Ashvale

Talon felt as though his insides were on fire, but it was worth it. Every spider bite was worth the sight of his mate's magic and memories returned. The brush of her mind against his. The love filling the depths of her gaze.

He was only vaguely aware of his feet as he lost feeling in them. Numbness traveled inwards from his extremities. He wanted to lift his hand, to brush his fingers against Claire's soft skin, to push her hair back from her face to better see her, but he couldn't lift his arm.

Her eyes turned frantic, looking over him. The panic seeped from her mind and into his. He should have been more concerned; perhaps he was dying as a result of the poison. Yet, he couldn't seem to summon anything beyond joy at seeing his mate returned to him.

"Talon," she breathed, pulling at his clothes, then swearing when she saw more of the bites. In her mind, the bites had ripped through his tunic, his pants. Here, in the real world, they were hidden beneath the fabric, but they were no less present. The spiders must have been carrying Kane's poison, whatever he'd used to chain her. Yet, his memories were intact. Perhaps it was manifesting differently, because he'd been bitten.

He couldn't seem to summon the nerve to worry over it. She would make it right. His mate would fix this.

"But, I don't know how!" she was saying. He blinked, struggling to focus on her words, so he stared at her face. Her eyes were the only thing he wanted to lose himself in. He could forget about everything else.

His only disappointment was that he no longer had the strength to hug her, to wrap her in his arms. Gods, he didn't even have the strength to feel alarmed as tears began pouring down her cheeks.

A string of choked words fell from her lips. He should have known what they meant, but even his ears had stopped working. Her body glowed. Her lips continued to move, and he lost himself in the cadence of her voice, rising and falling as her hands swept over him. He began to feel again—warmth in all the places her skin touched him.

A sigh of relief fell from his lips. The feel of her against him, even while he was in pain, was bliss. The pain began to fade. Moment by moment, his mind sharpened. His arms and legs prickled, as if stabbed by thousands of needles. Then—

He surged into a seated position, dragging Claire into his arms. She sprawled across his lap, then rearranged herself until she was straddling his hips, her hands roving his face. "It worked," she breathed. "It worked—"

He captured her mouth in his, tasting the salt of her tears on her lips as he claimed her. "Mine," he told her. "You are mine."

"Yours," she repeated against his mind, caressing his tongue. He groaned.

"Well then, it appears my concoction worked." Lixiss's voice interrupted them. He'd forgotten about the spriten woman. Claire broke away, a slow smile spreading across her lips. Their eyes held a moment longer before she detached herself and stood.

"Shalaya, Lixiss. Aya sahha mik." Thank you, Lixiss. You saved me.

"Oh, you saved yourself, Your Majesty. I only gave you the means to do it," Lixiss answered in turn.

Talon exhaled. Now that their minds were linked again, he could understand the spriten language in its entirety, not just the few words he'd memorized on his own.

"Still, I owe you a debt." Claire's gratitude filled the shared space of their minds.

"As do I," he found himself saying to Lixiss. "For helping return my mate to me."

"Oh, it was nothing," Lixiss said, waving a hand. "I serve the king tree."

"Very well," Claire said, gathering herself. "If you ever need anything—anything at all—please, ask."

"I have all that I could possibly need—and more. The forest provides. But...I will keep that in mind. Thank you, Your Majesty. Now, not to be rude, but I was in the middle of a very riveting book before you arrived."

"Oh!" Claire huffed, pressing a hand over her mouth, amusement dancing in her thoughts. "Right. Of course. We will be on our way."

With that, she grabbed his wrist and led him out onto the street. Across the street, a sprite toiled in a garden. Next door, another sat rocking in a chair. It took everything in him not to grab his queen and kiss her silly. As soon as the thought materialized, so did Claire's amusement. Gods, he'd missed sharing her mind.

He allowed her to lead them down the thoroughfare, filling her mind with all manner of wicked thoughts. Thoughts about what he wanted to do to her. About how he planned to worship her.

She led him to the royal cottage. It unlocked for her, sensing her blood, and he found himself in a cozy entryway. Claire removed her shoes, placing them on a set of shelves beside the door. He followed her lead. She waved a hand and all the sconces came to life with glowing sprite magic—something akin to fire.

He looked around, taking it in.

"Cozy, isn't it?"

"Yes." The entire space was made of wood, intricately carved, with archways leading into other rooms, and a main staircase that led to the upper floors. He'd explore later. For now—

Claire squealed as he pulled her into his arms, hooking his hands around her thighs as he hoisted her up. Her legs circled his waist as he slammed her against the door. He was none too gentle about it, either.

His lips was on hers, tongue delving into the depths of her mouth. Gods, she tasted like sunlight and happiness. Like everything that was good in this world. His breaths grew stilted and his pants were suddenly too tight. He wasn't going to take her against the door—or maybe he was. His mind was too muddled, and her scattered thoughts only further muddled it.

"The bedroom—upstairs," she managed.

"Don't think I'll make it that far," he insisted, speaking against her lips.

