Chapter Thirteen

Five days later…

Harrow sat naked astride the most gorgeous male she’d ever seen, his hard length buried inside her. Tilting her head back, she fondled her breasts, her hair swaying across her back. Below her, Raith dug his fingers into her thighs and fought to keep from taking control. His jaw was clenched, and his arms were so tense, veins bulged along the thick muscle.

Over the days they’d spent locked together in this room, she’d learned that Raith liked to be in control during sex. At first, his touches had been gentle, exploratory, hesitant. Then, as they learned each other’s bodies, he’d grown fiercer and more demanding. As he gained confidence and realized how responsive she was to him, he’d begun taking control more, deciding where they would go in their play and even initiating it when Harrow wasn’t expecting it.

She loved it. She loved everything. She loved h—

Nope. She blocked the rest of that thought out for now. Five days was not enough time to go there, even if those five days had been some of the most wonderful of her life.

Raith sat up, gripping her waist with big hands and forcing her to lean forward so he could suck her nipples. It felt divine, but she shook her head with a playful smile and pressed him back down with a palm on his chest. Yes, Raith loved to take control, but this time Harrow was supposed to be the one leading, just because. Because it was fun, and they were playing together. And her Raith loved to play, so he’d agreed to her game.

Needless to say, he wasn’t doing so well.

Growling in frustration, he went back to gripping her thighs, arms straining as he still fought to control her movements. She fought him right back. He wanted her to go fast and hard; she wanted to go slow. Oh, Harrow loved fast and hard, too, but this was her game, and she was going to make him work for it.

“Harrow,” he growled in warning.

“Not yet,” she teased. His grip tightened again, but he stopped fighting her. She laughed, realizing how incredibly difficult this must be for him. He deserved a reward for trying so hard and would get one soon.

But first…more teasing.

Running a hand down her body, she began to stroke herself lazily while sliding up and down his decadent length. Goddess, it felt incredible. Head tipping back and eyes closing, she moaned languidly, rising and falling onto him, forcing the poor male to lie there and watch her.

“More,” he growled.

She granted his request, increasing the pace of her stroking and riding him a little faster. The pleasure increased, the sensation setting off spotlights of rapture behind her closed eyelids. “Raith,” she heard herself moaning. “I’m so close.”

“Faster.”

She stroked herself a little faster.

“Harder.”

She rode him a little harder—

Wait. When had he taken over again? Sneaky man.

Her eyes cracked open. “I’m in control, remember? What if I don’t want to go harder?”

Raith’s black eyes narrowed in challenge, and she knew the game was up.

In a flash, he sat up and tossed her beneath him. But he didn’t stop there. He flipped her once more, and she ended up on her belly with the hand still at her core trapped between her body and the mattress. He yanked on her hips suddenly, and her ass flew up into the air. She tried to raise onto her hands, but he palmed her shoulder blades and pressed her upper body down.

She moaned ecstatically into the pillow her face was crushed against, shivers racing along her naked skin. The feeling of exposure on her bare sex was invigorating. A sinful delight.

“Stroke yourself,” Raith said.

She moaned again at the commanding tone of his voice. She loved it when he got like this, all dangerous and threatening. Her hand went right back to her center, and she obeyed, feeling his eyes on her. Her inner muscles clenched in response, in readiness for him to enter her again.

“Raith,” she begged into the pillow. “Want you…inside.”

The head of his cock breached her entrance, his hands landing on her hips. She tried to thrust back onto him, to take it all, but he held her away. “Keep stroking,” he bit out.

She kept going, pleasure rushing all over her like warm water on cool skin. “Raith, I’m close. Please…” He knew she could come faster if he was inside her. That was why he was holding back, the diabolical man.

He gave her a little more but not enough. She tried once more to push back, but again he held her off.

“Raith!”

Her thighs were quivering, the fingers at her clit working faster and faster, but she couldn’t quite get there, couldn’t quite go over the edge without his thick length inside her, stretching her, filling her, taking her. She needed it, needed him desperately—

He finally pushed back inside her with a firm thrust.

The climax hit like stepping under a waterfall—a powerful explosion crashing over her—and she screamed with abandon. Forgetting the patrons of the tavern below who might hear, she was helpless not to surrender completely as he penetrated her, the thick end of his shaft hitting her right in that perfect spot. More colorful lights flashed behind her closed eyelids as her orgasm went on and on.

