Warsong (Chronicles of the Warlands, #6)(75)

He chuckled against her skin as Amyu reached, trying to force his hand down to the center of her heat.

Amyu narrowed her eyes. She changed tactics, reaching for his length. It was his turn to gasp at her touch.

She laughed at her victory, but he turned the tables by taking a nipple in his mouth and grazing it with his teeth. She moaned, grabbing his head to try to keep him there. “Joden,” she panted, and he heard her plea. Joden rolled onto his back, bringing her up and on top of him, straddling his hips.

Amyu rose above him, the blankets falling back, letting the cooler air touch their overheated flesh. Now she leaned on him, her hands on his chest, her breasts swaying above him.

Joden reached up, kneading and squeezing, and rubbed her nipples hard with his thumbs.

Amyu pushed against his hands and started to thrust with her hips against him. She moaned in frustration, then reached with one hand to arrange things to her satisfaction. With a triumphant cry, she sank down, taking him in to both their pleasures.

Joden arched his head back, lost in her heat, lost in the delight that swamped his senses.

Amyu clamped down, then drew up, and then down again, and there was no way he could hold out against her. He could only meet thrust for thrust as the light exploded behind his eyes.

Amyu cried out her climax, shuddering around him, and he followed her into sweet release.

When his reason returned, and his vision cleared, he found Amyu on his chest, a soft warm blanket. He eased out of her, and gently pulled her on to her side, cradling her head on his shoulder. With his free hand, he pulled the blankets back over them.

Broken, she’d called them, and Joden acknowledge the truth as he slid into sleep. But broken together. That made all the difference.




Amyu hesitated at the darkness leading down to the crypts, but Heath held his torch high as he strode through the gate. “This way,” he said with a confidence she didn’t share.

Joden followed, so Amyu did as well, carrying her own torch, and one to spare. Shadows danced just outside of the pool of light. She’d no desire to be trapped down in this warren of tunnels with no light and apparently talkative dead.

She’d also no wish to find out if the dead spoke to any other than Joden.

“Here.” Heath was lighting the lanterns as he went, which eased some of her fears. He held the torch high and pointed. “Xyson is buried down this way.”

Their steps echoed against the stone in a way that Amyu hadn’t remembered from her frantic rush down theses paths. Her heart had been racing so fast in fear, she might not have heard them. But she did now and felt the damp chill of the stone. She might not be able to see her breath, but she felt it on her face as they moved down the narrow passageways.

Heath continued on in silence, lighting sconces as he went, until he stopped in front of a stone that looked newer to Amyu’s eyes. He stood there, his face still, and ran his fingers over the words carved there.

“O-o-o,” Joden grimaced, then tried again. “Y-y-your f-f-father?”

“Yes,” Heath said quietly. “You said you were called,” he continued, staring at Joden. Amyu could see the question that burned in his eyes.

Joden shook his head. “I-I-I d-d-do n-n-not h-h-hear h-h-him,” he assured Heath.

“No,” Heath’s shoulders relaxed, and he smiled sadly. “Of course not. My father would go straight to the gardens of the Goddess. He is at peace. Still,” Heath grimaced, “I would give much to speak with him again.”

Joden nodded.

Heath straightened, and continued walking. “It’s just that, with Keir having to decide his course of action, I feel the lack. I turn to talk to him, turn to ask him something and it takes me a moment to remember that he isn’t there.” Heath glanced over his shoulder. “You know?”

Joden nodded.

Comforting even without words, Amyu thought as they kept walking. Joden didn’t need words sometimes. He had such expressive eyes, and his hands… She flushed, suddenly very glad to be at the back as her face flushed with sudden heat.

The sharing between them had been lovely. Warm and comforting and oh so pleasurable. Her nipples tightened under her clothing at the heat of memory.

“Do you think the Warlord will decide soon?” she asked, not really wanting to know, but she needed to think on other things.

Heath was silent for a while, lighting another lantern. Joden glanced back at her, looking puzzled. Amyu frowned. Had Heath not heard her? Or worse, would he not speak to a child? Amyu stumbled and caught herself. Heath had not seemed to think that of her, but he was bonded to Atira and she—

“I think he must,” Heath spoke, to her relief. “All of his plans require peace between the Plains and Xy. He really has two choices. Head to the border or stay and defend from within these walls if he is attacked.” Heath paused, lowering his voice. “Will he have to fight a war at the border, to defend Xy? Or will he have to attack the Plains themselves, to secure his position?”

Joden had also stopped and Amyu was at his shoulder. She could feel the heat of Joden’s body against her, even as she stared at the both of them. “You think it will come to that,” she said flatly.

“I do not know,” Heath said. “I do know that the City of Water’s Fall is in a fever, commanded by the Queen to make swords, weapons, armor, bolts, arrows, and everything else an army on the move needs. Lara has opened the treasury, and is willing to pay well for quality work, and Sun God help anyone who tries to pass off shoddy workmanship.”