to her other breast, sucking it into his mouth. Bryce groaned, and his cock pushed against the front of his dress pants.

He liked having her at his mercy. Liked this image, of her wholly naked and resplendent before him, his to touch and pleasure and worship. Hunt smiled against her breast. He liked it a lot.

He rose, scooping her into his arms and carrying her to the bedroom, his bow tie dangling around his neck.

He laid her on the mattress, cock pulsing at the sight of her heavy-lidded with desire, sprawled there naked and his for the taking. He pulled the tie free. “Want to get a little kinky with me, Quinlan?”

She glanced to the iron posts of the headboard, and her red lips parted in a feline grin. “Oh yes.”

Hunt made quick work of binding her hands to the bedposts. Light enough not to hurt, but tight enough that getting any ideas about touching him while he feasted on her was out of the question.

Bryce lay stretched out before him, and Hunt could hardly get a breath down as he unbuttoned his shirt. Then his pants. He shed his shoes, his socks—all the trappings of civility, until he stood before
her naked, and Bryce bit her lip. Then he propped up her knees and spread them wide.

“Fuck,” he said, taking in her gleaming sex, already drenched for him. Its heady scent hit him, and he shuddered, cock now a steady ache.

“Since I can’t touch myself,” she said huskily, “maybe you’ll do the honors.”

“Fuck,” he said again, unable to think of anything else. She was so beautiful—every single part of her.

“Are you articulating what you’d like to do to me, or has your brain short-circuited?”

He snapped his gaze to her own. “I wanted to draw this out. Really torment you.”

Her legs spread a little wider, a taunting invitation. “Oh?”

“I’ll save that for another day,” he growled, and crawled on top of her. The tip of his cock nudged at her wet, hot entrance, and a shiver of anticipatory pleasure went down his spine. But he ran a hand down the length of her torso, fingers tracing the silken swells of her breasts, the plane of her stomach. She writhed, tugging on the restraints.

“So defiant.” He dipped to kiss her neck. He pushed in a little, his mind blacking out at the perfect tightness. But he withdrew—and eased back in a little more. Even when every instinct screamed to plunge into her, unless she asked for it, he’d be careful. He wanted her to feel only ecstasy.

“Stop teasing,” she said, and Hunt raked his teeth down her left breast, sucking in her nipple as he sank a bit further into her sheer perfection. “
More
,” she snarled, hips rising as if she’d impale herself on him.

Hunt laughed. “Who am I to deny a princess?”

Her eyes flashed with desire hot enough to sear his soul. “I’m issuing a royal decree for you to fuck me, Hunt. Hard.”

His balls tightened at the words, and he gave her what she wanted. They both groaned as he sank all the way home in a thrust that had him seeing stars. She felt like bliss, like eternity—

Hunt withdrew and thrust again, and there were indeed stars around them—no, it was her, she was glowing like a star—

Her hips undulated, meeting his, driving him deeper.

Fuck yes. She was his, and he was hers, and now the whole fucking world knew it—

He sent out a fizzle of his lightning, snapping the restraints on her wrists. Her hands instantly came around his back, fingers grappling hard enough to draw sweet slices of pain. Hunt’s wings twitched, and she wrapped her legs around his middle. He sank even deeper, and holy
fuck
, the squeeze of her—

She flexed those inner muscles. His eyes nearly rolled back in his head.

“Solas, Quinlan—”

“
Hard
,” she breathed in his ear. “Fuck me like the prince you are.”

Hunt lost it. He pulled back enough to grip her ass in both hands, tilting her pelvis upward—and plunged in. She moaned, and everything he was transformed into something primal and animalistic.
His.
His mate to touch and fuck and fill—

Hunt let himself go, pounding into her again and again and again.

Bryce’s moans were sweet music, a temptation and a challenge. She glowed, and Hunt looked at his cock, sliding in and out of her, shining with her wetness—

He was glowing, too. Not with her starlight, but … fuck, his lightning was crackling down his arms, his hands, skittering over her hips, up to her breasts.

“Don’t stop,” she gasped as his lightning flared. “Don’t stop.”

Hunt didn’t. He yielded to the storm, riding it, riding her, and there was only Bryce, her soul and her body and the flawless fit of them—

“Hunt,” she pleaded, and he knew from her breathy tone that she was close.

He didn’t let up. Didn’t give her one ounce of mercy. The slap and slide of their bodies meeting filled the room, but the sounds
were distant, the world was distant as his power and essence flowed into her. Bryce cried out, and Hunt turned frenzied, pounding once, twice—

On the third, mightiest thrust, he ruptured, his power with him.

Lightning filled the room, filled her as surely as his seed, and he kissed her through it, tongues meeting, ether flooding his senses. He could never get enough of this—this connection, this sex, this power flowing between them. He needed it more than he needed food, water—needed this sharing of magic, this twining of souls; he’d never stop craving it—

Then he was falling, amid black wind and lightning and stars. He came through all of it, roaring his pleasure to the skies.

Because those
were
skies above them. And city lights. Booming bass from a nearby party.

Hunt stilled, gaping down at Bryce. At the surface beneath her—the apartment building’s roof.

Bryce grinned sheepishly. “Oops.”

62

Hypaxia’s chants rose in volume and complexity, the full moon with them. It silvered the orchard.

