92. Veyka

No torches lit the bridge. I found my way all the same. Eilean Gayl had called to me since the very first time I'd glimpsed it, falling through the void in the moments after the Joining. And even though I'd been threatened, and glared at, and cried more tears here than I ever had in Baylaur, it still felt like coming home as I passed into the keep, cutting across the training courtyard.

If the moonlight had not given it away, the thick floral scent would have. The courtyard had been transformed. Flowers bloomed on every pillar and archway, so thick it was hard to see the greenery that supported them. I recognized Maisri's sweet magic instantly.

The courtyard felt like joy.

I let myself linger—there was no one to see me close my eyes and inhale the lilac and gardenia.

But another scent twined with the fresh floral notes. Darker, spicier. A thrum in my chest. I opened my eyes in time to watch him shift from his wolf to fae form.

I took another deep breath, willing the fragrances of Maisri's garden oasis to soothe the jagged edges of my soul. "It is the middle of the night."

Arran lingered in the shadow of the archway—this one blooming with the primrose. My heart clenched.

"I knew you were getting closer," he said. "I could feel it—here." He touched his chest—his heart.

I knew. I felt it too. "Are you going to ask where I went?"

"Would you tell me if I did?"

"I don't know." I could be honest about that, at least.

But everything else… I was so fucking tired. Screaming at the Ancestors hadn't helped. Neither had refusing my impulse to invoke their name. Maybe sleep would. I started for the spiral staircase at the opposite corner, the one that would lead me past that awful carving, then up to the relative safety of my bedroom.

"Veyka, it cannot go on like this between us." Ancestors, his voice… it was tortured. Is that what I sounded like?

"Like what?" No. I sounded worse.

Arran pushed out of the archway. Closer—dangerously close. I could hear his heart hammering in his chest. Or was that mine?

"This—dancing around one another. Pulling closer, then apart again. It is… I can see it tearing you apart." He stared at my chest as if he could see the heart and soul within, see the damage.

But I was not the only one who was damaged. "And what about you?"

His answer was immediate. "I want you to be happy."

I shook my head. "What about you?"

"What I want does not matter."

"You are afraid." I'd already admitted I was. For some reason, I needed to hear him say it too. No matter what happened, how this conversation or the next one or the next one, I would go on, because Annwyn needed me. But I wanted to know how he felt. Needed it, or I might suffocate.

I grabbed his shoulder, the contact sizzling up my arm. Tell me.

His eyes started to burn. "Yes, Veyka," he growled. "I love you, and I am afraid of what that means. I am afraid that it will not be enough for you because it is not what we had before, and that it will break you, and I just…" He broke off, looking at my face, my eyes, the sky. Searching for words.

Words that I had. "Annwyn needs me."

Arran's eyes jerked back to me. This time, he grabbed my shoulders, shaking me hard. "I need you. I need you whole and flashing that wicked smile and meaning it. I love you, Veyka. Annwyn can die in darkness, if that is what it costs for you to be safe and happy."

Oh, Ancestors. Fucking Ancestors.

My insides were melting.

"Some of us aren't meant to be happy," I rasped. Arran did not let me go. So I eased myself out of his grip. Closer to the stairs.

I love you.

He was right to be afraid. I was afraid too—afraid to give in to those words again, to risk losing him again… knowing that I would have to pull myself up again for the good of my fucking kingdom.

I had not stopped loving him for a single second. I never would. Somehow, I would have to figure out how to save my kingdom, help Arran through this torment, and keep myself standing. Tomorrow, I would tell him and the others about the witch. Tomorrow, I would start building back my life, brick by brick. But tonight, I was just tired.

I waited until there was plenty of cold air between us before speaking again. "I am leaving in the morning."

Arran's eyes darkened. "Wherever you are going, I am going too." His muscles were so tense, the outline of his body rigid. But he held his ground and did not advance. Not physically, anyway. "I love you."

I could not have stopped the words, not in a thousand years. "I love you more."

I turned to go up the staircase before he could see the tears burning in my eyes.

"Why do you always have to argue?"

My heart stopped.

It can't be.

Not a single beat. How was I still alive and breathing?

I thought I had known fear before. But not like this, never like this.

It can't be.

The witch… she'd implied it might never happen—

Arran stumbled forward. "Veyka."

