It’s finally happening. We’re in bed, and we’re naked.
Part of Rowena thought this must be a dream because she was languid with anticipation, not full of fear. Slay pressed up against her, tangibly aroused, and she ached. With daring hands, she teased between their bodies, relishing the agonized delight that seized his features when she wrapped her fingers around his cock.
He bit out a helpless curse, his hips bucking. She stroked him once, twice, until he pulled her hand away, panting. “Normally I don’t struggle like this. I’m usually in complete control.”
Rowena bit him gently. “Pardon me if I’m not interested in hearing how you’ve been with other partners.”
“Sorry,” he said with a flutter of thick lashes, as she nuzzled a path over the shoulder she’d bitten, kissing and licking his chest with avid hunger.
“How does that feel?”
“Like heavenly torment.”
Ro stifled a chuckle. Somehow he made her feel like a skilled temptress even though she must be fumbling. Wanting him more than her next breath, she rolled on top of him and paused to see if the old fear would sink teeth and talons into her, but there was only the sweet heat of desire. She devoured him with her eyes, drinking in the full beauty of her jaguar knight.
“Are you ready for me?” she asked.
“I’ve been ready for you my whole life.”
Half-closing her eyes, she took hold of his cock and steadied it, then sank down. Part of her was braced for pain because there had been so much of it before. Instead, it was a powerful pressure, bringing pleasure and connection. Rowena stilled, breathing through the first onslaught of sensation. The feel of him throbbing inside her—no words to describe it.
“You okay?” he asked, hands gentle on her hips.
“I’m amazing.”
“You are,” he agreed.
“This is my first time,” she said. “And you’re my first lover.”
He groaned over hearing that and raised his hips, pushing deeper with what seemed like helpless need. Then Slay muttered something, but she didn’t catch the words, and before long, her whole body blazed with too much sensation for her to wonder about it anymore. Soft words of encouragement burst from her too, incoherent pleas for faster and more, and soon, she was riding him like this was natural to her, easy as breathing. But so much hotter.
“Fuck yes,” she gasped.
“That’s the plan. Don’t stop. You feel so fucking good, Ro.”
“So do you.”
Part of her wanted to squeeze her eyes shut because the sensations were too much, too raw, too powerful, breaking over her like a wave that might drown her, but instead of shutting him out, Ro locked her gaze on his, seeing the awe and pleasure ratchet up for him each time she shifted. He pulsed inside her, his thighs tensing.
Slay let out a grunt, his body arching. “I’m so damn close, but I don’t want to get off without you.”
“Nearly there.” Normally she’d feel too shy to do this in front of him, but she was riding his cock, and she loved the way he licked his lips when she pressed two fingers delicately to her clit and worked in tight circles as she moved on him.
“That’s it, love. Take what you need.” His passionate praise offered the spark she needed, tinder to dry wood, and she clenched on him with a loud cry.
The orgasm made her whole body weak, and she thought he came too, but she fell into a tunnel of sparks, only returning to herself later, collapsed on top of him in a woozy pile. Slay was stroking her hair softly, wearing a blissful expression. If she could, she’d keep him like that twenty hours a day. Probably one of them would die of dehydration, though.
“Was that okay?” she asked.
He cuddled her close with profound tenderness. “I’ll pretend I need to answer that. It was beautiful and so are you.”
With a happy sigh, she rolled off him, startled by the gush of wetness. Her own arousal must make a huge difference because—
No, don’t think about that. It’s over. He can’t hurt you anymore. The body’s probably been burned by now.
“Will you think I’m a terrible asshole if I go to sleep?” Slay asked.
She laughed. “We just fought a revolution and had the best sex of our lives. I feel like we’re owed a little rest.”
“Best you say?” It was adorable how he preened.
“Definitely.”
Not that she had any basis for comparison; he was the first partner she’d chosen. Still, he ate up the compliment. Though he didn’t have a ton of feline mannerisms, she loved that he was a little vain, totally susceptible to being praised. If she stroked him right, she had no doubt he’d purr. Well, not in jaguar form, but that wasn’t the point.
