Filed to story: When the Moon Hatched Book
“The last Great Flurrt we spent together was the last time I saw her alive.” I flatten another lark and slap it on the pile. “We spent the slumber together, and the following dae I flew off to help rebuild a village. The next time I saw Elluin, her limp body was being carted into the sky by her mourning dragon,” I growl, slamming another lark on the fucking pile. “So no, the idea of inviting her to The Great Flurrt celebration doesn’t thrill me, nor will I apologize for my reluctance.”
“Maybe this time will be different?”
I chuckle—low and without humor. “Maybe she’ll fillet my heart in a different direction? Undoubtedly. She’s quite fond of filleting. Quite good at it, too.”
Pyrok sighs, bashing his fist against the arm of his chair. “Look, all I know is I heard her ask a merchant if they’d seen the King around. Do with that as you will,” he mutters, then shoves to a stand and stalks toward the door.
I frown. “Where are you going?”
“To get drunk in Grihm’s suite while I raid his dagger collection,” he drawls, moving through the doorway. “Since he’s probably dead already, the asshole.”
The sound of his boot steps tapers off, and I tip my head, staring at the ceiling.
Fucking
… fuck.
Abandoning the larks, I push up and drift toward my balcony doors, pull them wide, then step out into the sun’s harsh glare, overlooking Dhomm and the Loff.
The western point.
I walk all the way to the vine-clothed balustrade, resting my elbows against it, my heart blocking my airway when I see a shape in the distance—right where the water laps at the bouldered shore. Frowning, I stalk into my office and snatch my seeing scope off the desk, then move back onto the balcony and stretch the tool, putting it to my eye and pointing it in the direction of the shape.
My ribs crack at the sight.
Raeve’s stepping from stone to stone—feet bare, hair mostly piled atop her head, her cheeks and shoulders a little sun-kissed. She’s dressed in the short black sleep shift she was wearing when I took her to visit Sl?tra, one of the thin shoulder straps falling down her arm.
She doesn’t bother to lift it back into place, like she hasn’t even noticed, instead bending down and plucking a shell from between the stones. She inspects it from all angles before placing it in a basket hanging off her arm.
I swallow as she straightens, casting her crisp, glacier eyes toward—
My heart stills.
Toward Rygun’s hutch …
Well, fuck. Guess we’re on her mind.
“Ready for another round, Moonbeam?”
She tucks a loose piece of hair behind her ear, a yearning in her eyes that messes with my heartstrings.
I slam the looking glass against my palm, closing it, considering the implications of ripping my own heart out and smashing it against the stone. Giving her a head start.
Though maybe Pyrok’s right. Maybe this time will be different.
Maybe it’ll be worse.
Either way, there’s no one else I’d willingly serve my heart on a platter to—over and over and over again—like a hopeless, lovesick stray begging for a treat.
Iattended a Tithe this dae.
Since his pah’s absent, Kaan sat on the bronze throne, accepting offerings, giving back to those who had little to offer in the first place.
I watched from the back of the hall as he spoke with each of the folk with such raw grace and fairness it reminded me of the way Mah and Pah used to run their kingdom, feeling a deep pang of homesickness at that thought …
Pah didn’t respect King Ostern. He said their values didn’t align. That Ostern had little care for anyone who couldn’t hear the elemental songs.
I watched Kaan offer a young, struggling family a plump sack of gold and decided Pah would’ve respected King Ostern’s eldest son.
Kaan saw me from across the vast space, our eyes locked, and I’m certain the world stilled.
I felt so bare before him, infused with a fiery heat that had nothing to do with the ever-present burn that scalds this place. Certain my body was going to sizzle from the inside out if we did not collide, struggling to see much else through the haze of my unquenched desire.
I moved behind a pole before anyone noticed, desperate to catch my breath that had suddenly fled.
I know the things I desire are forbidden.
I’m all out of reasons to care.
For almost two phases, I’ve existed in this Stronghold like one of the shadows …
I’m done living the life I’ve been told to live and not the one I want for myself.
He’s broad, dense, alive beneath me, his bent knees pushed between my legs, prying me open.
Entirely exposed, I jerk my hips, trying to force his touch upon that coil of tender nerves. “Please …”
“You don’t have to beg for me, Moonbeam.” His words shake my bones, his fingers sweeping around my entrance—so featherlight it’s but a breath of touch.
My body ignites, my heart a violent hammer of feisty need.
I grip his m?lmr, holding it close.
“If you want me”—he presses his mouth to my ear, nipping gently—“I’m fucking yours.”
Groaning, I slide my hand down the taut muscles of his strong arm, over his wrist, his knuckles.
His fingers.
I push him into me, tiding with the thrust of pleasure, thighs loosening.
Widening.
“Forever,” I whimper, working him deeper. “I want you forever.”
He makes a dense rumbling sound, his other hand gripping my jaw and turning my head to the side. I catch a glimpse of fierce ember eyes before he takes my mouth in a kiss that devastates my ability to breathe or think—prisoner to his insatiable taste. To the way he commands my lips and tongue.
Devouring me.
My hips roll to match the deep thrust of his fingers and his all-consuming kiss, my body winding up …
Up …
He flips us, knees my legs wider, then grips my hips and tugs, lengthening my spine. A firm hand presses between my shoulder blades before he rubs the solid head of his cock against my wet, pulsing entrance. So open.
So ready—
An air-shredding roar rips through my dreamscape, like snapping a book shut right at the good part.
My eyes pop open, a passion-fueled moan of frustration bludgeoning up my throat—hungry and feral and laced with need.
I slap my hand on my face and groan, still crushed beneath the feel of Kaan’s body upon mine. Moving with mine.
In mine.
Trembling from the dream’s vibrant shockwaves, I push up, beads of sweat gathered between my breasts, my nipples hard and peaked.
I shake my head, threading my hands through my damp hair.
It’s getting worse.
Well—better, actually. Substantially better. But a whole lot harder to let go of.
A shadow falls upon the sleep space.