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He gently kissed her neck as he dragged a slow, toying hand down the cleft of her ass. She hitched a breath that quickly turned to a moan when he found her heated core and slid his thick fingers through her pooling arousal. “You are so wet for me,” he murmured between her shoulder blades before bestowing another far-too-chaste kiss there. “Perfection. You were made for me, Molly mine.”
“You . . . sure do . . . talk a lot . . . when you’re . . .”
“Hard?” He pressed his steely length against her ass, and she gasped at the smooth hot flesh that connected with her. Just when in the hell had he removed his pants?
“That’s not very angel-like,” she informed him.
A searing chuckle left his lips and snaked down her spine. “Hang on tight. I’m going to make you fly.”
Brass lifted her hips to his and slid himself home in one smooth stroke. Her body arched back into the prison of his hard embrace as she moaned against the inside of her bicep. Sweaty palms clung to the bedpost as he retreated in an effortless glide, then drove into her again with a force that lifted her heels off the floor.
Each penetrating thrust was an answering cry to every single doubt she’d ever had about him. Every tightened grip on her hips was an imprint on other parts of her. Every hammering pound of his body against hers, inside hers, awakened her soul in a way she never thought possible. It was a striking pressure that spurred her on toward an intensity that had always been denied her.
Until now. Until him.
It was utter ecstasy down to her very core.
With a final punishing grunt, Brass lifted Molly off the floor entirely and rocketed her into pleasure spasms that rent her body into the sum of its parts. Tremors transfixed entire limbs and cast her into a universe where only she and Brass existed.
He truly sent her flying.
Guttural sounds joined her chorus of cries as Brass followed her into the abyss. Once the waves crashed and their exhausted bodies were heaped onto the sands of their post-orgasmic sex frenzy, Brass swiped the bed covers onto the floor. Too sated to move, she just lay against his chest as he wrapped them up in multiple layers of fluffy feather down comforter and dragged them both into a sleep so deep, even their dreams were mated.
Chapter 27
The Baltics, 24 CE—Winter Solstice
Harsh wind slammed against the back of Brass’s cloak and hood. Already, the forest floor had hardened and bore a dusting of frost that had settled over the land. The sea to the west churned with shards of ice that had formed in the bay to the frozen north two months earlier and now drifted southward.
Winter was an icy breath of warning along his neck. Something was coming.
Him.
Once the sun went down, he tracked the demon charmer to the forest that blanketed the spruce- and pine-rich lands east of the sea and north of the gulf. There were no footprints to follow, save for the few a frightened hare left behind before its tracks were swallowed up by the larger pawprints of a lynx scouting its supper.
Good. It meant Brass’s prey wanted to remain hidden. It also meant that his prey thought it wouldn’t be found.
The mortal pagan elders had requested aid from all of the surrounding villages following the mysterious disappearances of several tribe members. A dozen taken within a fortnight: four men, two women, six children.
Fucking children.
A dozen souls who would never see the Empyrean and never know true rest, for Brass knew what had befallen them.
The most recent mortal stolen, a child, had been taken from his pallet in the predawn hours. All that remained was a threadbare blanket and a child’s sock that boasted far more darning than wool. At least, that was all the boy’s family had noticed disturbed.
Brass, on the other hand, had more specific tools at his disposal.
Upon his analysis of the small dwelling, his metallic senses were called to the speck of brass that had embedded itself in the wood of a traveling trunk. The metal had the patina of armor and hummed with a signature dark magic born of Cyro’s shadow realm demons.
An apex had been there, and Brass would make the bastard pay for every soul he’d stolen.
Brass ducked below birch and black alder branches, tracking the dark magic through the forest, until the small farmer’s cottage appeared in a clearing at the edge of the tree line. There was no pasture and no smoke curling from the structure’s chimney. What was there called to his metal like an oily caress of the dark sea.
A demon.
His soul’s fire thrummed with vengeful power. There would be no mercy, no forgiveness. Just utter annihilation.
It would never bring back the souls lost, the souls he and his sentinel brothers were charged to protect, but by the mages, he’d deal out swift justice in anguish and ashes.