The world ceased to exist. I could not see anything beyond the male in front of me. His brutal, beautiful face, twisted with such emotion. Such longing. And pain. Pain I knew, because it had arched through me with every single breath. Then fear—fear that it was a dream. That this was not real. That in a second, a minute, he would forget me again.

I did not recall crossing the courtyard again, only knew that I needed to touch him and then suddenly I was. Maybe I'd slipped through the void.

But I stopped short of touching him. Scared, that the mirage would fall away.

Arran was the braver of the two of us. He was the one who reached out, his hand cupping my face.

"Ancestors, Veyka," he breathed, skating his thumb over my cheekbone and down over my lips. "I am so sorry."

I melted.

Collapsed.

My muscles ceased to function. So did my mind.

Arran's arms were around me as my knees hit the ground. His mouth was on mine, silencing the strangled sobs that shook my chest. I was still afraid to touch him—but then his hands were on mine, shoving them into his hair, over his shoulder. The contact awakened me. I could not get close enough, hold him tight enough. That golden thread of our mating bond, it did not just connect our hearts through our chests. I swore that I could feel it threaded and shining through every inch of my body, one long string that did not just connect us—it was us. And we were one.

"Veyka," Arran said my name, again and again as he rained down kisses on my face, my neck, my ears. "I'm sorry. I am so sorry."

"You do not get to be sorry."

"I said awful things—"

"I stabbed you in the heart."

He paused, hands splayed on either side of my face, pressing my forehead to his. "Even that was not enough to drive us apart. Not for long."

Breathing was not necessary, not when Arran's mouth was on mine. His tongue was in my mouth, reclaiming every corner. Twirling around mine in that exquisite, teasing dance. He caught my lower lip between his teeth, sucking hard as he pulled away.

"You taste," he shuttered. "You taste so fucking perfect."

I tried to tell him that I tasted the same as I had the last time we'd kissed, but words were impossible. Not when his mouth dropped to my throat, scalding hot kisses and scraping canines and— "Arran. Arran, please. You are going to kill me."

He growled at the mere suggestion. Male and beast, in unison. Wet, hot desire slid between my thighs, soaking my leggings. I needed these clothes off—his, mine. I needed him naked against me.

Nothing between us. Never again.

Arran must have heard my thoughts—I might have been screaming them through the mating bond. I was too out of my mind to notice or care. He tugged the thick wool tunic over my head. His tunic.

The growl in his throat turned possessive. His hands were too as they cupped my breasts, held in place with only a tightly wound piece of linen. Hardly sufficient for climbing mountains, but I hadn't wanted to risk my single bustier.

Arran glared down at the wrapping.

I pulled the dagger from my belt.

He slid it through in one precise slice, the very tip of the blade skimming my skin. I inhaled sharply, eyes flying up, only to find Arran's eyes glowing. "I shall make you pay for that."

"And every harsh word I have said." Guilt flashed in his eyes. No, I would not allow that.

I began undressing him, tugging loose the buttons across his chest, shoving the leather vest over his shoulders. I raked my fingernails along the tawny skin as it emerged.

"How?" he murmured. "Why now?"

It took me a moment to realize what he was asking.

When I did, I rocked back onto my heels. Not releasing him entirely. I doubted I would stop touching him anytime in the next month, at least.

"I—" I scraped my teeth across my lower lip. "I hunted down the witch in the Spine. I asked her what I had to do—how to get your memories back." There was my heart—wild and frantic in my chest. "But she said—she said it might never happen, there was no way…"

Realization spread through me like ice over the lake.

Arran was in my space immediately, stroking my cheek, gripping my waist. Unwilling to let me retreat back into myself. "What is it?"

I closed my eyes, too afraid to look at his perfect face as I confessed. "It is because I decided I would go on without you."

"Oh, Ancestors. You are going to hate me." His hands were going to withdraw any second. A betrayal—that is what it was. Elayne had told me once, that I could love them both, my kingdom and my mate. But it was a lie—a foolish fallacy. "I decided that no matter what happened between us, whether you chose me or not… I would go on. I would keep fighting—for Annwyn, I would—"

Arran grabbed my hands. He lifted them to his mouth, pressing his lips to each knuckle. "I could never hate you, Veyka." Then my palm, the inside of my wrist. "You are the other half of my soul. I… I do not think I could have survived, if our fates had been reversed."

He dragged his tongue over the thrumming pulse just above my wrist. "I am proud of you, Veyka." Scraped his canines over the vein. "I love you. I will love you for a thousand years."