Overwhelmed, she tried to pull away the hand still stroking herself, but Raith leaned forward and wrapped an arm around her, covering her hand with his, forcing her to keep going. It was too much, too much—

Another orgasm hit on the still-cresting waves of the last, and as she continued to cry out, she felt Raith reaching his climax with her. His powerful body tightened, his thrusts becoming faster and more forceful, and then he locked up, clenching her against him, groaning into her hair as he spent himself inside her.

They collapsed forward onto the bed together, gasping for breath.

Raith rolled them to their sides, gathering her tightly in his arms. Another thing he did that she loved—cuddling her from behind, he used his arms and his legs, throwing his thigh over hers and covering her completely, like a gorgeous, hot blanket of manliness.

She purred in his embrace, so happy she could burst. Everything felt so right. So aligned. Her anxieties about the future and her restlessness at being stuck indoors had faded into the distance, and she felt nothing but bone-deep contentment. Just the thought of Raith made her feel full to bursting, and whenever she looked at him, she was so overcome with emotion it was almost unbearable.

The urge to voice her feelings arose, and she gave into it without thought.

“I love this, Raith. I love yo—”

She choked. Her eyes snapped open.

“—it when you hold me like this,” she corrected, her stomach flipping over at how close she’d come to blurting out a declaration she wasn’t ready to make.

It’s too early, she told herself. No one could fall in love in five days.

She’d never been in love before. She’d had lovers—she was a confident woman with a healthy sexual appetite who didn’t believe in self-denial—but never had she felt the urge to declare her love for them.

It was doubtless she and Raith had a deeper connection. Something had drawn her to him from the moment they met. But love? After five days?

Surely she was simply intoxicated by the endless tender care and affection he showered upon her. Surely she was simply being sucked into the whirlpool of their constant lovemaking, awash in a dream where nothing existed but the two of them, locked in an embrace so tight, the rest of the world faded away.

But the rest of the world was still out there, and they had only two more days before they had to face it again. When it was time to do so, Harrow was sure she’d be glad she’d held the words back.

Besides, how could a woman be expected to know for sure if she was in love without first consulting her best friend?

Nearly a week had passed since their escape, and Malaikah still hadn’t visited, which was worrying. Not for Malaikah, necessarily. Harrow trusted Mal to take care of herself. But she also knew Malaikah would’ve needed to be confident she could shake off anyone tailing her as she left the circus grounds. If Malaikah hadn’t come, it must have meant the pressure on her was great indeed.

As well as needing Mal’s advice, Harrow was dying for information. Had Salizar followed their false trail and been led off course? Was Malaikah in trouble with him, or had he believed that she wasn’t involved? Was the circus still leaving Allegra on schedule, even if Harrow and Raith were missing?

Just then, Raith placed a gentle kiss on the side of her neck, drawing her out of her thoughts. Anytime she started to worry about Malaikah and what was happening in the outside world, Raith would kiss her or look at her sidelong, or she’d catch a glimpse of his body in the sunlight, and it would be oh so easy to forget everything again.

And she wanted to forget. Who wouldn’t want to get lost in the little fantasy bubble they’d created in their tiny room at the tavern? It was easy not to worry about the present or think about the future.

They had each other. What more could they need?

For now, at least, it was enough.

…

“How do you know?” Raith heard himself ask. The question slipped out of him unbidden.

“Know what?”

“That you love something.”

Harrow stiffened in his arms.

“You said you love how I hold you. And when you embraced Malaikah before she left, you told her that you loved her.”

“Yes, I—” She closed her eyes briefly before rolling onto her back and meeting his gaze. “You don’t know what it means?”

“I know the definition, but I don’t know what it feels like.”

Her eyes softened. “Well, I know you know how it feels to want something. To desire. It’s like that, but stronger.”

“Like attachment?” For some reason, it was important to him to understand this.

“Kind of…but not really.” Rubbing her eyes, she sat up suddenly, stretching her neck from side to side like she was preparing for a battle. “There are different types of love and varying depths. The love for another person is the strongest, and you love a friend differently than you love a mate.”

She fixed her gaze on her hands twisting in her lap. “When you love someone, you want what’s best for them, no matter what. It’s selfless and, ideally, unconditional.” She searched his gaze and then rubbed the back of her neck, likely frustrated by his lack of understanding.

