inner thigh. I shiver, staring in wonder at the flowered vines springing up in the brush’s wake. When he reaches the juncture of my thighs, he sets the brush down and lifts my legs onto his shoulders, opening me to the pleasurable assault of his tongue.
I groan and immediately let go of the whip to free my hands and bury them in his hair. His tongue teases and strokes me with complete mastery, and my breath comes in soft, tortured gasps. I won’t last long, not with the small inferno building inside me, begging to be set free.
He seems to know it and he reaches up to pull me down on top of him as he lays back in the flowers.
“Yes,” I breathe, yanking at his belt. Once he’s freed, I sink down on top of him. “Yes. Yes, just like that.”
Our coupling is wild, hot. I writhe on him, and under him as he turns me over, and lifting my hips in his hands, thrusts deep inside me, pressing me down into the flowers. He stares at me all the while, the shutters falling away from those silver eyes. In them, I see so much. His hopes of belonging. His desires to meld with the Earth. His attraction to me, the depths of his raw emotion. There’s nothing he’s hiding. He’s showing me his complete, Fae soul.
As our rhythm increases, I wrap my legs around him, wanting every part of him.
As the line between us blurs, we cry out as one, both our bodies surrendering together to the pleasure that has filled each of us.
We hold onto each other for a time, and I’m still shaking as he slides to one side, leaning down to brush his lips against my collarbone. I close my eyes, enjoying the heat of his lips as he leaves soft, feathery trails over my skin. He kisses each breast, grazing my nipples with his teeth before he draws back to prop himself on an elbow.
I don’t want to move, and neither of us talk. We simply stay there, enjoying the hazy afterglow of sex, and I wish I could have this forever, succumbing to the mastery of that sizzling, delicious tongue.
“As much as I really don’t want to leave, we should be getting back,” I force myself to say.
“There will be time aplenty to return here,” Mirk says, rising smoothly to his feet. He offers me a hand and lifts me easily to his side. “After we deal with Clay.”
“We’ll find your tribe,” I say.
“Perhaps.” He shrugs.
“Either way, you have a new tribe now.” I smile and brush my hands over his thighs.
He lifts the corner of his lip and after our laces are tied, leads me back through the door in the rock, back to the House of Hades.
I wake up, alone, in bed. The early morning sun streams through the window. The sight of Mirk’s flowered vine on my skin makes me pause. It’s beautiful, beginning just above my knee and ending on my inner thigh. I trace it with a fingertip, wondering if the paint will smear even though it looks permanent, like a tattoo. I smile, hoping it is. Who knew Mirk could be such a romantic under all the dark mystery?
The sound of clattering hooves sends me to my window, and I look down. Below, to my right, a white Arabian gallops into the courtyard to snort and paw the stones with its hoof. The rider is a bear of a man with a red-plumed Corinthian helmet on his head, and he’s so burly it makes me think the muscles outlined on his body armor are his own.
After a moment, Persephone appears. The man speaks in low tones and she nods, agitated. News of Clay, perhaps?
I buckle on my sword, jam my whip through a belt loop, and head out of my room, but when I arrive below, she’s already gone. Disappointed, I return to the hall, and run headlong into Ladron.
“Have you heard any news from Persephone?” I ask. “I saw the messenger arrive.”
“I just spoke with her,” Ladron says, shaking his head. “There’s still no sign of Clay.”
He looks all Hermes this morning, golden hair shining like his skin, gold thread running through his tunic. I spare him an admiring glance before dragging my mind back on track. Right. Clay should have been here by now—that is, if he’s coming at all.
I frown, perplexed. “Something’s not right.” I can feel it in my gut. I nod my