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The broken plea straining her voice was enough to soften me. Gently, I set her on her feet and smoothed her hair away from her reddened eyes. “Let me show you around our home.” I took her hand in mine, and she flinched, but left her hand where I’d put it. “We’ll go to the library first.”
Tugging her to the left, we approached the massive oak doors that waited to reveal the wonders behind them. With a dramatic flair, I grasped the handles and threw open the doors to my sanctuary. Izidora’s aquamarine eyes widened and her pout parted as she drank in row upon row of sturdy wood cases filled to bursting with books. I allowed her to wander in front of me as she touched the dark wood panels, trailed her fingers along the gilded spines, and gazed in awe at the ceiling. A battle of Angels and Demons raged above us, depicting one of the earliest and bloodiest in their history, scene after scene unfolding the deeper we delved into the library. She disappeared among the stacks when the fresco ended, so I wandered to the windows that doubled as a wall, surveying the glittering lights from a thousand fires as night fell over the Iron Realm.
I braced my arm against the window, allowing the cool pane to soothe the heat pounding in my veins, while that thread in my gut begged me to find my mate among the books and fuck her senseless until she accepted our bond. A few painfulminutes later, she returned to the center of the room, nostrils widening as she inhaled the scent of leather and worn parchment, head tipped back, arms spread wide, ecstasy written on her face plain as any story between leatherbound pages.
I had started in the right spot.
Her stomach rumbled, and her wide smile turned sheepish as she righted her head. My mate was adorable, her face so expressive when she allowed it to be. I laughed, the ease with which the sound slipped out startling and surprising me. “Next stop, the kitchen.”
I swooped her into my arms, leaving the library behind as we descended a grand staircase in the entryway. She swung her feet in time with my steps, and her giddiness was more intoxicating than the wine I planned on having with dinner. The aroma of savory spices wafted through the hallway as we neared the kitchen, and when we rounded a corner, the massive space opened before us. Two chefs were hard at work preparing dinner, one chopping herbs and vegetables while the other was up to his elbows in flour. I appreciated good service, and all members of my household learned to be one step ahead of my expectations.
“My Prince, welcome back,” Cedomir, the premier chef, said as he picked his head up, smiling warmly at Izidora, who I had not released from my arms. “And welcome, my lady.”
“Cedomir, what are you preparing for us tonight?” I inquired.
“Glazed chicken with fresh winter vegetables, and for dessert, a chocolate cake. It will be ready in half an hour. Would you like to eat in the dining room?”
“We’ll take it in the suite, along with a bottle of wine,” I replied. He nodded to me, then returned to chopping, the sharp blade making quick work of slicing a round yellow vegetable.
Izidora’s head swiveled around the room as we continuedthrough it. The kitchen was a stark contrast from the rest of the palace; with its white decor, it was light and airy, whereas just beyond, the palace turned dark and gothic. Though the decor was sharp and minimal, the space was luxurious and sprawling.
Our trek to the fourth level, where our suite awaited us, was silent as she absorbed the flecked-granite walls along the central staircase. We stopped in the small corridor at the top of the stairs, the only space on this floor aside from our suite. To our left, another iron door hid the lift, and on the right, heavy black doors barred the entrance, giving us privacy and security.
Touching my palm to the door, I showed it my magical signature, another level of security in place for the Palace. Izidora would be safe here, and so long as she was with me, she could move about freely. The doors unlocked themselves and swung inward, beckoning us inside. Izidora’s breath hitched when I put my lips to her ear, whispering my truth to her. “I designed everything with you in mind. Every comfort. Every luxury. All for you.”
Her breath fled as we entered the first room – a living space large enough to sleep fifty. Glittering black granite walls boxed us in, and thick fur rugs rolled out across the room to trap heat in the vast space. Deep into the room, white and gray tufted couches created a sitting area in front of a bronze fireplace that reflected the light from the sconces lining the walls. To the right, a natural wood table surrounded by chairs served as a dining area. Between the fireplace and dining area, two carved doors swung wide, begging us to explore the rest of the suite.