“It’s hard for me to believe even now. I’m afraid I’ll wake up in Ash Valley and discover I dreamed you.”
“I’m touched that you would want to.” She rewarded that sweetness with a soft kiss.
“If you didn’t exist, I’d have to invent you,” Slay said in a serious tone. “Because you’re everything. I mean it, Ro.”
She tapped his sharp nose in mock reproof. “And you claim you’re not good with words. If you were any smoother, I’d slide off you and out of bed.”
Gently he tightened his arms around her and she felt safe, not constrained. His strength was incredible, awe-inspiring, even, but with her, he was always so gentle, so careful, enough to mist her eyes with tears. She blinked them back carefully, determined not to ruin this moment.
No darkness, no sadness. Not now.
The real world would intrude soon enough with problems to solve and questions to answer. A lot of work lay ahead, but for now, she would enjoy cuddling in her lover’s arms.
“Everything you say makes me feel good,” he admitted quietly. “I’ve always felt like…”
“What?”
“I can’t satisfy anyone who cares about me. I wasn’t ambitious enough to please my mother. She tried to get me to take Ash Valley from Dom, he was—used to be—my fucking best friend. And Ma was always whispering at me. ‘Step up, he’s not fit to rule anymore, he doesn’t want to lead the pride, so why hesitate?’ But…”
“You didn’t wish to lead and you didn’t want to betray your friend either.”
He sighed heavily, the breath stirring her still-damp hair. “But I even fucked up doing the right thing. I stayed at Ash Valley to keep an eye on my mother, she’d been plotting on my behalf. That’s why I sent Pru. And she thought… hell, I don’t even know why I’m still worrying about this. It doesn’t matter, right?”
Ro raised up on an elbow to cup his cheek as she gazed into his eyes. “It matters if it’s hurting you. I’ll listen to anything you have to say without judgment. But if you’d rather sleep than keep talking about something that bothers you, that’s okay too. Just know that I’m on your side, no matter what.”
“Even if I did fuck things up?”
“Especially then. Nobody’s perfect. Everyone makes mistakes and looks back with regret. The important thing is to learn where you went wrong and do better going forward.”
Slay closed his eyes, then pushed out a long breath, like he’d let go of something painful. “How do you always know what to say? It’s like you can reach inside me and put the fire out. I don’t even feel like a fuckup when I’m with you.”
That’s because I adore you. Unequivocally with every beat of my heart.
In the end, Slay talked a bit more about his past and mistakes he’d made, but at long last, the wound was clean.
All the bitterness and sorrow had seeped out of him and maybe his soul would heal over as his body had. Like Ro, he had scars. Like Ro, he was still here. He’d fight through hell itself to stay beside her, and it didn’t matter to him what anyone said or thought. He’d wrecked one relationship fretting over other people’s opinions.
Never again.
Slay drifted off with Rowena snuggled in his arms, and it must have been twelve hours before they stirred. He roused needing to piss in the worst way, and he had morning wood from having her sweet ass pressed up against him. With a muffled groan, he disentangled and found the shared lavatory farther down the hall. It was hellish uncomfortable to pee and took him ages to settle down. By the time he returned, Rowena was gone.
Frankly, he wished he could go back to bed to roll around with her a bit more, but they both had other shit to do. Complaining in a low growl, he put on his clothes and emerged into the alley that led to the main thoroughfare carved in the center of Golgerra. How anyone got used to living inside a mountain, he’d never fucking know.
The sooner I get out of here, the better. Problem was, he didn’t know if Ro would go with him. Maybe she’d want to stay and fix this shithole personally?
Fuck, I don’t want to live here. Don’t want to live without her either.
The idea of settling down in Ash Valley didn’t seem right either. Too many bad memories lurked there, starting with Dalena’s murder and ending with his own mother’s death. In between, he’d fucked things up with Pru and fought his best friend like a pissy little loser. When he thought about it, apart from Mags, maybe nobody else was even looking for him.
I should call Mags. Let her know I’m okay.
