Iron and Magic (The Iron Covenant #1)(97)

She walked into his bedroom, shut the door, and slid the latch, locking them in. He raised his eyebrows at her.

“We had a deal,” she said.

“Ah.” Wee lamb come to the slaughter.

A year ago, he would’ve stayed downstairs. He’d wash the blood off, eat, drink, and when a woman came his way, he’d fuck her until he couldn’t think straight. But it was no longer simple. He didn’t want to be her Aberdine.

“Leave.”

She put the envelope on the chair by the door.

“Did you not hear me?”

“I heard,” she said.

“Maybe I wasn’t clear. I don’t want your noble sacrifice.”

She raised her hands to her hair. Her braid fell from her head. “Oh please. I gave you three gorgeous naked women, and you practically dislocated your knees chasing me around the pool instead.”

She ran her hands through her braid and it fell apart, her long white hair spilling over her shoulders, soft and silky. It framed her face, bringing something new to it, some unspoken intimate promise. He almost never saw her with her hair down. He wanted to think it was for him alone.

Elara shook her head. He watched her, because he was a raging idiot, and he noticed everything: the bend of her neck as she leaned forward to take off her sandals, the way her hair fell, the way the dress hugged the curve of her ass…

He didn’t want payment. He didn’t want obligatory sex. He wanted her to want him. To scream for him. He wouldn’t get what he wanted, and right now, he wanted her gone.

“Last chance, Elara. Leave.”

Her light eyes laughed at him. “I’m staying.”

They stared at each other across the room.

“Well?” she asked. “Or should I get an apron?”

The remnants of the fight drove him on. He would make her run from this room screaming and then he would rest.





There was something irritatingly erotic about the way he sat.

He sprawled in a chair, huge and golden, his muscular body draped over it. His shirt was nowhere to be found. Strong powerful muscle corded his shoulders. His carved chest was clean-shaven, his body slimming down to a narrow waist and flat, hard stomach. His dark hair, still wet from the shower, fell on his face. His blue eyes were cold and dark.

“Fine,” Hugh said. “Rules are simple: while you’re here, you do as I say. Any time it gets too much for you, say ‘stop,’ and everything will stop, and you can walk out that door.”

“Fine by me.”

He tilted his head and looked her over. She could almost feel his gaze sliding over her face, down, lingering over her breasts, and moving down, to her hips. He looked at her as if he were buying her and was trying to decide if she was worth his money.

Oh, it’s like that now, is it?

Elara raised her arms to the sides and turned, rolling her hips as she did. There you go, get the whole picture.

She completed her turn and winked at him. He didn’t move.

“Take off your clothes.”

She pushed the straps of her dress off her shoulders, and let it fall off her chest. She wore a lacy white bra underneath. She had picked it especially for today. It cradled her breasts, lifting them up, the outline of darker nipples barely visible through the lace. It wasn’t the kind of bra a woman would wear for comfort, and she’d been stuck in it for several hours, waiting for him to come back.

He stared at her. He still hadn’t moved.

The thin fabric of the dress snagged on her hips and Elara pushed it down, revealing a pair of lacy panties, so small they were barely there. The dress fell and pooled around her feet. She stepped out of it and kicked it aside.

He looked almost bored. Arrogant prick.

Her hands went back, and she unhooked her bra. The pale straps came loose, and she pulled it off her left arm, peeled it from her breasts, and held it out to the side with her right hand.

She opened her fingers. The bra fluttered to the floor.

Elara slid hands along her hips, hooking the panties with her thumbs, pulled them down, and kicked the tiny piece of fabric aside.

Something sparked in his eyes, a dangerous blue fire.

He wanted her naked. Fine. She would be naked for him.





Her stomach sloped, gently rounded, to the vee between her legs, dusted with white curls. Her breasts were full and heavy, and he wanted to crush her to him and brush his fingers over her nipples. In his mind he lunged from the chair, grabbed her, and dragged her to the bed.

His erection hurt.

The Ice Harpy stood naked in front of him. The Queen of the Castle.

It was a contest now. He didn’t think he had another fight in him tonight, but she goaded him, and he would not lose.

She smirked at him.

Hugh opened his mouth. “Crawl to me.”

He waited for her to grab her clothes, bolt, and slam the door.

A slow witchy smile bent her lips. She laughed softly. Her knees bent, and she went into a crouch, her hair brushing the floor.

An instinctual alarm pricked his spine with icy claws. Whatever was looking at him from the floor was not human. It looked like a human woman, it was shaped like one, but it was something else. Something ancient and cold, a thing of ice and sharp fangs, woven from eldritch magic. It looked at him through Elara’s eyes and it laughed.

She blurred and then she was right there, in front of him, crouching, her hands with long elegant fingers resting on his knees. Her hair floated around her, lifted by phantom wind. Alarm jerked his spine straight. She tilted her face up to him. Her voice caressed him, filled with magic. “Hugh…”