Chapter 30

30

S he daren't rise, fearing her legs might not hold her.

"If I did not know better, I'd swear you were avoiding me," he said lightly, and his hair caught the breeze, shimmering along the water's edge like a current of molten silver. His pale-blue eyes held the barest hint of amusement as he gazed down upon her, his presence utterly intoxicating. He was a god woven from night itself, his pale-blue eyes burning with the same flame of hunger as her own.

Gwendolyn's heart beat like thunder in her ears, and her face flushed with heat as she attempted to steady herself to rise. His proximity made this impossible.

"Me?" she said to his face in the water. "I could say the same of you." She tried to keep her tone light despite the violent rabble of butterflies that took flight in her belly. "It is not me who's kept myself apart," she added, even now, torn between feelings of betrayal and this undeniable connection they shared. But, for once, Gwendolyn didn't wish to argue. Time was growing short, and she was grateful for his presence, no matter what their discord.

Even if it took him nearly a month to seek her out—sending messages through Bryn and Emrys instead of facing her himself. How easy it was to hide amidst two thousand Fae soldiers, even unintentionally.

Málik chuckled softly, and the sound sent a quiver down Gwendolyn's spine.

"Then it seems we are both guilty."

"One guiltier than the other."

"That would be me," he confessed. "Behaving like a foolish little boy."

Gwendolyn's lips turned slightly at one corner. "Not so little," she allowed, and he laughed. His playful banter was a welcome distraction, but she could still not move. She sat, peered into the water, gaping at the ripples in their faces.

Really, she understood it wasn't fair to hold him accountable for an act he was compelled to commit.

And no matter, she couldn't keep herself from asking. "Would you have done it?"

His tone was as sober as she'd ever heard it. "Taken your head?"

Gwendolyn nodded.

"Yes," he said truthfully. "I had no choice."

"I see," Gwendolyn said, and though she understood, she still felt peeved by his admission—but he'd spoken the truth, and after complaining so much about that, she did not wish to have him lie to her.

He fell silent, still watching her, and Gwendolyn glimpsed herself in the pond, watching the play of emotions on her face—sadness, anger… regret… love…

The time for prideful retorts was over. Gwendolyn was long past her childhood tempers, and whatever happened from here forth, she would not enter the unknown without speaking what was in her heart.

Nor would she have Málik soften the truth.

Rising at last, Gwendolyn turned to face him, only to discover his own expression had softened, his gaze searching hers.

"I love you, Gwendolyn," he said plainly. "And yes, I would have taken your head. But know this… it would have destroyed me to do so. You must believe me when I tell you that those actions were not a reflection of my love for you."

Gwendolyn's lips trembled, conflicted. She longed to take refuge in her anger, but his sincerity disarmed her. But this was what she wanted, right?

Honesty?

Declarations of love?

Why couldn't she say it back?

Had she ever?

No.

She had not.

Say it, she begged herself.

Say it!

And still she could not.

Gods.

Where now this damnable courage?

Her eyes locked with his, held him captive. "And yet… you once swore fealty to me, did you not?"

"I did," he whispered.

"Did your word mean so little? Would you truly have ended my life if that meant betraying a vow to me?"

She longed to beg him to say no, but she knew he would not. But his expression softened, a hint of regret flashing through his winterbourne eyes as he took a step closer. "I swear on all that is sacred to my Faekind, I'd not willingly harm you. But…"

"I know," she said brokenly.

"Gwendolyn," he begged, and her heart ached at the truth evident in the single word. Too many conflicting emotions warred within her, and Gwendolyn longed to trust in their bond despite circumstances designed to tear them apart. After everything, Aengus would, indeed, have his way.

Wouldn't he?

Wasn't that what he'd wanted?

For them to be parted?

Not all her memories of Aengus óg were entirely unpleasant. Once upon a time, he'd been a beloved prince, content to be heir of nothing—until his envy had festered like Rot. Gwendolyn turned away, concealing a new prick of tears, and she knelt again, feigning at scooping up a palmful of water to splash upon her burning cheeks, and said softly, "How can we fight the Fates when they seek to part us? I know that… you know… I know… everything."

"Amergin's tongue is too loose," he said.

"Do you prefer I remain in the dark?" she asked. "Would you leave me ignorant despite the task I face?"

"No," he whispered. "I'd have you know… everything—all that I could not say on my own. Why do you think I brought Amergin?"

Gwendolyn's brows collided with the cowardice of this admission. "Because you did not wish to tell me? Or because you could not?"

Silence was his immediate response, but he did not hold his tongue for long. "Both. There were things I was compelled not to say… others I did not wish you to know… because I feared you would leave me… again."