"And a thousand more."

I had no more words. They were too hard, there had been too many. I needed my mate. All of my mate—the male who'd fallen in love with me in Baylaur, who'd taught me to love him as we crossed a continent, who'd declared his allegiance and chosen me again here at Eilean Gayl, even in the face of pain and loss.

I realized then—this bond between us was something else. A mating bond, yes. The primal connection of our souls. But it was a bond we'd chosen, both of us, again and again. It was not destiny that made our love strong. It was the fact that we were willing to give ourselves to one another, to choose each other day after brutal day.

I stood only long enough to shimmy out of my leggings. Arran, bless him, did the same. Slower—because his eyes were fixed upon me. His gaze traced the lines of my body as I exposed them to the cold, layer by layer. Gooseflesh spread across my skin, my nipples pebbling into tight buds.

I knew that when I spread my legs, the wetness on the insides of my thighs would be gilded with moonlight.

"Veyka." Arran's voice was hoarse. Desperate. A prayer, but not to the Ancestors. No, this male belonged entirely to me.

I cupped one breast, letting its weight fill my palm before pinching my nipple. The other dipped to my pussy. I was so wet, so ready for him. Beyond ready. Needy. But I savored the feral longing on his face as I dipped my fingertips between my folds. When I drew them out, they glistened with me.

For a second, I contemplated licking them clean myself. But I was much too impatient. I needed Arran inside me.

His hands were ready, digging into the soft folds of flesh at my waist and lowering me down. Ancestors, his cock was magnificent. Had it only been a week since it was buried inside of me? It felt like a lifetime. As I angled myself above him, the moonlight caught the bead of come on his tip. I longed to lick it off. Later, I promised myself.

When Arrran nudged at my entrance, all thoughts of later disappeared from my mind. There was only now—us, this, together. Forever. I shoved my wet fingers into his mouth at the same moment that he thrust up into me. I did not know which of us moaned louder, but we moaned in unison.

The entire castle would be awake by the time we were through. But a thousand eyes could not have stopped me. Not with Arran sucking on my fingers, licking away my wetness as if it was the sweetest nectar. Not with his cock buried inside of me, stroking up and up and deeper and…

"Arran," I pleaded. "Arran, oh fucking… Arran."

He grabbed my hips, trying to control the pace. To slow me down. But it was impossible. I was certain that if I slowed even a fraction, I would die. I rode him, driving my hips forward, my knees into the stones of the training ring, the scent of lilac all around us. I felt all of it, all at once, a glorious cacophony of sensations. Rising. Higher and higher.

My pussy began to clench. I was so close. The stars began to swim before my eyes. Arran grabbed my wrist, pulling my hand from his mouth. He laced his fingers with mine, pulling me back. My eyes met his and stayed, the demand in those blazing black orbs impossible to escape.

Mine.

The word was a growl through the bond.

Forever.

I was coming. No drawing it out, no stopping it. I was too close to the edge, the friction against my clit combined with his rigid, demanding cock inside of me—

Never again, Veyka.

I whimpered. Tried to cling to him. But Arran held my hand fast.

We will never be parted again.

"Never," I promised. Then I flung myself over that edge. Pleasure ricocheted through my body, from my clenching cunt to the hard points of my nipples to every follicle of hair in my scalp where Arran's other hand was buried.

And then Arran was coming inside of me. Hot spurts, in time with the rocking of my hips. I kept going, taking every bit of him that he would give. All of it. All of him. My lover. My king. My mate.

Finally, after all this torturous time—mine.

When the pleasure ebbed and the cold of the night air finally began to sink in, I took us through the void. To the bed where I'd dreamed of him. Where I'd cried and ached for him to be returned to me.

Arran pulled me against him, twining our hands and legs and fitting us together in every possible way. When we'd both settled, our heartbeats evening out, the darkness pressing in, Arran's breath kissed the shell of my ear. "Tell me everything. Every secret, every insecurity you were trying to protect me from."

"Everything?" I swallowed audibly.

"Everything." He squeezed me tighter. "I want it all, Veyka. I want you." And those words—maybe I'd needed them even more than all the others.

When we'd both come again, the air of the bedroom thick with the scent of our arousal and pleasure and every muscle in our bodies gloriously sated, I did.

I told him every worry that I'd held in my burdened heart.

And then, finally—finally, I fell asleep in my mate's arms.