Fierce ache gripped his heart. Roughly he dragged her to his mouth again. This, the only taste he would have. So much better it was than his imaginings, with her fingernails digging into his scalp and the helpless rocking of her hips against his face. Her knees gave out and he held her up, sucking and licking her clit, his fingers digging into the soft cheeks of her ass. More frantic her movements became. His name she said, again and again, her voice high with frantic wonder. Then she stilled all at once, her soft flesh convulsing against his tongue, her teeth clenched on a scream.
Tremors slipped through her as he sucked on her clit again, and she pushed at his head. “Stop,” she panted. “Please stop.”
Too sensitive now. So no more would Aruk have, unless he hurt her.
Never would he do that.
With a last deep inhalation of her scent, he drew back, letting the silk fall into place to cover her. A fool he was to have done this. For he had told himself there were some things he would not do to spend a night in her arms—such as kill a king who did not deserve killing.
Yet now, after this taste of her…Aruk could think of almost nothing that he wouldn’t do for another lick. And that a mere taste. To have her for one sweet night? To fuck her so deep and hard and feel her cling to him, calling his name?
He might do anything.
4
Jalisa the Selfish
The Illwind Sea
Jalisa was still trembling from the pleasure of Aruk’s mouth when they reached her ship. This freedom she had now was so fine, indeed. For when she was the princess her father wanted her to be, never could she have followed her desire and let a warrior lick her cunt. And so wonderful it had been. He’d been so hungry for her—and never had the pleasure of her own touch approached the ecstasy of his.
Oh, how incredible it would be when she could always follow her own desire, without regard for what anyone else wanted her to do. Especially if she desired a man such as Aruk.
A better sailor Aruk was than she, more familiar with boats, for he didn’t fumble with the ropes and pulleys that secured the dinghy.
He looked up alongside the ship, frowning. “Where is your crew?”
“I have no crew.”
“A ship of this size must have a crew.”
She shook her head. “This ship is spelled to always sail on the finest winds, wherever I want it to go.”
Darkly he scowled. “That is no simple spell. And dangerous.”
So it was. “I paid a great deal for it.”
“What of the scaling? How did you ward against it for a boat of this size?”
Because a spell always had a consequence. If a spell healed, it was by stealing health from somewhere else. If it strengthened, it was by stealing strength from somewhere else. And never could the scaling of those spells be predicted, whether the consequence was large or small. Healing a broken bone might only scale and leave a bruise on someone else—someone who was unprotected from the scaling, which might be anyone who didn’t wield magic—or it might break that person in half.
“For fair winds,” Aruk continued, “somewhere else will receive foul winds. When was this ship spelled? Six months past?”
“You think it caused the storm that swept you here?” Jalisa shook her head. “Sometimes, warrior, the weather is just the weather. And it was two months past that the ship was spelled.”
He did not like it. That she could see. But she had not tossed magic about carelessly. She would not risk such a scaling to harm innocents, either.
His arms bulged with corded muscle as he hauled the dinghy into place. They climbed to the main deck, treading across the weathered gray boards. He looked around them doubtfully. “You meant to sail three months on this wreck?”
She could not have bought a yacht without her father knowing. So it was a fisherman’s ship, old but sturdy. “It is seaworthy.”
“Barely.” He tapped a knuckle against the mast as if to check it for dry rot. “Who made the spell for you?”
So he was not off of that yet? He seemed more bothered by knowing this spell had been cast then when she’d described what her father was.
“A witch of the Dead Lands.”
His eyes widened, then narrowed. “What do you know of witches?”
More than anyone else in Savadon, for witches were not commonly in these western realms. Almost everyone born in the Dead Lands was born with great ability to cast spells and magic within them. As Aruk had been. That glowing symbol on his side was proof of the magic in him.
Yet those from the Dead Lands also believed that the magic slowly pushed the world out of balance until there was a disastrous Reckoning. And so most bound their magic to their skin with a small rune, and they deliberately never learned the spoken spells that would bend the world to their will.