Gwendolyn's heart quickened as he knelt behind her, his arm encompassing her waist, dragging her back against his chest. She did not resist. In that moment, he held her with such a terrible tenderness that it made her breath catch in the back of her throat. "We'll find the way… together," he said, and she swallowed convulsively, leaning into his embrace, feeling the sincerity in his words.

For a moment, the world around them seemed to fade away, leaving only the two of them by this tranquil little stream under a lowering night where she dared find solace in his embrace.

Forsooth.

Understanding bloomed in her heart, pushing aside the hurt and resentment. She knew the challenges ahead would be daunting, but having Málik by her side would give her courage. She was, despite her lofty aims, less without him. Words were unnecessary as their hearts beat in sync.

Love… wasn't it said this could conquer all?

The most powerful magic of all?

With her head resting against Málik's chest, Gwendolyn closed her eyes, allowing herself to believe that maybe, just maybe, they could overcome.

"I would ask you once more to come away with me, leave all this behind," he said, his voice a raspy whisper against her ear, his hot breath like flames kissing her flesh. "But I know your answer."

"Could you, in truth, abandon duty?" she asked. "Could you live with yourself?"

His voice was heavy with defeat. "Nay."

Gwendolyn closed her eyes, leaning harder into his embrace, the weight of their impossible situation heavy in her heart. And no matter, in that moment, with his arms around her, she allowed herself to believe in the power of love.

His male scent enveloped her senses, stirring something deeply carnal within her, her breasts responding to his nearness, throbbing, pleading.…

His nostrils flared—Gwendolyn didn't see this, but she heard his sharp intake of breath, and despite the heaviness of the mood, after scenting her response, he chuckled darkly, the sound sending a delicious shiver down Gwendolyn's spine. They might lose each other in the end, but come what may, she needed this tonight, and so she turned to face him… blinking at his mouth, remembering the heat of those lips … the taste of him.

The promise of a storm swirled in his eyes. Laughter like thunder rumbled in his chest, and the sound of his throaty pleasure gave Gwendolyn a wicked thrill. She was powerless to resist his temptation. Their gazes locked and held—a silent understanding passing between them—and without a word, Málik cupped her cheeks with his two hands, his touch sending a jolt of desire through her. His lips brushed gently against her mouth with a feather-light touch, his kiss holding a promise… and Gwendolyn felt the weight of this unspoken vow in the press of his lips, in the way he clasped her so possessively… as though she were the most precious treasure in all the realms.

Gods.

The world teetered at the edge of chaos. Their love was a luxury she could not afford. But it was a hunger she could not resist. She took a deep breath, steeling herself for what lay ahead.… and despite that, she remained rooted to the spot, tilting her face to him, lifting her chin, inviting him without words…

Kiss me, she begged silently.

Málik obeyed, their hot breaths mingling in the cool night air. His hips rolled into her, pressing urgently, a bold declaration of desire that was impossible to misconstrue. Gwendolyn felt the same white-hot yearning mirrored within her own body.

Again and again, as though drawn by an invisible force, their lips met with greedy but tender kisses that spoke of emotions denied too long.

Unbidden, her fingers wandered between them, down his tunic… His sculpted abdomen rippled beneath her touch, under his leathers, and he caught her hand, dragging it away, and once again lifted his pelvis against her belly as his free hand slid to her rear, lifting her up against him—an unspoken demand for the intimacy they both craved. Gwendolyn wasn't merely aware of his desire. She was drenched by it, every pore of her flesh singing with yearning.

Once again, he claimed her mouth, and her heart swelled with a fierce and unrelenting determination to fight for this love, no matter what trials awaited. Heat coiled between her thighs as their kiss deepened, her fingers curling into his hair—soft as silk—taking care to avoid the bastard blade at his back, holding him tight as though to anchor this moment in time.

The taste of him was oh, so bittersweet…

In the circle of his arms, she allowed herself to be consumed. The war they faced now seemed ever distant and inconsequential compared to the fierce beating of her heart. Every touch, every caress, carried the weight of a thousand unspoken words, her womb aching to be filled. Could she be happy only to love his child?

If, in truth, they would be parted… could she cajole his seed into her womb, then grow and nurture his babe?

"I—"

"Say nothing," he demanded, and a low, fierce growl slipped through his clenched teeth as he, once more, undulated against her, his steel-hard desire a demand against the softness of her body.

If only…

If only…

Heat rolled from him in waves, making every inch of Gwendolyn's body burn and beg for his touch—never had she felt so alive! And now that she understood what passed between mates, she knew … and her body demanded to be assuaged. The scent of his musk cocooned them as their bodies writhed together, grasping and groping, still upon their knees, creating an intoxicating aroma that permeated the air. Gwendolyn inhaled it greedily, as Málik's teeth, sharp as blades, teased her already bruising lips, drawing the tiniest bead of blood… and then… as though it were manna itself, he dared to lap it, groaning deep in the back of his throat.

