Born of Blood and Ash

“You should have.” Spreading my thighs, he looked up at me. A lock of chestnut hair fell forward, softening the brutal hardness of his jaw. “I wasn’t as deserving of you then.”

Before I could protest, he was on me. His mouth. His tongue. His fangs. He licked and sucked, drawing my hips off the desk, and when his tongue dipped, the most needful sound rumbled from deep within him.

Ash was…insatiable.

He tasted me—no, he feasted—and all I could do was hold on to the edge of the desk and try to keep my precarious balance. Tension coiled tight with each plunge of his tongue, drawing me closer and closer to the edge of release. I shook with need, caught on an almost painful precipice as he lifted his head.

“Sunshine,” he murmured, his lips glossy as he kissed my i

He rose with the quick grace of a wolf hunting its prey, and as he shoved his pants down, I wanted nothing more than to be devoured.

“Ash?”

His hand halted, and his eyes flashed to mine. “Liessa?”

“Are you going to fuck me now?”

Shadows appeared beneath his flesh, swirling as madly as the eather in his eyes. “Nothing will stop me.”

Pure want made me a little dizzy. “Prove it.”

An inhuman growl came from him—a sound no mortal could make. Probably not even most gods. It should scare me. But it only excited me as he freed his thick, rigid length. A small bead of liquid glistened at the tip.

Then his hips were between my thighs, spreading them. Deep, sharp pleasure twisted inside me as I felt the cool pressure of his cock. Sliding an arm around my back, he clasped my hip with his other hand. A stuttered heartbeat later, the way he held me kept me from sliding backward under the force of the deep, hard thrust. I cried out, shaking as my body opened for him.

There was no space between our bodies. Seated fully inside me, he didn’t move as I curled my legs around his hips. Even as his arm trembled, he held himself still for a moment. And then another.

“Ash?” I whispered against his lips, my pulse thumping erratically.

He lifted his head. Our eyes locked. There was a sudden wildness in his silvery gaze. My breath stalled a little.

I touched his chest, concerned. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah.” The eather brightened, whirling through his irises. His hand left my hip, and he caressed my cheek. “I just sometimes remember how close I came to losing you.”

My heart ached. “But you didn’t.”

“And I won’t.” He drew his thumb across my lower lip. “Not ever. That is the promise we’re making to each other.”

Ash began to move then, thrusting deeper into me, filling me up. His pace increased until it became a frenetic tempo I thought might tear me apart, given the pleasure.

Then he suddenly lifted me off the desk, his large hand cradling the back of my head. I gasped, stu

Potent desire spread through me. I arched in his embrace, my body aching and tense.

“Please,” I heard myself whisper—beg.

Ash answered without hesitation, knowing what I wanted. Needed. He moved faster, grinding against me as he took me right to that slick edge and then over it. I let out a scream as hot, tight spasms shook me.

Ash’s head kicked back as he drew me down on his cock. A roar of release escaped his throat while he held me tight to his chest. It was a sound that must have shaken the walls of the palace.

One last shudder ran through my body as I clung to him, trembling with aftershocks of pleasure. Moments passed, and I became aware of the fact that he’d lowered me to the edge of the desk again, but was still deep inside me, cool and throbbing.

He kissed me. The one before had been that of unyielding need. This was a gentle and languid benediction.

His fingers trailed down my cheek as he eased himself from me and stepped back. Wavy strands of hair fell against a slightly flushed cheek as he pulled his pants up, his chin pointed downward.

Was he blushing?

I thought so, and there was such a sweetness to it that I felt my heart do several little skips.

Leaving his pants unbuttoned, he looked over at me. Only the thi

I glanced down at myself. “You wish to paint me topless—wait.” Surprise jolted me. “You can paint?”

One shoulder lifted. “I used to when I was younger. Can’t say I was any good at it.”

I gaped at him. “What have you painted?”

“Landscapes—mostly Mount Rhee,” he said while pulling my blouse sleeves back up, referencing where the draken resided. “And how the meadows would look if filled with poppies. Sometimes, I did portraits.”

My mouth was still hanging open. “I can’t believe you’re just now telling me you can paint.”

“It’s not something I honestly thought of before.” He tugged some hair free from under my shirt collar. “Truthfully, it’s not something I even thought of until now. I haven’t painted in years.”

Years likely meant decades. All I could do was stare at him in stu

“Portraits?” I asked. “You said you’ve painted portraits?”

Ash nodded.

A sudden sense of knowing filled me. “You painted the portraits of your parents.”

He didn’t answer immediately. “I did.”

I was once more staring open-mouthed at him.

“When Kolis killed my mother, he also ensured that all traces of her were destroyed,” he said after a moment. “My father was too preoccupied with a babe he never pla

A bitter knot of grief settled like a stone in my chest.

“So, there were no portraits of her. When my father was killed, there was nothing left behind of him either. I already had no real image of my mother in my mind, and I knew that as the years passed, I would forget what my father looked like, too. I didn’t want that.” His forehead creased. “I painted him first—when the memories were still fresh. Then, with Nektas’s help, I painted my mother. It was the last time I painted.”

Sadness mingled with awe as I murmured, “My gods.”

Grabbing hold of the sides of my vest, Ash’s gaze met mine. “What?”

“It’s just…beautiful and tragic,” I said, breathing through the sting in the back of my throat. “I wish I had better, more eloquent words.”

He paused to kiss me. “Your words are always good enough.”

Actually, his were. Mine were poor imitations. “You can paint, Ash.”

He gave me another half-shrug.

“Seriously,” I insisted. “Your mother looks real.”

Pausing, he frowned. “That’s because she was real, liessa.”

“I know. That’s not what I meant. I never would’ve guessed that someone who hadn’t seen her—who only had the memories of another to go from—was the one who had painted her. That takes real skill. You’re not just good,” I told him. “You’re really, really good.”

Ash was quiet.

“And I’m not just saying that because I can’t draw a straight line.”

His lips twitched. “I’m sure you can draw a straight line.”

“No, I can’t. If you don’t believe me, ask Ezra the next time we see her.” As soon as I said her name, I yearned to see her. It was hard to move past it. “She’s witnessed my poor attempts at doodling. I’m bad, like really, really bad.”

A grin finally appeared. “I wish to see just how bad you are at drawing.”

“No, you don’t.” I eyed him, suddenly thinking about all the bare walls in the many chambers. “Do you still have those other paintings?”

He nodded.

“Where are they?”

“In one of the chambers you apparently haven’t entered yet,” he answered.

“Take me to them. Right now,” I demanded. “I want to see them.”

“I would be glad to. But not right now.”

My eyes narrowed. “Why not?”

He chuckled as he came back to me. “Besides the fact that you remain without pants,” he murmured, nipping at my lower lip, “you need to feed.”