Karris held him as they made love. Held him with her lean muscular legs, pulling him into her, into her. Held him with her sex, writhing against him. Held him with her arms, glorying in his muscles and in him, digging her fingers into his back and subtly guiding him to what pleased her most. And she held him with her eyes, the intensity of her hunger startling him, the intensity of her desire for him inflaming him, and the intensity of the connection almost too much for him to bear. But when he looked away, she grabbed his chin, pulled him back, kissed him, and then nipped his lip in punishment. She held him, and held him tight as he climaxed, and held him in place afterward, running her fingers through his hair, playing with his ear.
He’d never felt so known and accepted in all his life.
When the capacity for reason came back to him, he propped himself up on an elbow and caressed her body. Her skin was aglow in the golden lamplight and she made no effort to cover herself, instead enjoying his gaze. There were a million ways he wanted to praise her beauty, but none of his words seemed adequate to the task. How could words tell her how she fascinated him, inflamed him, awed him? He remembered an old Blood Forest wedding vow. “With my body, I thee worship,” he said. He leaned over and kissed her neck, her breasts, her lips.
They made love again wordlessly, and he gave his all to please her, interpreting every sigh and stretch and curled toe to guide him. And he took his reward. Repeatedly. She only shook her head and laughed when she saw his familiar pleased-with-himself grin. They lost themselves in each other for hours, talking, holding each other, crying, talking, making love again, finally bathing together when they were sure they could make love no more, and then just holding each other, skin to skin, her back to his stomach, watching as the dawn light rose.
“I love you so much I hate you, Dazen Guile,” she said.
“I love you, too, Karris Guile.”
She sighed, pensive. “Can we run away?” she asked.
“Where do you want to go?” he asked.
She harrumphed. “You stupid man, you broke the first rule of running away, and we haven’t even gotten dressed yet.”
“We have to get dressed? Then forget it,” Gavin said.
Her elbow into his ribs would have been a gentle nudge if he hadn’t been flung into a wall last night.
“Ouch!” he said.
“Serves you right,” she said.
“So what’s the first rule of running away?” Gavin asked. The dawn was red, magnificent, and he had a beautiful woman in his arms. This seemed to be the best place in the whole world.
“You can’t bring logic or practicality into running away. Everyone knows that.”
“Ah. So we can go naked?”
“You’re impossible.”
“True, but on the other hand, you can’t say you didn’t know what you were getting yourself into.”
“No. That’s true.” She said nothing for a while, and Gavin thought she might have drifted off to sleep. What was the saying about a red sky in the morning? Something about storms coming? Thanks, Nature, I appreciate some omens with breakfast.
“I…” She sounded tentative. “I know that you’ve been trying, with Kip I mean. I heard you went to his testing.”
“While I should have been with you. Protecting you.”
“Protecting me? Don’t make me hurt you.” She rolled over, braced her head on an elbow. “You were exactly where you should have been.”
He said nothing.
“So… how’s it going?” she asked.
“He’s a good boy. Smart. My plan is working perfectly, so far. He has no idea how talented he is. I put him with the best young fighters in the world, and he’s hanging in there. By his fingernails, but hanging in.”
“He’s not that good of a fighter, is he?” Karris asked. “Without previous training?”
“No, he’s not. But he’s made the right friends, and he’s got the respect of the right people. They’ve made it possible for him to stay in—which is as much a success in my eyes as if he’d been the best fighter there. The point of him being in the Blackguard wasn’t to teach him to fight; it was misdirection; it was so he would measure himself against the best people rather than against the best whisperers and the best drafters.”
“You’re brilliant, and your plans always work, my lord husband, but that wasn’t what I was asking about and you know it. Misdirection indeed.”
He was glad she could catch him, glad to be known that much by this amazing woman—but not glad to be caught. His face fell. How’s it going? “He’s a good boy…”