melody, adding percussion and strings, until it becomes a full orchestra. I put my hand in his and then we’re dancing. He carries me with him more like, swept on the gorgeous tide of his eagerness. Njål knows what he’s doing while I plainly do not. I’ve only ever done festival dances, the stomping and spinning that gets on when people are full of ale and high spirits.
Yet it doesn’t matter that I fumble my steps. I only need to trust and follow him, glory in his grace and strength. His hand in mine, the other at my waist, guiding me through the turns. He gazes down at me like I’m the sun in the sky or the goddess of spring, certainly the most beautiful person he’s ever beheld. His eyes glow like stars, and I have never been as happy as I am at this moment.
When the music stops, so do we. Njål bends so slowly that I could avoid the kiss, but instead I rise on tiptoe to meet him. His mouth burns mine with icy heat, and I stretch upward even more, twining my arms about his neck to fall into the embrace that sweeps me like an avalanche, until I dig my fingers into his shoulders because the world is spinning beneath my feet. My soul fills with him, even as our lips glide and nuzzle, a steamy softness that fills me with urgency.
His tongue touches mine, and I feel that delicate stroke everywhere. Njål catches my gasp in his mouth and swings me into his arms. “Come to bed with me.” The deep, low growl vibrates in my stomach, creating a shockwave of pleasurable chills.
I nod and snuggle into his arms, no longer worried about anything. He spent so much time giving me a magical memory that I don’t doubt my own desires. The past doesn’t matter, neither does the future. For once in my life, I wish to be reckless.
He carries me from the great hall in long strides, and I hold on to him. But we don’t go to my little room in the kitchen or the east wing. Instead, he’s created a bower for us from one of the empty state rooms. More candles in here, I’d no idea there were so many in storage, and part of me cavils at the waste. We ought to have put out the ones we left burning in the hall. What if—
“Shh. Stop thinking,” he whispers, claiming me for another bone-melting kiss.
When I ease back, my whole body is quivering, and I’m hot all over. Immediately I untie the sash and pull the dress over my head, leaving me clad only in a thin cambric. His shining gaze lingers on the dark points of my nipples, plainly visible in the flickering light. Njål inhales sharply and then he’s scrambling at his own clothes, a task made more difficult by his claws. As he snarls in frustration, I step closer and help with the buttons.
“I hate how I am,” he snaps, though he doesn’t refuse my aid.
“I love how you are.” His tense posture eases as I slip the shirt from his shoulders, tug the sleeves carefully from his arms. “Though I do wonder why you have attire like this if it irks you so.”
“In the early days after the change, they thought it was amusing. To trot me out on formal occasions and put the beast on display.”
Ah. And he went to war with those humiliating memories, fought them to a standstill for me. To try and become the sort of romantic hero he thinks I desire and deserve.
I’m melting. Boneless. There’s only this endless ache, and only Njål can satisfy it.
Like a hungry cat, I pounce on him, unfastening his pants with an alacrity that must startle him. I can’t touch him enough, and the way he shudders beneath my hands, it only makes me want more. More of his pleasure, more of his moans and desperation. Njål arches as I plant kisses on his broad chest, tonguing the graven patterns.
The bed in this room is clean and large. We stumble backward and fall, together, hands and mouths wild. He tries to ask if I’m sure or I think he does, but I tug his body over mine, wrapping my legs around his hips. His sharp intake of breath tells me he wants this as much as I do. Njål props himself on his arms, slowly rolling his hips against mine.
I want to eat