Pure Destiny (PureDark Ones #12) - Aja James Page 0,65
so he tried not to think. His body wounded but fighting to get stronger, his heart raw but pounding with hope, his soul battered but finally alive—Dalair clenched his fists and waited for her to come to him.
If she chose him now, the way he was defying the Goddess to choose her, after everything he’d fought for and endured, there would be no going back.
He would never, ever, let her go.
*** *** *** ***
Sophia had been awakened from her slumber not by any sound or disturbance, but a soft yet persistent tug in her heart.
Even though she couldn’t have slept more than a couple of hours, she felt wondrously refreshed. Her muscles and bones protested against the discomfort of lying on hard, lumpy stone ground, but her senses were fully invigorated. She felt amazingly alive.
And terribly horny.
Quietly, she checked on Benji, tucked him more securely in his blanket burrito, and laid his head upon a makeshift pillow of folded clothes, now dry from the low-burning fire.
The little boy let out a deep, contented breath, his slightly open mouth drooling at one corner.
Satisfied that he was safe and well, Sophia navigated past the curtain of waterfall to look into the night-veiled pond and forest beyond.
All was peaceful and quiet. She trusted implicitly that Dalair would keep them safe.
Which brought her to the reason her body had awakened her—the sight of her Mate’s naked form half revealed above the surface of the fresh-water pool.
He was leaning against the edge, his profile facing her, his long, lean, muscular arms spread wide upon the mossy bank at his back.
As her eyes adjusted to the darkness, she could make out the hard lines of his face, neck and upper chest, illuminated barely in pale moonbeams. His eyes were closed, his throat slightly arched and exposed.
Her Pure female fangs descended from her upper gums at the tantalizing sight.
Ah, gods! How she wanted him.
He hardly seemed to be breathing, wreathed in silence and stillness. So hauntingly beautiful Sophia wondered whether she was still dreaming. How could this possibly be real?
That Dalair was here. With her.
Finally.
Without conscious thought, she doffed her blanket and stepped out of her underwear, leaving the coverings within the cave, behind the waterfall curtain. She climbed the short distance down from the cavern entrance and stepped into the pool from the far side, wading slowly, purposefully toward her prize.
The water should feel cold, Sophia knew, as it submerged her feet, legs, and upper body. But she didn’t notice. She was a blazing inferno inside. Her core pulsing with need, her fangs quivering with hunger. Her skin felt too tight for her flesh. An indescribable ache throbbed and expanded within her, demanding appeasement.
“Dalair.”
His name on her lips was merely a breath, a gasp. A fervent prayer.
His eyes remained closed, his body stayed unmoving, as she drifted closer in the pool, closing the distance between them until he was only an arm’s length away.
The water was deep enough that it gently sloshed around her shoulders as she walked inexorably toward him. Until she stood immediately before him, the beaded tips of her nipples softly grazing his ribs.
That was when he finally opened his eyes, mesmerizing her with his intensely dark gaze.
She couldn’t see their color. It didn’t matter. This time, when she looked, she could see directly into him. And she felt his heart, mind and soul, fully engaged, wholly present, open their protective, armored gates to let her in.
Wordlessly, they stared into one another, simply sharing the same breath, letting their scents entwine in the crisp, autumn air around them.
For endless moments, all Sophia could hear was the thundering of her own heart. Her eyes filled with Dalair’s beloved visage. Her body frozen on the knife’s edge of restless anticipation.
“Dalair,” she uttered again.
This time to be heard. Her voice quiet but strong.
Not a wish, but a Claiming. A promise.
Though he still didn’t move, as close and as far away as he’d been moments before, his eyes flared in answer to her vow. His hands clenched briefly into fists on the mossy bank before he flexed his fingers open again.
“Be sure.”
Those were the only two words he spoke, guttural and raw.
As if they were torn unwillingly from his chest. As if he’d just carved his heart out and handed it to her, still bloody and beating, writhing in its naked vulnerability.
His weakness made her brave. They were each other’s strength. So she closed the last inch between them and pressed her body fully against his.