Ithan shivered against the cold. He knew that it wasn’t due to the night around them, or the autumn unfolding. No, the air had been pleasantly warm a moment ago. Whatever Hypaxia’s magic was doing, it was bringing the frigid temperatures with it.

“I can feel … a presence,” the witch-queen whispered, arms lifted toward the moon, beautiful face solemn. “Someone is coming.”

Ithan’s mouth dried out. What would he even say to Connor?
I love you
would likely be the first.
I miss you every minute of every damn day
would be the second. Then the warning. Or should it be the warning first? He shook out his trembling fingers at his sides.

“Get ready to say your piece. Your brother’s spirit is … strong. I’m not sure how long I can hold the star.”

Something weirdly like pride rose in him at that. But Ithan stepped closer, breathing evenly. Exactly as he had before important games, during game-winning shots. Focus. He could do this. He’d deal with the repercussions later.

The star she’d drawn glowed a faint blue, illuminating the trees around them.

“One more moment …” Hypaxia hissed, panting, a faint sheen on her temples. Like this was draining the power out of her.

Light ruptured from the star, blinding and white, a great wind shaking the trees around them, sending olives scattering in a pitter-patter. Ithan squeezed his eyes shut against it, letting his claws slide free.

When the wind stopped, he blinked, adjusting his vision. His brother’s name died in his throat.

A creature, tall and thin and robed, lurked in the center of the six-pointed star. Hypaxia let out a soft gasp. Ithan’s stomach clenched. He’d never seen the male, but he’d seen drawings.

The Under-King.

“You were not summoned,” Hypaxia said, mastering her surprise. She lifted her chin, every inch the queen. “Return to the misty isle over which you rule.”

The Under-King laughed at the witch. Her body shimmered with pale blue light. Like she was rallying her power. But the Under-King slowly turned his head to Ithan. Let out another dry, husky laugh.

“Young fools. You play with powers beyond your ken
.
” His voice was horrible. Full of dusty bones and the pleading screams of the dead.

Yet Hypaxia didn’t back down an inch. “Be gone, and let us see the one whom I have summoned.”

Ithan’s hand drifted toward his gun. It wouldn’t do anything. His wolf form would protect him better with its speed, but even losing that split second to shifting might make him vulnerable, and cost Hypaxia her life.

The Under-King extended a bony hand. Light rippled where it met the edge of the star. “Do not fear, wolf pup. I cannot harm you. Here, at least.” He grinned, exposing too-large brown teeth.

Ithan bristled and he found his voice at last as he growled, “I want to speak to my brother.”

Beside him, Hypaxia was murmuring under her breath, the light around her building.

“Your brother is well cared for.” Dark fire danced in the Under-King’s milky eyes. “But whether that remains so now depends entirely on you.”

“What the Hel does that mean?” Ithan demanded. But the
witch-queen had tensed. Wind stirred her curly hair, as if she were readying her defenses.

The Under-King lifted a bony hand, and an eerie, greenish light wreathed his fingers. Ithan could have sworn ancient, strange symbols swirled in that light. “Let’s play a little game first.” He inclined his head to Hypaxia, whose face had gone stony—anticipatory. “The House of Flame and Shadow has long been curious about your … abilities, Your Majesty.”

Bryce knew she was dreaming. Knew she was physically in her bed. Knew she was currently tucked up against Hunt’s side. But she also knew that the being in front of her was real—even if the setting was not.

She stood on a vast, dusty plain before an azure, cloudless sky. Distant dry mountains studded the horizon, but she was surrounded only by rock and sand and emptiness.

“Princess.” The voice was like Hel embodied: dark and icy and smooth.

“Prince.” Her voice shook.

Apollion, Prince of the Pit, had chosen to appear in a golden-haired, golden-skinned body. Handsome in the way that ancient statues were handsome, in the way that Pollux was handsome.

His black eyes, however, gave him away. No whites anywhere. Only unending darkness.

The Star-Eater himself.

She asked, trying to master her shaking, “Where are we?”

“Parthos. Or what remains of it.”

The barren land seemed to stretch on forever. “In the real world, or in, like, dreamworld?”

He angled his head, more animal than humanoid. “Dreamworld. Or what you consider to be dreams.”

She wasn’t going to touch that one. “All right, then. Um … nice to meet you.”

Apollion’s mouth curved upward. “You do not cower before me.”

“Aidas kind of ruined your scary-monster vibe.”

A soulless laugh. “My brother has the tendency to be a thorn in my side.”

“Maybe he should join this conversation.”

“Aidas would be angry with me for speaking with you. That’s why I picked this moment, when he is conveniently occupied.”

“With what?”

“Raising Hel’s armies. Readying them.”

Her breath hitched. “To invade Midgard?”

“It’s been long in the making.”

“I’m going to make a request on behalf of my planet and say please stay in your own world.”

Another twitch of his mouth. “You do not trust us. Good. Theia did. It was her downfall.”

“The Starborn Queen?”

“Yes. Aidas’s great love.”

Bryce started. “His
what
?”

Apollion waved a broad hand to the ruined world around them. “Why do you think I slew Pelias? Why do you think I went on to devour Sirius? All for him. My foolish, lovesick brother. In such a rage over Theia’s death at Pelias’s hands. His folly lost us that phase of the war.”