He carried her to a sitting area, releasing her only briefly. They shed their clothes in a flurry of motion, tunics and pants tossed aside, scattering the floor. His baldric of weapons was flung somewhere behind the sofa. His sword, near the entryway. Their stockings lost under the end table.

He sat and tugged her down onto his lap, straddling him. The feel of her heat against him drove him to the brink. He groaned, squeezing her hips, relishing in the feel of her skin beneath his palms.

Her fingers tangled in his hair as she claimed his mouth, nipping at his lips, then moving on to the edge of his jaw. Their breaths came faster. His hand slipped between her legs, seeking her out. He swore. "You're ready for me," he breathed. If he didn't have her now, right this second, he'd die.

There would be time to savor her later. He'd spend the whole afternoon, evening, and night showing her exactly how much he'd missed her. For now—

She cried out as he sheathed himself in one smooth motion. Her head fell back, thick hair cascading behind her. He watched her, mesmerized, as she began to move. His eyes fell to her breasts and he captured a nipple between his lips. She cried out, pressing him to her.

"Claire," he breathed, his breath fanning her skin. "Claire."

Her name became a chant, filling the air between them, interspersed with the sweet sounds she made. Their movements were chaotic and hungry. It wasn't an elegant dance, but one born of desperation, meant to bridge their time apart.

He feasted on the sight of her. Her eyes glazed with lust. Her expression filled with pleasure—pleasure only he could give. Her sensual curves.

"You are my undoing," he growled. "There is no world in which I wouldn't follow you. There is no place you could go that I wouldn't find you. You are mine."

She tightened around him. "Oh, gods!"

"Tell me."

"Yours," she gasped. "I'm—yours."

"That's right." He jerked her hips possessively against him. Her eyes went wide. "I love you, mia cralla. I love you so godsdamned much."

"Talon!" she cried. Her body detonated, the markings on her skin exploding into light. He whispered her name, following her over the edge, pulling her against him as he rode out each wave of pleasure with her.

Their movements slowed, and he buried his face in her hair, pressing gentle kisses to her head. Her muscles went limp and she leaned against him. For a long time, they just breathed.

When she pulled back, their eyes met. "What are we going to do?" she whispered, fear creeping in to her voice.

He knew exactly what she meant. Now that her memories were back, now that she was truly a queen again, she was processing the severity of their situation. The fact that their kingdom had fallen.

"Well, first, I plan to lay you across the dining table there, and feast on you—"

"Talon!" She swatted at him. "That's not what I—"

"Then, I'll take you upstairs to bed. We'll spend the afternoon making love, although I can't promise I'll be gentle. Once I've wrung at least ten orgasms from you, I might let you eat and drink. After that? Well, we'll worry about the kingdom tomorrow."

In truth, he was worrying about it now. More than worrying. He hadn't been able to think straight since discovering what had happened. But it was easier to quiet his concerns with Claire in his arms, tucked away in this quaint little cottage. He could almost forget there was a disaster waiting for them just outside the forest.

They'd confront that later.

He spent the next several hours delivering on his every promise, until the taste of her and the feel of her saturated his very being. They lay entwined in a large bed upstairs. He combed his fingers through her hair, relishing the silky feel of it against his skin, savoring the press of her face against his chest.

She liked to listen to his heartbeat. It calmed her.

"I can't believe you didn't like coffee," she blurted. His fingers froze in her hair before continuing. She was thinking back over the days after they reconnected, picturing everything in a new light. "I would die for a cup of coffee right now."

"I wouldn't," he grumbled. "That stuff was awful. Like drinking dirt."

"Talon—"

"Argh!" he cried, jerking beneath her. "Did you just pinch me?!"

"No," she lied. She did it again.

"You little wretch," he growled, snatching her wrists and flipping their position so that her hands were pinned above her head and he rested in the cradle of her thighs. "If you don't behave, I will have to punish you."

"Oh?" Something dark and hungry filled her mind. She bucked her hips, sending hot desire shooting up the base of his spine.

His smile was wicked. "Yes, you would like that, wouldn't you?"

"No," she lied, her voice breathy.

"Oh, I think you would," he purred, "very much."

"Okay, maybe a little." She began to struggle, with every intention of pinching him again, just so he'd make good on his promise. She wanted him to punish her. The hard length of him was growing painful at the thought of taking her over his knee—

A loud gurgling sound broke through her giggles as she struggled.

"Gods, woman," he swore. "Was that your stomach?" He glanced down at her bare tummy covered in glowing markings, trying not to linger over her breasts.

"Maybe." She refused to admit it outright.

He sighed. "I'm failing miserably as your mate. The last thing you ingested was that gods awful potion."

"The only thing I'm hungry for is you," she challenged.

"Oh, I don't think so, mate of mine." It was in her mind to protest. He sensed every word she was about to say. Before she could say any of them, he yanked her up by her pinned wrists and said, "Time for some food."

"No!" she protested, struggling half-heartedly.

"No? You dare defy your king?"

"I dare!"

