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?
FORTY-SIX
Thronos 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.