He felt her lips part, and that fed the scorching in his blood. She returned his kiss with an ardor that was anything but cool.
Because the winter still has the sun, he thought dizzily. A flush of color, and light brighter than diamonds across the snow.
He was beyond combing through his thoughts for sense; she was the snow and the sun, the ice and the flame. He was weight atop her in the bed, the dragon only just holding on to his skin; the man who buried his face against her neck to find her flavor there, that pulse in her throat that excited him in the blackest way, deep in his groin. He kissed her, he licked a path up to her ear and inhaled her again, and all the while his hands were finding the shape of her, the smooth, firm chill of her arms, the dip of her waist. The shift crumpled in his grip, the paper-cloth tugged higher and higher until he rolled off her to remove it completely.
She didn't rise to help. She only arched her back into a pretty bow and stretched her arms hard, and when it caught against her hair she collapsed down again, smiling.
He thought she might be smiling. Everything was shadowed, like a veil across his eyes, a sheen of desire and animal lust. She fisted a hand in his hair and pulled him down to her. Her kiss was a bite, and Sandu knew then that the smile had been more a baring of her teeth, a distinctly feminine dare.
For an instant her eyes flashed cobalt in the dark, her own dragon rising.
He didn't wait to disrobe. He yanked at the waist of the foreign breeches they'd given him, freed himself of the wool. She took his weight again with her legs spread and he came upon her in his borrowed shirt and shoes and that unclothed part of him, rigid and searching, a rapid thrust deep into her center, and Honor accepted his dominion with a hiss in her throat.
He pushed his tongue past her lips the way he pushed into her below. He felt the buildup like a Turn scarcely restrained, bone-deep and clawing into him. He thought he should stop or slow but the dragon had control, and the dragon wanted more of her, pressed harder into her, exalted in her silken wet heat—and yes, she was hot at last, hotter than he, in that place of their joining, and it felt so—good—she was life and good and burned him up—
Sandu moaned, his mouth to hers, her breasts crushed against his shirt, her nipples hard as pebbles. She dug her nails into his back and lifted her legs to cross her ankles at his waist. He went even deeper then, lost all sense of air with it, but incredibly he managed to do it again, and again, shoving into her with such force the bed shook.
"Amant," she whispered, and arched her back again with a breathless cry. Her climax wrung through him; he dragged his lips from hers and let it consume every inch of him, and while she still shuddered and trembled beneath him he came too, an explosion of pleasure so powerful he had to turn his face away, to gasp for air or perish in this terrible, rolling dark bliss.
Honor closed her teeth on his bared throat. Her nails never unclenched from his back.
We sat together outside on a blanket on the roof. The rain was done and the tiles were already releasing their tiny curls of steam as they dried. The storm had cleansed everything, all the sand and dust and dirt of the town washed away, leaving only what shone fresh and new.
I was a part of that. I was fresh and new.
Above us burned that black well of stars I'd first ever seen with Lia. They tinseled Sandu's hair, cast the shadows of the rooftops and spires surrounding us in edged relief.
"I've been thinking ..." said the prince, easing back to rest on his elbows beside me.
"Yes?"
"If you return with me to Zaharen Yce, we might disguise you a bit. If that's all right with you." "What did you have in mind?"
"Nothing elaborate. We'd have to maintain whatever it was for your entire time there, so simple is always better. I thought, perhaps, merely a different name."
I looked at him. Smiled.
He sent me a sideways smile back. "How about ... Rez? It's a good girl's name. Elegant. Strong."
"I like it," I said, and leaned over to kiss him again.
Chapter Seventeen
I've met someone. A man. Adrakon, I mean.
Oh?
A prince, actually. I...he's...he's really quite wonderful. In fact, I love him. So much.
Another cup, my dear?
What? No. No, thank you. Did you hear me, Papa? I've found my mate. It's Alexandru of the Zaharen. We're engaged.
Ah.
I live in his castle . we have a little .
Yes.
...you'll be so ...pleased...she's—
—Lia would toss in her sleep, frowning—
Tell us the truth, Honor. Tell me. Are you involved somehow with thesanf inimicus?
... mmm ...
Honor! Tell me!
—Her heart rate would increase. Behind her closed lids, her pupils would begin to dilate— I'm sorry. It will be swift. But it's best if you go now.
—Her blood would be changing, chemical changes. The magic in her, the animal, would be heating every cell. Her fingers would clench her sheets—
No, no, I don't want this. I've changed my mind, I don't agree to this! Let go of me—he's here! My lord! My lord, I beg you! What happened? Tell me what happened! Tell me what you did to
my—
Nothing happened, Josephine. Before I could touch her, she Wove away. Even in hersleep,she Wove away.
God help us.
No, Gervase. We won't wait for God.
—Lia would open her eyes, gasping, and lose control—
Her dreams had begun to twist out of shape.
Perhaps it wouldn't have been so troublesome had she not been sleeping alone for so long. Zane had been gone for three months, eighteen days, eleven hours. None of the clocks in the apartments were ever wound precisely and so none would ever chime in unison; she didn't know how many minutes to add to her tally.
Zane had been gone too long. But it always felt like that.
It seemed to her that she managed to muddle through her days well enough. She had a household to run, however unusual it might be. She had servants and shopping and even lent her hand in the kitchen from time to time, although this tended to silently enrage Mateo, the cook. When she'd had enough fuming, sidelong glances and burned soup with supper, she retreated back to her own domain.
Plaster and gilt. Gemstones and silk. A missing husband, and a daughter whose growing absences were no less worrisome.
In her darker, grimmer moments Lia would ponder the notion that she wasn't entirely sure what she was about, what any of them were about. She'd set her little family on this path because the dreams told her she would. She'd had Zane steal Honor because the dreams revealed Honor was stolen by Zane. She'd moved them all to Barcelona because in the dreams they were in Barcelona. She'd even put her husband at risk because the dreams had him with the sanf , and those were the worst dreams of all. Thank God they were short; she'd never once had to suffer through more than a few minutes of Zane immersed in his own very dark moments, surrounded by those who plotted to eliminate her kind. Becoming one of them.
And he was good at it. Naturally he was, the infamous Shadow of Mayfair, a man still with a bounty of over four hundred pounds on his head back in London—she checked the foreign periodicals at the circulating library, which were refreshed every other month—a man like that was going to be very, very convincingly wicked.