Scorched by Magic (The Baine Chronicles #7)(63)

“No,” he finally said, stroking the pad of his thumb along my cheekbone. “Though that is certainly an enticing thought. But we will be able to move onto more advanced lessons. Fenris’s repertoire of spellcraft was impressive, but I am three times his age and have far more practical experience.” His expression sobered then, and he searched my gaze. “How have you been dealing with Fenris’s memories? It can’t be comfortable, having the sum of someone’s life experiences crammed into your consciousness.”

I shrugged. “I’ve put them in a sort of box so that they don’t pop up unexpectedly. At first, it was overwhelming every time I opened the box to reach for a spell, but it’s become a lot easier. Now I just leave the box kind of propped open, and whenever I need a spell I don’t know, it pops into my mind.”

“Excellent,” Iannis said, his voice filled with pride. “Someone with a weaker will or fewer memories might have a hard time dealing with such a gift, but it seems you have instinctively figured out how to handle them.”

“So, what does this mean, in regards to my apprenticeship?” I asked. “Do we graduate me now, or wait the full ten years?”

“I do not think we need to wait ten years,” Iannis said, “but we should keep up appearances for a few years longer. We don’t want to risk accusations of cheating, and nobody is supposed to know that Fenris was a mage. Besides, you may have inherited all Fenris’s knowledge, but you still need practice in actually applying all those spells.”

“Do you see it as cheating?” I asked, more anxious than I wanted to admit. “I don’t think I could have made it out alive, or saved Com’s daughter, without the techniques that Fenris gifted me.”

“Both of you did what you had to do.” He stroked my hair. “Don’t worry about that. Some mages might be suspicious at your sudden advancement, but they cannot prove that you are anything other than a very gifted student.”

“Plus, I can always say it’s because you are a more than gifted master,” I pointed out. “Part of me wishes I could give Fenris the credit.” I sighed, sadness filling me again. “He did some great things that we’ll never be able to tell anyone about, and it sucks. Hell, we couldn’t even bury his body.” It had never been recovered, and we could only assume it had burned to ashes in the fire. Iannis had commissioned a gravestone in the Palace cemetery, where Solantha’s important figures were buried, but the plot beneath it was empty.

“The only credit Fenris would care about is that which you and I have already given him,” Iannis said, pulling me against his chest. “He cared deeply for you, Sunaya, more than you may have realized. It was he who drew my attention to your case and prompted me to bring you to the Palace for further examination. The scholar in him wanted to know how you could have escaped detection for so long, and the shifter in him hoped for a kindred spirit in you.”

Tears spilled down my cheeks, and I tucked my face into Iannis’s shoulder. “He saved my life that first night in the Palace when the guards nearly killed me,” I muttered into Iannis’s robe. “He always looked out for both of us.”

We stood there for a long moment, grieving in silence and taking comfort in one another’s presence. And then, Iannis gently tipped my tearstained face up to his and pressed his lips against mine. I kissed him back on a long sigh, twining my arms around his neck. Desire slowly unfurled its tendrils, warming me up, pushing out the heavy sorrow that had taken up residence inside me. It seemed like forever since Iannis and I had last made love, and I reached for the sash around his waist, tugging it open so I could run my hands over his hard, strong body. He inhaled sharply as I lightly scraped my claws over his pale skin, and then he was working at the ties on the back of my dress, loosening the bodice.

“Yes,” I whispered as his hands glided down my exposed back, pushing the skirt of my dress down and baring my body to his hungry gaze. He shrugged his robes off his powerful shoulders, then picked me up and carried me into the bedroom. The satin sheets caressed my skin as he laid me down, and then it was his lips gliding over my skin, sending sparks of desire through me as he gently kissed and nipped, tracing patterns and paths over my curves with his talented mouth. I lifted my head to watch as he spread my legs, then buried his face between them, using that wicked tongue to find my sweet spot. My hips arched off the bed, pressing myself against him, and I buried my fingers in his long, dark red hair as I moaned my encouragement.

But Iannis took it slow tonight, gradually lifting me higher and higher until the pleasure crested, and I cried out his name. And he did it again, and again, and again, drawing out the moment, savoring my moans, my trembles, my need. And when he finally lifted his head again, the hunger in his shimmering violet gaze was tempered by a tenderness so profound I thought my heart might burst with love for him.

“A ghra,” he whispered against my lips as he slid into me, the word as much a prayer as it was an endearment. I wrapped myself around him, and we rocked together, holding tight to each other as we gathered our love around us like a kind of armor, a balm that soothed our wounds and strengthened us. I wanted to hold onto this moment forever, to cocoon myself in love and sensation, but need took over, that fierce edge that pushed us faster, made our skin slick with sweat and our lungs short of breath.

“I love you,” I gasped, arching my hips as he thrust into me, hard and fast. And then I came again, holding on tight and using Iannis as my anchor as I was tossed into a storm of pleasure.