Without releasing Izidora, I strode toward our bedroom. Her body thrummed with an intoxicating mix of fear and arousal as we approached those doors, but as we entered the space, she stopped breathing, her eyes catching on the massive chandelier that spanned the ceiling, winking and dispersing light throughout the room. Each piece of dark crystal hung from aninvisible thread, the pattern creating a set of wings, one softer like her Angel’s wings, one sharper, like my Demon-Dragon wings. Across from us, the massive bed sprawled across a black paneled wall, depicting a scene from history like the ceiling of the library. This one was filled with love and hope, feelings I had yet to experience, but knew Izidora would bring me.
Deeper still, the door to the bathroom waited, enticing after days of riding. I carried her there, her eyes lingering on the painting adoring the wall behind our bed. I finally allowed her to walk once we entered the bathroom. She went first to the wall-length vanity that sat opposite the windows, fingers trailing along the smooth marble as she studied it. The mirrors changed shape every few feet, one rectangle, one octagon, one square, and repeat. There were plush stools pushed under the counter to sit on, and she pulled one out, admiring it. She left it untucked as she walked to the open shower to her right, recessed into the mountain itself. I followed her there, turning some knobs on the outside as the water poured from above.
“The shower’s water comes directly from the mountain’s hot spring,” I told her, wrapping my arms around her from behind. She tried to step forward, out of my grip, but I only splayed my fingers across her stomach, trapping her against me.
My dick was lengthening against her back, and I didn’t bother to hide it. I leaned close to her ear and purred, “Let’s wash up before we eat.”
Her swallow was audible over the rushing water. Her nervousness was exhilarating, though the fight was not in her, really – not anymore.
I stripped off my armor, each piece of metal clattering against the floor. Then I pulled my tunic overhead, dropping it in the growing pile. But Izidora had not moved. “Is my mate feeling a little shy?” I teased, my voice husky like metal rubbed across stone. I pulled her flush, then trailed my hands along herfront, reaching for the buttons that held her jacket closed. She did not move, did not breathe, as I slowly peeled the jacket from her body. The leather joined my armor on the floor after I pushed the sleeves down her shoulders, forcing her to shed a layer of the barrier she held between us.
A hitch in her breath was the sweetest sound as I teased the waistband of her tight pants, but I stepped back, leaving her frozen in place as I stripped and strode past her into the shower. The water ran in rivulets down my body, following the predefined paths of my muscled torso until finally they reached the finish line at my erection. I bared myself before her, barely containing a grin as I slicked my hair backward, flexing my corded arms in the process.
The aquamarine of her eyes was nearly overtaken by her blown-out pupils as she looked at me without hiding her lust for the first time. She moved her hands to her tunic then dropped them several times before her eyes closed and brows pinched. Her head dropped, and with a slight shake, she chewed her lip until, at last, she touched her tunic and did not drop her hands away. A war played out in those glossy orbs as she raised her head, our gazes colliding with the power of an avalanche.
“I will bite, but not right now,” I purred.
Her eyes hardened, and she peeled off the tunic with a glare sharp enough to maim. “I will shower, over there, and you may look, but you cannot touch me.”
I held my hands up in mock surrender. She may think she won this battle, but I was winning the war. She stripped out of her socks and pants, hopping as she struggled to get the tight ends off, then hurried into the shower at the opposite end, standing with her back half facing me, trying to hide as much of herself as she could while still keeping me in her sights. The water traced her flawless curves, lean muscles flexing as sheshifted to wet her hair. Her long locks went dark as water soaked them, clinging to her back.
And then I saw them – the scars.
How had I missed them before?
Disregarding her instructions, I stalked across the shower, eliciting a wide-eyed gasp as she flattened herself against the smooth stone. Without asking for permission, I grasped her shoulders and spun her around, sweeping her soaked hair over her shoulders to examine those deeply etched lines in her back, cracking her creamy skin like bolts of lightning.
“Who. Did. This. To. You.”
Each word was flung with the violence of a thunderstorm, and I barely heard her whimper over the roaring in my ears. If that motherfucker cut these into her back, he was dead. So. Fucking. Dead.
