She did manage to lift her arm to stroke the thick length of him. The action made him still, his eyes glittering in the firelight.
This brought back more of her fine motor skills. She stroked him again, squeezing her fist around him. He sucked in a breath in response and removed her hand, lowering his weight onto her.
He licked the shell of her ear and kissed her jaw as she wriggled beneath him, eager to rub against his solid hardness. “Mooriah,” he said, voice husky.
“Yes?”
“I am yours now. Whatever happens.”
She couldn’t respond to that and was grateful when he guided himself into her. The slow push inside made her eyes roll back into her head with relief. It felt like he was coming home inside her body.
She gripped him tight, their breathing deepening. He found her mouth, and they kissed messily, then he retreated from her body to enter again.
She wrapped her legs around him and tilted her pelvis to meet his thrusts, urging him onward silently. He met the challenge and soon was pistoning into her. The mats beneath them slid across the ground with each thrust. She planted her heels on the backs of his thighs and gave herself over to the sensations overtaking her.
When she went over the massive crest this time, he was with her. Spilling his seed inside her and shouting his release.
They lay there afterward, clinging to each other. The fire in the pit had cooled to nothing but embers. Ember—the man—shifted his weight, but she squeezed him tighter, not wanting him to go yet. Not wanting him to ever leave her.
Wishing that when he said he belonged to her, it could somehow be true.
~ 14 ~
Enhancement of Vision: Increases patience; nourishes foresight.
Crush phantom rosemary and add two drops of rubia honey. Meditate and await the Breath Father’s voice. Only by his will may the spell be completed.
—WISDOM OF THE FOLK
It didn’t take long for Ember to convince Mooriah to head back to the arena. She knew she had to face her fate, and Ember’s optimism was endearing but she couldn’t stand false hope. She would pay the consequences of her actions, whatever they might be.
The pathways and tunnels of Night Snow were oddly quiet. They encountered no one on the journey to the arena, which she found strange. This was a heavily trafficked part of the territory, and there would normally be dozens around at this time of day tending to their various duties.
But once they entered the arena, the reason became clear. None of the audience had yet awoken. They were all as they’d been over half a day ago, collapsed where they’d fallen when Mooriah unleashed her Song upon them. Their chests rose and fell with their breaths, but they were all still unconscious.
She reached out with her Song and found that virtually everyone present had the amount of Nethersong they should. Whatever she’d done to them had not harmed them in any way. It was just taking quite a bit longer than she’d assumed for the effects to wear off.
In fact, as she and Ember stood there slack jawed and staring, people began to stir, making soft movements and groans of waking.
“Come with me,” Ember said, grabbing her hand and pulling her into the sparring circle.
They approached the place where his blood still stained the ground, a congealed pool of it which had dried to an unnatural purple hue, due to the poison.
Ember kneeled, tugging on her arm for her to join him.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
“No one will know what’s happened. They can’t blame you if this affected you too, can they?” His tone was urgent. Bewildered by this logic, she nonetheless followed his lead.
“Now collapse on top of me like you were mourning me.”
It wasn’t a stretch. This was the exact position she’d been in before Rumble had angered her. She lay across him, resting on his chest. His scent filled her nostrils as she settled and feigned unconsciousness.
All around them, people slowly awoke and began to chatter in low voices. Murmur begin to stir from his spot not far away. Once the noise grew, she then blinked her eyes open, and sat up hesitantly.
Still monitoring the Nethersong of the crowd, she stilled at the sight of a motionless figure across the circle. Rumble lay there unstirring. Not breathing. His body was full of the Nethersong of true death. It filled him completely. Mooriah wondered if the whites of his eyes had turned black—the mark of death