Smolder (Crown of Fae #3) - Sharon Ashwood Page 0,61

the silks, enclosing them in shimmering radiance. Leena sank to the soft cushions strewn across the floor, her senses overwhelmed.

Beneath the statue of Earth, with her headdress of twined ivy and robes of woven flowers, there was a panel of creamy stone set into the wall. Morran pressed it, releasing a spring. The panel opened to a cupboard stocked with provisions. He withdrew a wine bottle and stone jars sealed with wax. He opened them to reveal cheeses, dates, and dried meats preserved with spices. All at once, Leena’s stomach awakened, reminding her how long it had been since their last meal. Morran poured the wine into drinking cups made of stone so fine they were translucent. He knelt and presented a cup to Leena, waiting as she sipped it. It was as sweet as ripe plums.

“Do you like it?” he asked. “We keep it with our emergency provisions as it is considered restorative.”

She passed the cup back to him. “I want a meal, but not quite yet.”

His smile answered hers.

There was more than beauty in this place. Magic imbued the stone around them, the very air she breathed. It was a subtle vibration that seeped through flesh and bone, reminding her that she was in a sacred space. Fire magic was complex, both primal and sophisticated, raw and yet pure. It was passion itself, and it was the crucible that had birthed the firebird.

That explained so much about Morran. This was his home, his land, and his magic. Leena could see the Flame in the intensity of his eyes. He was the Prince of Fire in more than just name.

And he was here with her, watching and wanting her.

Leena opened her arms to him. He came to her slowly, gracefully, as greedily as if she were a delicacy to be enjoyed. The moment stretched as he settled beside her, sliding his hands around her waist. She rolled to face him until her body molded to his, every curve and valley finding a match. Their breath mingled, hot and intimate.

“Leena of the Kelthian,” Morran began, his voice a low and intimate rumble she felt as much as heard, “every moment I spend with you restores a piece of me. You are a healer in more ways than you know.”

Her lips parted to speak, but she had no words. The ache inside her had gone beyond speech or reason. She kissed him instead. When he responded, it effectively ended any conversation. With his help, she wriggled out of her shift, skin burning with the need to feel his flesh against her own. She slid her palms down his flanks, over the strong muscles that curved down to the small of his back. Tremors of desire coursed through her, every part of her anticipating a feast.

His hands closed over her breasts, possessive now. His mouth and tongue claimed her in an ecstasy of heat. The wildness in her rose to meet his, demand against demand. For that brief moment in time, Leena understood the burning, dizzying flight of the phoenix, soaring upon the wind that challenged its wings. Flight wasn’t a conquest of air—it was a dance.

They showed each other how to soar.

Dawn found Morran in the room at the peak of the pyramid. Windows overlooked every direction, the openings carved in such a way that they weren’t visible from the ground. He could survey the surrounding land for miles without being seen—a strategic advantage the desert warlords had often employed. Morran would, too, if he could bring himself to focus. As it was, all he saw were ragged shreds of the pink and gold dawn against a pearl-gray sky.

A sky that once had been his to conquer. Arlanoth. Morran’s vision went dark, the sense of loss so complete that the world around him lost meaning. He bowed his head, tempted to let go and simply fall into the abyss once more.

The yearning for his other half was a constant ache, a nagging, teasing sensation like a word he could not quite recall. But now it flared into a burning pain, as if Olek’s sword had cleaved him in two. He yearned for the free air, the wind lofting him into the unbound sky. He thirsted for it like a traveler stranded in the sand.

It wasn’t what he wanted to feel. Not now, when he had just been in the soft realm of delight. He would have given anything to stay there in bliss, but the ache of his wound was a