Fire and Bone (Otherborn #1)(85)

I move to stoke the fire, trying to bring more heat into the room. Then I steel myself, letting my woolen shawl fall to the ground. I reach up and pull the string on my dress, loosening the neck, letting the fabric fall past my shoulders until it hangs at my waist. My shift covers my breasts. I can’t bring myself to strip naked for him, but I need to allow for as much skin as I can.

The bed is soft under me as I move my way across to lie at his side.

This is my Bonded. I won’t need herbs to encourage his connection. I won’t need spells. That’s all been done already. What I’ll need is skin, his and mine, and a willing spirit on the other side of the connection.

His shades have already removed his leathers—only his thin linen tunic remains. I tentatively reach out and unfold his hands, pulling them from his torso. I gather the fire in my fingers and run them softly along his arms and chest, burning the fabric enough so that it all falls away.

My body shakes, teeth chattering, nerves raw. I nestle in, pressing my body into his side, laying my arm over his pale chest. Resting my cheek in the crook of his shoulder. There are salty tears on my lips.

“You may feed from me if you wish,” I whisper.

I hope he can hear me.

What am I thinking? Am I wishing myself into oblivion?

“Goddess, help me.”

I almost don’t notice the first pull, it’s so subtle. A slight ache in my cheek, my palm. I’m half-relieved, half-terrified when it comes. I focus on breathing and ready myself for the inevitable pain, knowing very little of what might be coming, knowing only that it is death.

Again, the ache surfaces, stronger. And a chill blossoms next, small prickles left in its wake.

I watch in confusion as ice crystals crawl from his chest, over my fingers, up my forearm, to my elbow.

Fear washes over me, but I don’t pull away.

A moan rumbles from his throat, vibrating in my skin.

And the pain flares, at last, my whole body lighting with the burst, the ache growing jagged edges, sharpening into agony in mere seconds, blinding me. Talons and teeth claw at my insides, in a frantic swarm, tearing, writhing, like a riot of birds trying to burst from my bones.

I can’t move, I can’t breathe, I can’t hear anything except my thundering heartbeat.

But just as quickly as the agony comes, it washes away like a tide fading out.

I gasp and convulse, trying to get air into my lungs as I scramble away from the monster trying to rip me in two.

Fingers grip my wrist, and the king rises, his body looming over mine. His silver eyes burn blue. “What’ve you done?” he growls, his voice scraping against my skin. “Fool woman.”

I try to squirm away, but I’m weak, my limbs useless. “Please,” I rasp from shivering lips. “Please.” It’s all I can say, my mind blurring in and out of focus.

“I’ve hurt you,” he says more gently. As if he were ashamed.

He gathers me up, his fingers delicately caressing my face, almost unsure. I hardly know how to interpret his touch.

“Listen to my voice,” he says, “and focus on my face.”

His features are tight with worry. Still, his fingers brush carefully at my cheek, my neck, lulling me.

“It wasn’t for you to do this,” he says. “I would have returned to you. I always will.”

“Couldn’t leave you alone,” I whisper. No matter how much I wanted to. I don’t have my own will any longer. This Bond holds me captive to him, beyond my control. It’s suddenly clear to me now.

He goes still, as if stunned by my words. He studies me, fingers playing in my hair.

And then he leans in, kissing me gently on the lips.

The scent of him surrounds me, sweet roses and rich wine, the tang of it on my tongue so stunning I nearly gasp. Heat spills from my core, filling my skin, my power seeking, hungry as it reaches out, as it responds in a heartbeat, wanting him.

But I struggle with it, pushing it back, then tuck it away as I always do.

“Don’t resist,” he says. “Let it do what it wants. Let me feel you, Lily.”

His lips touch mine again, this time with a need of his own, his hands gripping me, pulling me close. Everything in me sparks to life, bright and vivid in a vibration of urgency. His body and mine cling to each other, natural as magnets. My hunger seeking, nudging, needing.

And I answer. Surrendering.





THIRTY-TWO

FAELAN

My eyes snap open. I gasp for air, feeling like I haven’t breathed in decades. The chill of the stone room shifts to the warmth of my cottage; the bed melds into my nest; the smell of snow turns to the smell of green life.

What did I just see . . . feel? That wasn’t Sage in that vision. It wasn’t Sage.

And with sudden clarity I know why Sage feels a connection to Kieran, what memories she’s sensing when she’s with him. It must be one of these dreams. One of Lily’s memories of the king.

Because that was Queen Lily. I can barely believe it. Sage was living her sister’s memories in her sleep. A striking, vivid dream of a real moment from long ago. How is that even possible?

It’s not possible. Unless . . .

Unless Sage was given the blood memories by someone.

No. That’s not—it can’t be. Who would do that? And how would I have missed it? It takes a fairly complex spell, and whoever did it would have had to store the memories for centuries. Not to mention the fact that Queen Lily isn’t dead, so she wouldn’t have released her memories yet. They’d still be inside of her, and she’s in the Pit.