Oath of the Alpha - Eva Dresden Page 0,5
her skirt. It met the same bitter end, no matter how she kicked and writhed. A useless heap of scraps pooled at her feet while Rhyn loomed, the vibrant pink of his tongue sweeping out over his bottom lip as he drank in the sight of her.
“Incredible,” Rhyn husked, sliding the back of his knuckles down the side swell of her breast, continuing to sample the curve of her waist. He tested the softness there, hand folding over the shelf of her hip to dig his fingers deep into the flesh of her backside.
Aida bit her lower lip hard, wishing the Abyss to open beneath her feet in that moment. Part of her was terrified she’d like what Rhyn promised to do with his coarse touch as he turned Aida this way and that to see her better. Another part hoped she did, that whatever connection held her fast to the thought of Er’it was nothing but a fantasy, easy to replace with the visage of another male. She knew it for a lie, though, shivering as Rhyn’s rough fingertips tripped down her spine.
“Ah, Vrazys take me,” Rhyn groaned, catching Aida by the waist and carrying her to a pile of thick furs and silken duvets. Tumbling her amidst the cozy mess before following her down, stretched out and more than twice her size, he tucked her under his bulk and wrapped his legs around hers, his arms hugging Aida around her middle. Hands clamped over her biceps, she’d be going nowhere soon. Facing the wrapped canes of the wall, she could do nothing but stare at the faint shadows dancing.
“What—”
“Sleep, imp.”
“My clothes…”
“Don’t need them while you’re sleeping. Now shut your mouth before I put it to good use.” Rhyn nuzzled the space between her neck and shoulder, the stiff bristles on his chin grinding over the tender skin.
“I’m cold,” Aida whispered, and it wasn’t a complete lie. She expected Rhyn’s low grunt but not how he disentangled himself to haul a bevy of coverings up to Aida’s ears before cocooning her in his body once more.
Even with everything that had happened, the endless nights and emotional turmoil on top of the sudden physical burdens she’d endured, Aida didn’t count on sleep finding her. Yet with Rhyn’s intense heat seeping through the layers of cloth and hide deep into her bones and his quiet breaths warming her neck, her lashes fluttered and refused to open again.
Chapter 2
Er’it
She was gone. Disappearing with the damned thieves into the night, she didn’t just leave but went willingly. Offering herself up like some prized lamb for the slaughter, her naïve trust that she wouldn’t be harmed baffled Er’it.
“Spread out more,” he shouted, his sword swinging through the underbrush to reveal the fallow earth beneath. Searching for any sign of the horses the scoundrels rode, Er’it denied that his heart hammered away in his chest, dreading the appearance of old blood.
“Majesty, we’ve been searching since dawn,” Ath’asho said, panting with the exertion of heaving his sword again as he cleared away scrub several feet from Er’it’s side.
“You’ll keep searching until we find her!”
“Er’it, you must rest. Regain your strength. We can spend days out here and never find a trace of them, but if you take a moment to eat and sleep, you will be able to search in a far more effective way.”
Er’it stumbled as he turned on Ath’asho, blade weaving as he held it aloft. With a strained roar, he charged Ath’asho, tangling in the thick vines and limbs scattered over the verdant forest floor. Crashing against his general, they both fell into the thickets, Er’it hurling curses as Ath’asho pulled the sword from his hand with little struggle.
“Er’it, I’ve known you since you were a child, and I’ve never seen you like this,” Ath’asho murmured, making no move to block Er’it’s blow against his cheek.
Toppling to the side as his arm gave out, Er’it stared up at the green canopy fluttering in the cool breeze. It was much colder here than in Logoria, and he’d dressed her for a swift journey. His tunic little shield against the biting air, Er’it had given her a pile of now useless furs. Thoughts snarling on her shivering and miserable in someone else’s hands, or worse, sent him lurching up from the ground with the aid of a broken sapling.
He had to find her. This restless, vicious emotion roiling in his guts felt too much like loss—not the sour reek of defeat but of a memory