House of Pounding Hearts (The Kingdom of Crows #2)(118)

My eyes grow wide. “You have to go,” I hiss. “Immediately.”

But Lore bends one arm and pillows his head on it, all the while shooting me the laziest smile. His morning wood digs into the crease of my ass, and even though I’m pretty certain I have second-degree cock burn from the four times we made love last night, my core—that little vixen—revs right up, turning nice and dewy.

When his gaze drops there, as though to survey the odds of a quickie, I growl, “Don’t even think about it.”

His gold eyes snap to mine. “You do realize I’ll think of little else.” His fingers close around my buttocks and squeeze, then loosen before squeezing again.

My mouth parts around a deep moan because the male has the absolute best hands.

I thought I had the best tongue, he murmurs as he kneads my sore muscles again. And nose.

They’re all tied, I manage to choke out, wondering if more than two things can be tied. Why am I even dwelling on this? Who the underworld cares?

Lore grins as he continues to massage my knotted muscles. What I wouldn’t give for a full body rubdown instead of— I smack his chest.

“Such a violent little bird,” he murmurs dramatically.

“Stop sidetracking me and go meet with my father to buy me time to”—a sniff at my skin makes me swap the word dress for the word—“shower.”

I grip both his hands and tug them off my skin, then whimper as I scoot off him because, damn . . . it isn’t only my muscles that ache. I think you shattered a few essential organs, I whisper into his mind as I hobble toward the bathing chamber.

Lore laughs.

Tàin, I grumble, glancing over my shoulder to make sure my sentiment registered.

His chuckle turns into a smug grin that makes me stop my mad crawl toward the bathroom and reach out toward the nearest wall to avoid stumbling and shattering more organs and bones. In all my years on this Earth—which, granted, haven’t been copious—I’ve yet to set my gaze upon a sight as arresting as the naked king sprawled on my bed, cloaked only in pale moonlight and the vestiges of his makeup.

“My father is waiting,” I remind him and myself. “You shouldn’t keep him waiting.”

“Tell me . . . what do you suppose he’ll want to discuss?”

“The next move in your Meriam-recovery mission?” Even as I suggest it, I know that will not be the focus of their conversation.

Lore rises from the bed in one fluid movement that has all his muscles rippling, and then he’s walking toward me, hard cock bobbing, and the bruised walls of my reproductive organs clench and dampen.

It would really help if you could shift into your crows right now.

How would it help? When he reaches me, he’s still in skin, and I’m still helpless to move.

“It would help me concentrate on what I’m supposed to do,” I mumble.

He slides a bent knuckle under my chin to tilt my head, then presses a kiss to my already parted lips. Your father is still standing in front of your door. He knows there’s only one place I’d be, and that’s right here, with you, Behach ?an.

My gaze shoots to the studded wood that suddenly seems too thin.

He’ll stay out, for there are some sights a father prefers not to see.

I tow my gaze back to Lore’s.

I advised him to stroll the hallway and reflect on how lenient I was with him when Daya finally accepted their mating bond.

The reminder of my mother crushes my crackling nerves. “I hope she’s alive.”

Although Lore’s golden gaze drifts to the door, I don’t think he’s seeing it. “I hope so, too, Little Bird.”

It strikes me that it’s the first time he’s sounded unsure of her fate, and his uncertainty carries Gabriele’s words to the forefront of my mind.

She cannot be dead.

I will her not to be dead.





Showering takes longer than expected because, after cleaning me, Lore dirties me anew. I hadn’t thought my body could take it—take him—but apparently my body can endure a lot. And enthusiastically, at that.

It’s laughable that I feared having sex with this man.

As I finish tying on a pair of high-waisted, pearlescent pants over a snug white top that feels woven from clouds, I find myself grinning and impatient to wake Phoebus to tell him how wrong he was about kings being selfish in the sack.

My smile wanes when I remember that Sybille won’t take part in this conversation.

Since Lore is keeping my father company, I’m not awash with guilt when I take a few extra minutes to tidy up my room. I make the bed until it looks less battlefield and more place of slumber, then do away with the tell-tale battle Lore waged against my dress, discarding it in the laundry chute instead of the wastebasket. Even if I don’t succeed in mending it, I want to hold onto it, for objects contain memories.

Like Mamma’s rock . . .

My fingers close around air because the engraved rock sits in Antoni’s home. Although it exists in the same land as I, it feels an ocean away. As far from me as the two Rossi women I miss with all my heart. I touch the window, watching as dawn pinkens the horizon and gilds the Queendom of Shabbe.

Though I wish they were here with me, I’m grateful they’re safely tucked behind the wards, for war is coming. It hangs over Luce like the mist rolling off the gray rock of Lore’s mountain. I spend a second longer gazing at the sun rising over the distant pink shores before finally exiting my bedchamber to face my father.