Yasmine Galenorn - Night's End

“You want it that way, then?” His voice was soft, running smooth over the words, but it set me off, the sparks racing through me at a rate I could barely stand. “You want it rough? You want it dark and dangerous and deadly?”

I could only nod. “I need you to be the strong one. I need you to take control.” As I said it, I knew it was true—I couldn’t handle making another decision; I couldn’t handle another choice in the day.

I wanted to forget, to be set free from the constant demands put on me. And the only way that I could lose myself and get out of my head was for Grieve to be strong enough to overpower my thoughts, to overpower my choices, to take me into that dark deep place where I could feel through pain that turned to pleasure. I needed to bleed onto the ground, the pain of the wounds making me know I was still alive, that I wasn’t just a figurehead, a symbol, an icon.

I stretched out my arms, and Grieve slowly moved around behind me, taking my arm in his hand, stroking the skin, stroking the flesh up to my elbow. He turned my wrist upward, his lips lingering over it, and then with those razor-sharp teeth, ran them along the flesh, scoring it as he went, a thin red line welling up. The sight of the blood, the sting of his teeth sent me into a frenzy, and I cried out, my head dropping back.

Grieve moved up to stand in back of me, and he encircled my waist, stroking my stomach with his fingers as his teeth found my neck, nipping me sharply, drawing more blood. The venom in his saliva could no longer entrance me, but it sent me reeling, as strong as any aphrodisiac. I moaned as he sucked lightly, drawing drops of blood, and then he leaned around and licked my face, trailing my life force across my cheek, kissing me deeply, his tongue probing my mouth as he began to grind against me.

His cock rose up, strong and firm and thick, and I moaned again, the taste of my own blood in my mouth. But he wouldn’t let go. Instead, he walked me toward the bed, his hips swiveling against mine. I ached so deep, so hard, that I could barely stand the pain. I wanted him in me, wanted him to thrust so deep and hard that I wouldn’t be able to stop screaming.

And then we were at the bed, and I began to fall backward, my legs opening as he drove in toward me, finding my cunt, finding my center. I was wet, and he slid inside, fitting perfectly, filling me up. The next moment, he was moving in me, thrusting with a passion that I had never met from anyone before—not even Lannan. I wrapped my legs around his back, holding on so tight that I would have broken his back if he tried to pull away.

“Never stop, never stop. . . . Screw me till I can’t remember my name.”

“I’ll fuck you forever. Until you lose yourself completely. You’re my shooting star, Cicely, my dark queen in the middle of the night sky. And the only one I will ever share you with is that goddamn Lannan Altos . . . because he saved your life, and that is enough for me to let you take what you need from him.”

Tears in my eyes, I rocked back and forth as he plunged deeper with each thrust. And with every thrust, I lost a little bit more of myself until it was all a blur of the night sky and cold fire and the silver stars in his eyes.

And then—in the darkness of his love and his fury, I came to the edge of the precipice, and as he roared to life, the wolf master of my world, I was able to let go and topple over. All thoughts of fear and guilt vanished as I gave myself up to the ecstasy that destroys us all with its passionate drive. With one sharp scream, I let go and flew, and in that flight, I knew that here was my strength—the cold fire of ice and snow, the fire of passion and pain, and sex under the dark and torturous sky.

A knock on the door woke me. I had fallen asleep in Grieve’s arms, but now I was on my side of the bed. I never did do well sleeping in someone’s arms. A moment later, Druise entered the chamber. She looked exhausted, and I realized she’d been through the wringer. Again. But she ducked her head and smiled wanly as she tiptoed over to my side. I sat up too quickly, grimacing. I’d slept in an awkward position, and everything ached. Or maybe it was just stress. Whatever the case, I didn’t feel quite up to snuff.

“Pardon me, Your Highness, but Thorn—the shaman—he asked me to come wake you and His Lordship.” She held out a warm robe. I’d slept in the nude, since we weren’t in our own bed, and I slid into it, wrapping it tightly around me. Though I was fairly immune to the cold, here in the shamans’ lair, the chill seeped through insidiously, catching me unaware until I realized I was shivering. How they lived this way, I didn’t know. It felt silent here, and tomblike, as if a stasis ran through the air, brought about by the ice itself.

“Did you . . . did the shamans . . .” I couldn’t finish my question but she finished it for me.

“Yes, they tested me. I wouldn’t be here if they hadn’t.”

She showed me to the bathroom; then when I finished washing up and returned to the bedroom, I found she had thought to bring a change of my clothes with her, including fresh underwear, for which I was grateful. I slid into the panties and jeans, then allowed her to bustle me into a warm but sheer black under blouse, over which she laced me into a silver corset. I slid on my boots as she swept my hair back with the brush. She seemed to pick up on my mood, and remained silent, humming softly as she worked.

After a few minutes, I glanced over my shoulder. “I’m sorry we had to put you through that again, Druise.” She’d underwent the procedure before being hired into her position, and I knew how much that invasion had cost her.

Druise gazed at me, her eyes clear and steady. “Your Highness, may I be blunt?”

“By all means.” This surprised me—Druise was usually reticent. At times, I thought her overly grateful. But then again, her job with me meant her family was in a better position than they had ever been. She wanted to keep her post and I knew she’d do just about anything in order to make me happy.

“I think . . . I don’t dare to presume, but I believe your advisor, His Lordship Strict, would caution you against apologizing to the help. Or to anyone, for that matter. It is not my place to question your motives, or your orders, but to accept them as you will.”

I let out a soft laugh. Lainule, the former Queen of Summer, had already had my head over that one. “I think you’re right, Druise. But I’m still . . . I regret having had to order this. Allow me that much, at least.”

“Honestly, yes the procedure hurts, but for you? I’d walk through fire. You treat me like a real person. You aren’t cruel or demanding. I never feel afraid around you—well, not so long as I mind my manners and do my work right. Your Majesty, I would give my life for you.” And with that she stopped, flushed and looking ever-so-slightly embarrassed, the brush half-raised.

The realization that I literally held her life in my hands—every life in my Court—sank in at that moment. I was responsible for them all, and I could terminate any of them—including Grieve—with one fit of temper or pique.

“Druise, I value the trust and faith you place in me. And obviously you’re here because you passed the challenge. The shamans wouldn’t let you near me without that. Please know that, any time we . . . I . . . put you through something like this, it’s only for the good of the Barrow.” And what was good for me, was good for the Barrow. But I didn’t say that.

She curtseyed, then finished brushing my hair into a ponytail, then affixed my crown, making certain it set firmly on my head. As she finished up, Grieve woke, and even as he slid out from the covers, his clothes appeared, forming as he stood. Druise curtseyed to him, too, but since she was my lady’s maid, she was primarily at my beck and call.