Gwendolyn reveled in the salt of her own blood. It coated her tongue, the flavor provoking a shiver—a mix of desire and fear.

But nay, not fear. She did not fear him… or this.

The metallic scent filled her nostrils, mingling with the musk of desire, and Gwendolyn felt a new awareness of the life force flowing through their bodies, binding them together. Now, she understood what he'd meant about Aengus scenting their bond… knew, because she scented it, too, and the smell was heady.

Once more, he lifted himself against her, and Gwendolyn was not shy about returning this gesture. She did not mistake what this meant—knew exactly what he craved. It sent a jolt of white-hot need coursing through her veins, and she reveled in the firmness of his desire. More than anything, she longed to turn the tender flesh of her neck to him, plead for more… feel him drink of her, to beg for the elixir she knew he could provide. There was so much they still needed to speak about, but right now, she didn't wish to think at all. Words could only betray her.

His hands on her body were insistent, tracing little paths of fire along her arms, her waist, her back, leaving her breathless and aching for more.

Yielding to him fully, Gwendolyn did not resist when he lowered his fingers to the apex between her thighs, rubbing with two fingers over her leathers, allowing him to stoke the fire within her. And meanwhile, his fangs grazed the flesh of her neck, sending another shiver down her spine as she whispered, "Take what you will…"

With a halting breath, she then stretched her head to one side, longing to lie beneath him. It was an act of trust and vulnerability… but it was not "I love you."

Eyes blazing with hunger, he relented, capturing her neck with his mouth, his teeth piercing her skin, and Gwendolyn gasped aloud at the heady sensation. Like the fangs of a viper, he infused his life force into her, but this time he also suckled from her, forging their bond deeper than any oath could demand, their very souls intertwining in an ancient act of love and sacrifice.

This was not the same as before, but it was not the first time he took as he gave. And in that moment, Gwendolyn remembered another time… the warmth of the sun on her face as they lay together amidst a field of sunflowers. In this moment of exquisite vulnerability, she felt a raw surge of power flowing into her veins, their connection pulsing with a radiance that seemed to defy even the looming darkness. He drank insatiably but reverently, feeling the pull of his fangs inside her veins, the slight pressure promising more pleasure than pain. Her heartbeat quickened, a mix of apprehension and desire swirling through her, understanding the forbidden nature of what she desired—to drink from him in return. She longed to taste him—to shove him down on the grass and take what she would. Climb atop him. Ride hard. Right now, she wanted that fanged mouth she'd spied in the underland pool, wanting so desperately to mirror his every action. She nipped him—gently, hungrily, and his answering moan was tormented. His silver hair brushed her bare skin, his incisors sending jolt after jolt twisting through her veins, making her gasp again and again as he greedily gave of his essence, a bond that pulsed with every heartbeat. This act of carnal exchange was not merely intimate, it was a surrender, a baring of souls. Uncaring of any chance they might be discovered, their dance of desire continued brazenly beneath the moon's watchful gaze, every touch igniting a fire that threatened to consume them both.

"I want?—"

"I know what you want," he growled.

And then suddenly, as quickly as their lips had met, Málik withdrew, his breath ragged as he gazed into her eyes, his voice tinged with regret. "If, in truth, you wish to keep your crown, you cannot have what you want."

Gwendolyn's brows collided, but she nodded, her hand lifting to her breast to still the pounding of her heart. Intuitively, she understood what he was saying. To be fulfilled in that way, she must give up all she wanted in this life—her duty, her mortality, her crown, her people, her city, her vengeance… and, well… she could not do that… not when she was so close.

With a heavy heart, she disentangled herself from Málik's arms, unsated, disappointed, heartbroken… only to be startled by a rustle of leaves.

At once, the fog in her head dissipated, and she reached for the sword that usually lived at her back, finding it gone. Her hand moved at once to the blade in her boot, her gaze scanning their surroundings.

Scrambling to his feet, Málik's silver eyes assessed the situation as six men emerged from the trees, each one bigger than the last. Their gazes intent upon Gwendolyn, they advanced, drawing blades. Málik stepped in front of her, a snarl erupting from his throat, and the sight of him, with bloodied lips, was unmistakably Fae. He grinned then, revealing a jagged mouth of porbeagle teeth, and said, "Come closer at your peril."

All six halted at once, but did not re-sheath their blades, and the tallest of the group sneered. "What business brings you to Baugh's lands?"