"Then you will see what happens—"

She squealed as he hauled her over his shoulder. He smacked her right buttock hard enough to leave a mark. She cried out, wiggling against him to get free. He wasn't having it. This close, he could smell her arousal after what he'd just done; she'd liked it. He swore under his breath and carried her downstairs.

"Now, there's got to be some food around here somewhere." At his statement, her thoughts went to the cellar, where there was enough bespelled food to feed an army. "But of course," he mused. He set her on her feet.

She contemplated the space before bustling around to collect ingredients. "I hope breakfast is okay," she said, setting everything out.

"I'll eat anything," he murmured, distracted by the sight of her naked body, which sent his thoughts veering off in a wicked direction.

"Stop distracting me," she scolded.

He chuckled. "What can I help with?"

She delegated, and soon the room was filled with the rich scent of pancakes, sautéed mushrooms and onions, and scrambled eggs. They worked seamlessly, picking up tasks where the other left off on. Each time she crossed his path, her fingers trailed over his bare torso, sending shivers across his skin. When he reached around her to grab the plate of pancakes, he leaned in and kissed the side of her neck, making her breath hitch.

The table was set, and they sat down across from each other to eat. Her eyes raked over his naked chest before settling on her plate with a happy sigh. His skin heated, but not in the way it would have were she anyone else. He'd never felt such perfect comfort in his own skin. He was the first to insist on being fully clothed, to hide his scars from prying eyes.

"Your scars never frightened me," she told him, licking her syrup-sticky fingers clean. He ignored the karaf waiting beside his pancakes and watched her lips with jealousy, wanting to snatch her fingers into his mouth, instead.

A cruel smile spread across her face. She knew exactly what she was doing . His eyes darted down, to the sight of her hardening nipples.

"You know," he said, "I think we need to make it a tradition to come to this cottage at least once a year. Just us. I, for one, rather like having a space all to ourselves. I think I'll impose a new rule while we're here. No clothing whatsoever, once we pass the threshold."

Her eyes blazed with fire. "Well, it is my cottage, and I do like that rule."

He rubbed his thumb over his lower lip, watching lazily as she ran her pointer finger through the syrup oozing on her plate. He caught her hand before she had the chance to lift it, and leaned in to suck her finger clean. A low, breathy moan fell from her lips.

He pulled away. "Eat your food, then I'm taking you back upstairs."

"You're one to talk," she challenged. "You haven't even poured syrup on your pancakes yet. I'm already ahead of you." With that, she set about devouring the feast in front to her.

They ate in amicable silence. Somehow, she managed to finish first. He loved the feel of her attention as he cleaned his plate. He'd never liked others staring at him, but with her, he was hungry for it. He wanted to be the only person she ever looked at; a new royal decree might do the trick—written solely for her.

Too bad he couldn't do such a thing for the rest of his people, to keep their eyes off of him.

"I could heal them, you know." Her voice broke into his thoughts. He froze. "Your scars, I mean. You said that the mages were never able to heal them because of the dark magic making up the Kalds. But with sprite magic, I'm like ninety-nine point nine percent sure I can heal them."

He stared at her in shock. When he opened his mouth, nothing came out. A flurry of emotions passed over him. Yearning, fear, excitement.

"Only if you want," she added, lifting her shoulder as if it was a small offering.

He was about to say yes. Emphatically yes! To fall to his knees at her feet and beg her, but something made him hesitate. When he tried to search her mind, he found walls barring his entry. Walls that had not been there moments ago. "You like my scars," he hedged.

"I like you either way," she said.

"What would you have me do?"

"I would have you make this decision entirely yourself, without my interference."

"What's the point of having a mate if they don't help you make decisions," he grumbled.

"Talon, this has to be your decision."

He scrubbed a hand over his face, thinking it over. He recalled what he'd looked like before. Longing filled his chest. Then he thought of what he looked like now, of the way Claire gazed at him with so much love, as if the scars didn't even exist.

"It means a great deal to me—your offer. But I decline."

Her eyes lit with surprise and something else. Approval. Respect. "You're sure?"

He swallowed. "I think so, yes."

"Well, if you ever change your mind...I'm not exactly going anywhere."

He chuckled. "Noted."

He knew his answer wouldn't change. It was easy to want what could have been. But he wanted the here and now even more. A world where his mate ruled by his side, and loved him for exactly who he was and what he was. He wasn't the man he'd been before his scars, not anymore.

When the barriers barring her mind dropped away, he saw that he'd made the correct decision.

He stood and rounded the table, scooping her up. They had the rest of this night together before reality came crashing down around them. He had every intention of making the most of it, starting with that spanking she'd earned earlier. 

💕❤️💕Don't forget to vote for this chapter!❤️💕❤️

Happy Friday Bookdragons!

I always knew there'd come a day when Claire would realize she was powerful enough to heal Talon's scars, and that he'd have to make a decision. It was a big deal for me (for his character arc) to show how much he's grown as a character. Claire makes him feel seen for now what he looks like, but who he is on the inside. I loved that he decided to stay just as he was. I'm proud of him.

Next week's chapter is Tamara! We haven't had a Tamara chapter yet, can you believe it?

--Mel