Page 103 of Shadowborne: Reckoning

“If we can get to the bottom of this… I think we should consider taking the handsome one,” Voski said quietly, eyes on me.

“To what purpose?” I growled, still smarting at the reference.

“We know he has answers of some kind. Perhaps with some persuasion—” Gil started.

I shook my head. “He isn’t a child and won’t be easily intimidated. Even if we took him, he couldn’t be trusted to speak the truth. He doesn’t actually speak with the dragons, so can’t offer insight there. And our king doesn’t give two shits about him unless he provides answers. If Ruin’s only using him for payment, he’s nothing but a weight to carry—and a powerfully connected one. No, unless we have evidence of what he knows and how it would benefit us, don’t touch him. It’s our brother we need to focus on for now.”

Voski and Gil exchanged a look as I took another drink. Then I plonked that cup on the sideboard and straightened from where I’d leaned to keep myself from touching Bren. I could feel her weariness in the bond, and was sure she felt mine, too. But there was a simmer in my belly that rose again every time one of the men raised another question. I wanted them out.

Her brothers didn’t catch my signal, but Bren did. There were frustrating minutes of clarifying details, making certain we all understood our roles, then her brothers ensuring they exited the rooms at a time when there were no watching eyes in the hallway—easier now that it was the middle of the night and most of the servants were still downstairs, serving drunk Lords. But it still took longer than I wanted to wait.

When I finally closed the door behind the two and locked it firmly, I had to stop myself and take a deep breath, recenter, before I turned back to face Bren.

She remained on the couch, still in that incredible dress that hugged her form so tightly—though it was growing wrinkled now. She needed assistance to get out of it. Thank God she hadn’t asked her brothers.

If I’d walked into that it might have tipped me over the edge.

“Tell me, quickly,” I said flatly. “Were you hurt tonight?”

Her brows shot up. “No! I was afraid—you felt that, but it was only fear and disgust, nothing—”

“Are you afraid now? Do you need comfort or reassurance? Do you need space?”

“No, Donavyn. Nothing. Why? Are you—?”

“Come here,” I growled as I prowled across the room towards her.

Bren smiled and got to her feet, but I was at her toes before she could move, pulling her into a searing kiss.

She cupped my face and took my fierce kiss with the same intensity, grabbing for the front of my jacket and keeping me close even when I pulled away to speak.

Which I forced myself to do, because even though I could feel her rising desire, I knew she’d had a helluva night and I had to make certain…

“That… fucker, Hanson, touched you,” I growled into her mouth, reaching back to begin popping all those tiny buttons that followed the curve of her spine.

“He made my skin crawl,” she whispered, pressing herself into my chest. “I’ve been waiting for you.”

“What about Ruin? Did he—”

“I don’t want to think about him, Donavyn,” she groaned, clawing fingers into my hair and pulling me down. “I don’t want to think about anyone except you.”

“Thank God,” I rasped against her lips, kissed her once more, stifling her breathless laughter with another searing kiss, then I gripped her hips and yanked her around until her back was to me.

“Donavyn, what—”

“I need to get this damned dress off of you,” I snarled, impatiently struggling to pop three more of the tiny, silk-covered buttons, then snarling and grabbing both sides of the dress I’d only managed to open a few inches, yanking them apart with an audible rip, sending buttons pinging across the furniture.

“Donavyn!” she gasped, horrified. “The queen’s modistes—”

“I promise you, they’ve repaired worse.”

I’d shredded the buttons from the nape of her neck, so the back gaped open down her spine, revealing the corset underneath and the hollow of her back. But with the dress already torn, there was little finesse required.

I snapped the knotted laces, yanked them free, and peeled her like a ripe fruit, until I finally had her naked to the waist and beginning to pant, because my arousal fired in the bond and increased hers.

It was mere moments to slide hands inside the thick fabric, shove the dress to the floor, and toss that hideous corset into the wall. Then, I groaned with relief at finally having her small, lithe, tortured, hot skin in my hands.

She leaned back against me, arching into my touch as I clawed hands up and down her body, devoured the soft skin at her neck, and fumbled at my own breeches.