As he reached the piazza, he saw city sanitation workers busy scrubbing up all signs of violent insurrection. That had be Prince Alastor, already taking the helm from his royal pain in the ass brother. In addition to hauling bodies, janitorial personnel were also cleaning up all signs of last night’s wild party. There was no trash in the plaza, no food waste or vomit. Eerie how quickly such momentous events could be erased.
With a tinge of trepidation, he jogged up the steps toward Vega Rising. Ro hadn’t exaggerated when she said it was glorious, but the bloody history ingrained in the polished stones made it impossible for him to admire the architecture. If he had his way, he’d pull the whole place to pieces or turn it over to those who had worked beside him down below.
Anger fueled his steps, carrying him deeper into the palace. He stood inside a massive space framed with columns. A stunning fresco adorned the ceiling overhead, scenes out of gruesome Gol history judging by the number of people being beheaded or impaled. Yet the artistry was exquisite, as if the painter took a certain pride in denoting such calamity and pain.
Slay recognized a few faces from the undercity, but they seemed as lost as he felt, sort of wide-eyed and unsure what to expect, no notion of what came next. Revolution was one thing, but most had probably been afraid to imagine what came after, how they’d live after succeeding.
That’s the part they don’t write about.
In stories, the heroes went off on a mighty quest, had a bunch of adventures, and in the end, slew the beast. Usually, the tale ended at the celebration. The narrative didn’t follow the farm boy home to see how he fared or detail how things went sour because he couldn’t adjust to plowing his fields again and instead the hero turned into a bitter has-been, repeating his tired story in the tavern to anyone who’d buy him a mug of lager.
“There you are,” a familiar voice called.
When he turned, Hettie waved to him with a smile. “They’ve been bickering for hours. I know Ro will want you to join the meeting.”
“What’s the problem?” he asked.
She let out an aggravated sigh, running a hand through already disheveled hair. “How to proceed from here.”
Slay could predict the conflict. “Let me guess, they can’t decide who’ll govern?”
“Precisely. Can you hold this?” Deftly, Hettie deposited a tray in his arms and Slay realized he’d been conscripted as a coffee boy, bringing beverages to brighter minds in the movement. He laughed as Hettie led the way, following her with an amused shake of his head.
“Something funny?” she asked.
He waved away Hettie’s curiosity. “Never mind that. I thought Prince Alastor had the right to rule because of that challenge. Ro fought on his behalf, so doesn’t that mean he’s the new boss man?”
“That’s the precedent.” Hettie paused to open the great double doors, some distance down an impressive hallway. Here, the terrible frescoes were replaced by mosaic file floors in black and gold, along with ostentatious stained glass adorned in abstract patterns that caught the light and washed the pale walls with color.
“But…?” he prompted.
Without responding, she pushed the door open briskly, beckoning Slay inside. This was a massive chamber, and whatever it had been used for before, it now had a gigantic, oblong table in the center of the room, ringed by padded chairs. Currently, Prince Alastor was pacing, seeming as agitated as many of his listeners. Slay recognized Chantisse and Maksim, Ro gave him a little wave from the other side. Many of the rest, he’d seen going about their business in the undercity, but he hadn’t learned their names.
Slay didn’t see Sheyla. I need to find her. Her comm should connect to Mags without any problems. She searched for me all over Eldritch lands.
At least somebody did.
As he served the drinks alongside Hettie, he whispered, “Okay, so what’s the issue?”
“The prince wants to abdicate.” Hettie tried to keep her voice low, but her answer came at exactly the wrong time, during a lull in the heated discussion.
All heads swiveled in their direction. Slay raised a defensive shoulder, not wanting to cause problems in a meeting he’d joined at the midway mark.
“That right?” Slay finally asked, because nobody else was saying a damn word, and he loathed awkward silences.
“It’s true,” Prince Alastor admitted. “We’re trying to work out what to do next, but it’s not easy, as my family always ruled with an iron fist and I don’t wish to govern at all.” He turned a wistful gaze toward the ceiling. “None of us know how long we have, and I want to spend my time adoring my beautiful wife, not bickering about the price of office supplies.”
“That’s understandable. While you’ve done more than Golgerra might have reasonably expected, you cannot dump the problems your family created on someone else,” Chantisse said sharply. “Reparations must be made!”