CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

Krivoth's words ring through me with the sound of utter conviction. He fully believes what he says.

A little bit of the tension I always carry inside of me unwinds. I don't usually talk about the divorce. When Dad left, Mom wasn't sad—she was devastated. So I hatched my plan and practiced my brother's video games for hours every day. I kept at it until I reached a level higher on Super Mario Brothers 3 than my brother ever had. On his next visit, I pulled Dad into Jason's room, talking a mile a minute the whole time as I blazed through one level after another. I was so proud that I'd learned the game and beat Jason's high score. Surely Dad would be proud, too. He gave me a soft smile and said, "You're a lot like your brother." But he still left.

Funnily enough, it didn't put me off video games. If anything, I played even more to escape the pain of the divorce. All of it created my lifelong love of gaming. It brought me my closest girlfriend and a career I loved. But an echo of that pain occurred every time a guy treated me like I'd never be a real gamer because I'm a girl. I kept being bubbly and happy and trying so damned hard to be liked, but always fell short.

Krivoth doesn't look at me like that. He watches me wield my power with nothing but pride.

And now he says he'll never leave me, no matter what, that divorce isn't even part of his vocabulary.

I never realized how much I needed to hear that.

The thing is—I believe him. Which is both wonderful and terrifying, because if I believe him, that means I can believe in this marriage, and I'm not sure I'm ready for that.

A lump of emotion blocks my throat, and I swallow several times, but before I can speak, Krivoth does.

"I wish my father had left us." He snaps his teeth around a fiddlehead, destroying it in two chomps. "But instead it was my mother who died. Though perhaps if she hadn't, he would have been a different person."

My heart pinches. "What happened?"

"She was out on patrol when a war party of ogres attacked. She was a great warrior, but no orc can fight so many alone."

I reach over and squeeze his knee. "I'm so sorry."

"My father blamed our clan's warlord, but this was the first attack of its kind. No one foresaw the ogres coming onto our lands to escalate hostilities." He poked a stick into the fire, sending up a burst of sparks. "But he never let it go, determined that I would be the next warlord, so I would be guided by his ‘expert' council." The word drips with sarcasm.

"He expected you to be his puppet?"

"It was foolishness from the start." Krivoth scowls. "If my father truly had what it takes to be warlord—or to council a warlord—he would already have been in such a position. But he's not a strong enough fighter."

"You must be," I say. "I've seen you fight. You're amazing."

"I am." He flashes me a proud smirk. "But I have no head for the rest of it, the strategy and politics of it all. It took this trip for me to see that I never wanted it."

"So what do you want?"

"To complete our quest, so I can join the king's guard. To return with the violet trifolia that will protect my people from the deathsleep." He spears me with his hot eyes. "To show everyone my powerful moon bound bride."

His words and the obvious pride behind them send another jolt of pleasure through me, and I grin. "Let's do that, then."

Morning, as always, comes too soon. I try to block out the happy calls of birdsong by burrowing into Krivoth's side and squeezing my eyes shut against the brightening light.

As always happens, we've rolled together at some point during the night, and the hazy fog of sleepiness gives me the perfect excuse to linger in his arms.

"Get up," Storm calls out. "I heard you move."

"No," I moan. "Why is fae hearing so good?"

"So we can make you get up," Mist says. "If I have to be awake at this horrendous hour, then you do, too. The unicorn is relentless."

"The unicorn has to carry two other fae all day, and one of them weighs a ton."

"Only an eighth of a ton," Krivoth says, his deep voice raspy with sleep. He rolls up to sitting, and I follow him out of the tent and into the crisp, cool air of a mountain morning.

"Brrr." I rub my bare arms, which break out in goose bumps.

Krivoth scowls at me, then dips into the tent to pull one of the sleeping furs around me like a shawl.

It's still warm from our body heat, and I umm in contentment. "Thank you."

I walk over to Storm and pat his neck. "I'm sorry I add to your burden."

"Don't fret, little human." Storm lips at my hair. "You weigh nothing. It's that great lummox of an orc who's the problem."

When Krivoth grumbles something under his breath, Storm huffs in amusement.

Mist yawns loudly, showing off a mouthful of fangs, then bumps her head against my thigh, asking for scratches.

Krivoth restarts the fire and makes me mint tea. It's not coffee, but it's hot and the minty taste's refreshing.

He takes the leftover deer meat out of the magically treated leather he'd stored it in and slices it into strips, which he fries in the last of the fat. I'm beginning to think his real magic might be what he can do with nothing more than an iron skillet, some salt, and whatever he finds in the woods.

Breakfast is hot and salty and greasy and effing delicious. Even Mist steals a piece without a single snide comment about the horrors of meat being cooked.

Then we're off, galloping through a magical purple forest, with Krivoth's arms around me, keeping me safe and warm.

I practice activating my magic as we ride, adding the challenge of motion as well as the fact that I can't physically touch the ground when I'm on Storm's back. It doesn't work. I'm not sure which of the factors stops me—maybe it's both of them combined—and the only thing I can think of is to go back to my original method of feeling Krivoth's magic to make the connection.

Closing my eyes, I let myself sink back into him. But the constant sway of our bodies, the thump of the unicorn's hooves, the flashes of light and dark on my eyelids as tree limbs temporarily block the sun… It's all too effing distracting.

"Keep hold of me," I say, tapping at the hand spread across my stomach. Then I do something only possible because I trust Krivoth so much. I play jungle gym on his body, clinging to the arm he uses to grip Storm's mane, lifting my knees onto his thighs.

"Taylor, what—?"

"I need to feel your magic. Don't worry. I've got this," I say with a lot more conviction than I feel. My movements aren't anything anyone would call graceful, but after a few minutes, I've turned completely around, facing Krivoth, my legs wrapped around his waist, my hands on his shoulders.

"That was painful to watch." Mist laughs her purr laugh.

"I disagree," Krivoth says, his eyes full of heat. "She can practice that maneuver whenever she wants."

His hand flexes on my lower back, sending a rush of tingles through me. If I let myself drop down just a bit, I'd be right on top of his dick.

Magic, Taylor, I remind myself. You're doing this for the magic.

And yet, when I lean my forehead against him and try to focus on his magic, I feel a concentration of it at his groin. I jerk upright, opening my mouth to ask what the hell it is.

Then my lips snap closed on a poorly muffled giggle. Oh, god, did I really almost ask him if he has a magical cock?

"Did you get it to work?" he asks, looking at me closely.

"Nope!" I shake my head, the sides of my messy bob long enough to whip my face. I bury it against his shoulder again, scrunching my eyes closed and trying to block out every other distraction… especially the one I can feel calling to me from his cock.