He’d started taking more control, which she’d seemed all too happy to relinquish. Two nights ago, he’d positioned her on all fours, mounting her from behind, using his pain-free wings to propel his thrusts. When he’d felt her coming around his length, he’d reached forward to cover her mouth, then followed her, biting down on his forearm.
Late last night, he’d been gripped by an erotic dream about her, despite their many couplings. Just as he’d once hoped, he’d awakened with his shaft buried deep inside his wife, his h*ps pounding between her thighs.
When he’d realized what he was doing, he eased his movements, dumbfounded.
Until he’d felt her nails dig into the muscles of his ass. “Don’t stop, Thronos. So close! I’ll be quiet. . . .”
Over these days, he’d done things that he could tell had surprised her. She’d cry, “Oh!” then follow it with a breathy, “Ohhh.” To tell him she liked it.
Just as she’d promised in Inferno, she always let him know what she needed.
When he thought about how eagerly his lusty mate took his seed with her body, her hands—and yes, her mouth—he couldn’t prevent the grin that spread over his face.
Until he realized that all attention was on him.
“What do you think, my liege?” Jasen asked.
About? Thronos coughed into his fist. “I think we’ll pick this up tomorrow. I know most of you have families awaiting you.”
I have a family. He and Melanthe were an army of two.
He could fly, without pain, to meet his wife in their home. Gods, how things had changed in the weeks since he’d taken her. He smiled more often. So did she, casting him that mischievous grin.
As a girl, Melanthe had snared his heart with it.
As a woman, she owned his heart—invincible no longer.
I have her had become I love her.
Thronos would tell her tonight. He couldn’t be certain how she’d react, but he would never again keep something so important in his pocket.
FIFTY-THREE
Having completed her and Thronos’s history, Lanthe was tweaking her opening to Sabine. The letter would go out in one hour—and would prove even more important than she’d thought.
Sabine and Rydstrom still thought she was a prisoner.
Lanthe had begun . . .
My dearest sister,
How I do adore Skye Hall! I now enjoy cooking and cleaning, tasteful jokes, and demure clothing. Why, I hardly miss my sorcery or gold at all!
JK JK! I wouldn’t know if I like any of that shit, because I’ve never tried it. My lust for gold is as strong as ever, my sorcery even stronger.
Your little sis is quite a boss.
And she’s totally in love with a Vrekener.
In Inferno, Thronos had asked her if she’d ever been in love. She’d answered, “I’ve never known romantic love.” True. But as a girl, Lanthe had loved Thronos—fiercely.
Deep down, maybe she’d never stopped. Maybe it’d always been there, waiting to bloom into a different kind of love. The fragile sprout of affection that she’d copped to in faux Feveris had grown into . . . a moonraker.
And her feelings for him were so strong, they’d even started coloring how she viewed Vrekeners.
Lanthe could still call them lame—but if anyone else did, she’d shut that down.
Sabine, when you read the rest of this letter, please keep an open mind. I’m not brainwashed, and I never will be. Just as you’re bringing change to Rothkalina, I plan to here. Once all the dust settles, you can give me queenly pointers!
When Lanthe felt a vibration of power, she frowned, laying the quill down. She sensed sorcery—not hers.
She leapt to her feet. Something was approaching, a threat to the people here. She raced for the assembly hall.
Where was everyone? Was it dinnertime already?
Lanthe hastened toward the vibration, out the front doorway of the Hall. A portal was opening, right before her eyes.
On the freaking steps of Skye Hall.
Her jaw dropped when Sabine emerged. “Ai-bee?” Her sister was in full war regalia, with a broad gold headdress atop her flame-red tresses. A metal breastplate served as her top, and a jade mask adorned her face.
Sabine was a jolt of color in this monochrome realm.
“What are you doing here?”
“I’m rescuing you,” Sabine said blithely as she traipsed onto Vrekener land. “Look at your necklace—is that red gold? To die for! It almost makes up for that dress.”
“I don’t need rescuing!”
“As I feared, the Vrekeners brainwashed you, just like so many Sorceri before you. But I vow I will get you back. When we return to Rothkalina, I’m enrolling you in cult deprogramming.”
“You’re not hearing me. I want to stay with Thronos.”
As if Lanthe hadn’t spoken, Sabine said, “The stress of all you’ve been through isn’t helping. I know about the Order, about your fight to stay alive. About your capture and imprisonment here.”
“I’m not imprisoned! Why would I still have my sorcery if I were a prisoner?” Nothing. “How did you find the Skye, Sabine?” Can others?
“The same way that Dacian vampire did: with a one-of-a-kind scry crystal. It’s been tucked away in hidden Dacia for ages. Anyway, the leech let us borrow it. And then we used a portal power similar to yours.”
“We?”
With a wave of her hand, Sabine used her sorcery to make Lanthe’s necklace invisible. “I wouldn’t want that to be taken from you. She’ll think I merely gave you a glamour.”
“She . . . ?” Lanthe trailed off, swallowing with fear when Morgana emerged from the threshold, also in war regalia.
Her pale blond hair was interwoven throughout her gold headdress. Her irises were the color of a bottomless pit. Sorcery of differing colors swirled around her. Lanthe had never perceived so much of it in one being—Morgana was overflowing with reclaimed powers, laden with them.
Like a snake who’d recently fed.
The queen glared at her enemy’s domain with a vicious eye.
Lanthe held up her unlit hands, a gesture of yielding for Sorceri. “Now, let’s just talk about this, Morgana. Can we do that?” Lanthe glanced around; the people were all gathered in the bastion, which meant no targets at hand for Morgana to smite. For now.
But this also meant Thronos would return soon. . . .
“Curses? Please stop this!”
Lanthe’s blue light started to emanate from Morgana’s hands. “Thronos, brother of Aristo, heed my voice and obey my commands. You will forget Melanthe.”
He stole enough air to bellow, “Never!” Muscles all over his body rippled with strain as he fought the order.
Lanthe cried, “Morgana, I’m begging you!” She couldn’t fight the queen now, but at least Thronos would live. In the future, Lanthe could reverse this! —Thronos, I’ll return for you! I’ll make you remember me. Just stay alive!—
Morgana commanded him, “Forget her, forget her, forget her! All memories of Melanthe are gone!”