“You feel attached to them,” she continued, “and you want to be close. But if it’s truly love, you’re also willing to make sacrifices, even if those sacrifices aren’t what you want. You put their needs before your own. And there’s also trust. No matter what, you trust the other person to be on your side, to never betray you, and you offer them the same. It’s a beautiful, wonderful feeling.”

Raith had never experienced such a thing before and could only imagine what it would be like. He trusted Harrow, but he wasn’t sure he was capable of it to that level. But when he looked at her, he realized that he wanted to be. He just didn’t know how.

He did know, however, that he felt some unidentifiable, intense emotion for her that frightened him because he was powerless against it. Against her. It was why he’d asked about love in the first place—he wanted to know if there was a name to give the feeling.

But this did not feel beautiful or wonderful. It felt dangerous. Like he was standing on the edge of a precipice with his wings bound, about to fall.

Perhaps that was why he craved control over her in sex—because he needed to feel in control of something. She didn’t have a clue how much power she had over him in every other way. In fact, even when he dominated her in sex, she still controlled him.

He would kill anyone who threatened her. He would do unspeakable, terrible acts to defend her. He would annihilate anyone or anything to possess her. It consumed him.

He lay awake each night, Harrow asleep in his arms, and stared at her, wondering what she had done to take such a hold over him. He feared what he would become if anything happened to her. He feared what he would become if he was ever forced to live without her.

Whatever it was would be dark and deadly. A scourge upon the world.

He could only pray to the Goddess he never had to see it happen.

The last five days had been by far the most enjoyable of his short memories—something so obvious it hardly warranted acknowledgment. But those five days had also, in a way, been worse than any torture he had endured because they had done what torture could not—given him a glaring weakness. A breaking point. A definite end to his sanity outside his control.

Harrow had made him feel whole, with her radiant smile and compassionate heart and her perfect acceptance of him, and now, she could so easily break him.

“Does that make sense?” she asked.

He nodded because he sensed she would prefer not to discuss this any further, not because he was satisfied with his understanding. But it seemed this was a matter that could not be grasped after one conversation.

Indeed, his response seemed to relax her, and she lay back down. He drew her into his arms while she pressed her cheek to his chest, and he had to fight the urge to crush her against him. Sometimes he felt as though she would slip away like fine sand between his fingers if he didn’t clutch her tightly enough.

“What are you thinking?” she murmured after a prolonged silence. She often asked him that—he supposed he didn’t speak his mind enough. He was trying to do it more to please her. He would do anything to please her.

“I’m thinking that I would do unspeakable things to protect you,” he replied honestly because she’d told him she appreciated that quality, “and that frightens me.”

“Raith.” Her silver eyes softened as she tilted her head back and placed a hand on his cheek. “I feel the same way about you.”

Though he believed she did feel some kind of protectiveness toward him, he doubted she understood the full weight of his words. He didn’t think she’d believe the level of violence he was capable of in her name.

Again, he could only pray to the Goddess she would never need to know.

Eventually, they rose from the bed to wash and dress. They’d already eaten their evening meal—feeding each other bite by bite was what had commenced that night’s round of lovemaking in the first place—and Harrow placed the dirty dishes outside in the hall for the staff to collect.

When he emerged from the washroom, he found Harrow staring out the window. Her brow was furrowed, her fingers clenched on the frame, a small frown turning down the corners of her mouth.

“What are you thinking?” he asked, because two could play at her game.

“I’m worried about Malaikah. Wondering why she hasn’t visited us yet. And to be honest, I’m feeling a little claustrophobic. We haven’t been outside in days. I want to see the stars, the moon. Breathe fresh air.”

Disliking the idea of her being unhappy, Raith immediately tried to think of a solution. He couldn’t do anything about Malaikah—he’d promised Harrow not to leave without her agreement unless it was an emergency. But perhaps he could help with her second problem.

“We could go onto the roof,” he suggested.

“How? We can’t go out to look for stairs up there, and I’m not even sure they exist anyway.”

“I could climb through the window to the top with you on my back.”

Harrow turned from the window to stare at him. “You could? I mean, I already know you can climb, but wouldn’t it be too much with my added weight?”

He shook his head. “You’re not heavy.”

She started to smile, and a laugh bubbled out of her. “Okay. Let’s do it.”

