a soft murmur in the back of her mind, so it wasn’t a surprise when Irian’s presence welled up, pressing against the barrier she’d erected between them.
She blew out a tired sigh. “What do you want now, blasted enchanter?”
“You.” He flooded her mind with images of them, nude on brightly colored silk sheets, in the tents favored by her Wildling blood.
She blushed to the roots of her hair and turned her head away so that Aryn didn’t catch sight of her reddened face and wonder why.
Irian would have shielded his thoughts from his bearer, the way he always did when thinking of Tyriel in an earthier sense.
“The man is a bloody fool, he is,” Irian murmured into her mind. An unseen hand seemed to stroke down the back of her head, along her thick braid and down her back to rest above the curve of her ass.
“I thought when you took up arms together as partners he would take your bed as well, but ‘tis pure madness. And he torments me w’ his talk of not bedding a swordmate. Bah! Five long years has he resisted…how much longer must we wait?”
She suppressed a shiver as those final words seemed to be whispered right into her ear. “Would you leave me be?”
“But you are so much easier t’ torment,” Irian purred. “Warm, female, sweet. I’d rather be sinking into your sweet cunt, but your mind is almost as sweet.”
“And is this why you torment your bearer? You insist on fucking me?”
“No.” Irian’s voice grew strained. “You know me better, wild elf, pretty Jiupsu. I cannot stand the thought of goin’ to Ifteril. Something is there. Something evil, something dark, something that threatens us. But Aryn says we winter there. Contracts. Fucking contracts.”
“We’ve signed no contracts to fuck,” Tyriel answered absently. She didn’t like it. Never had the enchanter balked at the thought of going anywhere.
Something evil…something dark. A shiver took her body and she absently touched her fingers to the chains that hung between her breasts.
“I fear for you, elf.” Irian’s voice came to her on a gruff whisper and his presence folded around her like a cloak, safe, protective.
And Aryn rode on, oblivious.
The blasted enchanter was talking to Tyriel again. Irian had been railing at him, then abruptly broke off, but Aryn couldn’t pretend it was because Irian had given up.
He’d just shifted his focus to Tyriel.
Aryn could hear the throaty rumble in the back of his mind but the words were unclear.
Whatever Irian had said unsettled Tyriel. And it disturbed her clear into the night.
Her smooth dusky skin had gone pale, and her face was tight with strain. Her naturally fluid grace was gone, leaving her to move about the camp in erratic stops and starts as they prepared for the coming night.
She’d washed up and changed into a fresh shirt, loosened the tight braid that had bound her hair after they ate.
It wasn’t yet late enough to sleep and he wondered if she’d talk to him as she lowered herself to sit by the fire, her dark eyes haunted and sightless.
Her glossy black hair fell in chaotic ringlets, veiling her features as he settled beside her.
She’d said nothing to him and he knew if he didn’t push, she would continue to be silence.
“What bothers you?” he asked quietly.
She tucked her hair back behind her ears, the elongated point holding the wild curls away when a human’s ears would have done nothing. The left one had a golden ring pierced through, halfway through the top, and a cuff that hugged her lobe, the gold reflecting the firelight as she sat staring somberly into space.
She lifted her gaze to his, but for several long seconds, said nothing.
Finally, with a heavy sigh, she said, “Irian doesn’t want to go into to Ifteril.” She hesitated, licking her lips.
It distracted him, seeing her pretty mouth gleaming, and he had to bite back a groan as he resisted the urge to taste her. It was second nature by now, but that didn’t mean it was easy.
Fuck, we’ve got to get to Ifteril, into a city, before I lose it. For five years, he had managed to keep a hold on his craving for her, but long treks like this, between cities, when there were no women around to ride and pretend it was her underneath him—it drove him mad.
“We signed a contract, Tyriel.” His words were strained but she seemed not to notice.
“I know that. But...I don’t want to go, either. The enchanter’s words