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Draven was grinning cheekily up at me. “I’d better just do what I do best then.” And he lifted his hips to fill me. I gasped, moaned, groaned all at once. Instantly, Sir Bertram’s voice stopped. Draven’s hand was over my mouth. I felt my eyes bulging. “I say,” Sir Bertram started. “Did anyone else hear that? A strange sound...” “It sounded... familiar,” one lady in his audience said. She giggled. “Almost as if...” “No, that’s quite impossible,”
“You’re boiling over inside, aren’t you?” he observed, sounding amused at my predicament. “Let yourself erupt for me. Come for me, Morgan. Come for me, my queen, my empress.”
“What’s the plan?” “Get down there and fuck shit up?”
Nightclaw would never have discarded his rider or allowed Draven to do what he did unless the cat himself had good reason. In any other situation, the exmoor could have easily caught me himself and carried Draven and me both to safety. But his mate had been in danger. Her wing ripped to shreds. And so he and Draven had acted the only way the two males could. They had split up, each to save the ones they loved.
“You’re my goddess, and I’m your knight,”
“You always look the opposite of terrible to me. Still, compared to how beautiful you look when well-rested, you looked... well, beautifully unrested.”
“Good goddess, this stuff is potent.” Gawain’s face was red from laughter. “Rychel’s homebrew. Vela only knows what she put into it.” “Phoenix tears and mermaid melodies,” I remembered.
I hadn’t gone to visit Sir Ector. I didn’t think he’d want to see me. They said his hip was very bad. An infection in the bone.
No one would miss me if I were gone. They would be glad. Crescent wouldn’t have to worry about me anymore. The servants could come back. They wouldn’t have to be afraid. Maybe there was one who would care. The man who had held me in his arms. He had smiled down at me. Even his eyes had seemed to smile. They had been a brilliant green. He’d talked to me, sang to me, cradled me. Was that love? The feeling I’d had when he’d held me, knowing I was safe? Had he loved me?
“No. He’s been good for you. The two of you...” She shook her head and looked up at the moon. “What? Tell me.” “The two of you are equal parts disgusting and inspiring.”
“Well, you two look as if you’re enjoying yourselves on this long and lonely road. What are you talking about?” “Oh, nothing,” I said swiftly. “Nothing at all.” Gawain raised his brows. “Nothing? C’mon. It has to be more interesting than what Hawl was just telling me about.”
“I lost him, too, Morgan,” he said finally. I closed my eyes, hands tightening on the trousers I had been folding. “I know. That’s why you should hate me the most.”
“Let me kiss your wounds,” I whispered. “Give me your tears, my love. Bury yourself in me and give me all of your grief.” A choked sound came from his throat. Still, the tears stayed put.
“He is Khor.”
“Your Draven, my Khor,”
“Oh, my child.” My father sighed. “Oh, Marzanna. No father should have to do what I did. I have waited for you to return. Waited countless mortal lifetimes. And now that you have, I have been so disappointed.”
“If only you had learned at one point in your miserable, overly long lives where true power lies. Not in taking. But in letting go.”