He opened the window wide and then crouched before her, facing away. “Climb on.”

With another giggle that made that ache in his chest twinge, she did, and he climbed through, moving carefully so as not to hit her on the frame. Once through, he perched easily on the sill, unsheathing his claws before scaling the building. The rough stone surface had many easy handholds, and, just as before, he climbed without difficulty.

He might have suggested flying, but he remembered the look on her face when she’d seen his wings for the first time, and he decided against it. He didn’t want to remind her of traits he had that made her wary of him.

The climb was a nearly effortless task, yet when he let her down on the roof, Harrow was wide-eyed with excitement. “That was amazing!”

He allowed himself a satisfied smile.

They lay side by side on the flat surface and stared up at the twinkling stars. The sky was clear tonight, and even the nearly full moon failed to dim their brilliance.

“Do you know how to read the stars?” Harrow asked, snuggling against him as he wrapped an arm around her.

He shook his head.

“The Seers used to navigate by them. See that bright one there?” She pointed, and Raith leaned in to follow her gaze. “That’s the tip of the Tidal Wave.” She traced the stars with her finger. “That’s the top curve of the wave. And there’s the bottom. The Wave always faces the west. If you can find the constellation, you can always orient yourself. My mother taught me to look for it so that if I was ever lost, I would know the direction of our homeland.”

“Your mother loved you,” Raith guessed, still trying to understand the concept.

“Yes, she did.” There was such a pang of sadness in her voice that Raith felt that pain in his chest again. “She used to tell me what a blessing I was. Elemental children are very rare, you see. I think because we live for so long, nature has made it so we don’t reproduce the way humans can, or we would overpopulate the world. I was the first Seer child in a century.”

“She wanted to protect you because she loved you,” Raith guessed again. This seemed to be a quality of love.

“Yes, she did.” There was even more sadness in her words now, and Raith almost regretted encouraging her to speak about this when it seemed to pain her so. Yet there was nostalgia as well, as though she enjoyed the topic despite the grief it caused her.

“I feel very blessed to have had a mother who loved me so much,” Harrow said, “even if I had to lose her too early.”

“Your father?”

“I never knew him. My mother told me she had a fling with the odd man here and there, never expecting she’d actually get pregnant. Though she never determined who my father was for sure, she always suspected it was this one man from the South, since my skin was darker than hers. She used to tell me stories about him and said he was the kindest man she’d ever met. I think she secretly loved him.” Harrow sighed wistfully. “I wonder if she would have looked for him once I got older. I was only ten years old when she was killed.”

Killed. Along with her entire family, leaving little Harrow all alone in the world. Raith’s arm tightened around her. “I want to destroy whoever hurt you.”

“Me too,” Harrow said, but there was no wrath in her tone as there was in his. As if she’d long ago accepted defeat and now considered it a futile desire.

Raith begged to differ.

“You have no memories of your mother?” Harrow asked, changing the subject as if she sensed the violent direction of his thoughts.

“No.” But he was suddenly certain that if he did, they wouldn’t be good ones.

“What about your childhood?”

“No.” The concept of childhood felt foreign, even more vague than the concept of love. He doubted he’d ever experienced such a thing.

“I’m sorry. Everyone should have those memories to help them get through difficult times.”

“I don’t think they would be good memories for me.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t know.”

She sighed. “I don’t know” was always how Raith answered inquiries into his past. He couldn’t help it. He genuinely didn’t know. He only had certain impulses or senses that things had once been a certain way. Just as his aversion to being bound by his words made him certain he’d been trapped before, he was also certain he’d had no mother or childhood—or at least not the classic definition of the two. But he didn’t know anything beyond that.

In all honesty, he didn’t care to know, either. He was…happy now.

Though he’d never imagined he could say such a thing, it was true. He was happy and didn’t care to mourn what might have been denied him in the past, just as long as his future continued in the current trend of the present.

In the present, he lay with the most beautiful woman in the world in his arms. He was strong and capable and confident he could defend her from any threat. At night, and during the day, too, she welcomed him into her body, crying out his name—a name he’d chosen for himself—as she found her release.

He decided he could go anywhere, do anything, as long as he continued to have those blessings. If he could always be Harrow’s protector, he could always find happiness.

Maybe that feeling was love after all.

What did it matter who he’d once been when he had a new identity now? As far as he was concerned, the past could stay buried forever.