Page 11 of Fated to the Wicked King

Agust of wind blew the heavy steel hatch of my loft open.

Surprised, I whirled around.

I wasn’t expecting anyone to come calling this late at night.

A flash of lightning lit up the tower momentarily as the heavy rain pattered and plinked against the outside of the dwelling.

My heartbeat was already speeding up.

Despite the chill in the air, I hurried to the door, not caring that the rain was blowing in sideways, sprinkling on my face, my clothes, and spattering against the wooden floor. Looking at the sky, I already knew what I would see.

With a flutter of his thick, hooded cloak and pale, blond hair against the darkened skies, a shadowy figure rode the ominous, rumbling clouds rolling in. Still in a fog-like cover of black smoke, he touched down on the balcony. The entire desert seemed to hush.

Starting to heave, I clutched at my chest as those steel-blue eyes met mine.

He crossed the gap between us in long, deliberate strides that felt less like movement and more like inevitability. There was no hesitation in him—only hunger, only certainty.

When he reached me, the heat of his body collided with mine, and he did not stop. He kept coming, pressing forward until I yielded step by step, my breath faltering as the world narrowed to the space between us.

His hands found my hips—strong, possessive, almost lifting me as he drove me back across the loft. The rain-soaked floor blurred beneath us until the cool glass wall met my spine and I had nowhere left to retreat. Nowhere I wanted to. He caged me there with the length of him, the delicious, consuming heat of his body sealing me in, stealing the air from my lungs.

A trembling breath slipped from me. I was already undone by his closeness, by the scent of rain and storm clinging to him. His clothes were drenched. He didn’t care that his cloak was dripping wet from the rain. The dampness bled into my own clothing, but I welcomed it—welcomed anything that proved he was real and here and touching me.

I braced my palm against the broad, unyielding plane of his chest, feeling the powerful thrum beneath my hand as I lifted my gaze to his. I stared up into those familiar eyes, warmer than I’d seen in months.

His gaze dropping to my mouth made my heart pound even louder.

One hand left the wall, moving slowly, reverently, to cup my cheek. His thumb brushed my skin as though reacquainting himself with a memory he had feared lost. Then his touch trailed lower—over the sensitive curve of my neck, along my exposed throat.

He should have been freezing from the rain, from the night air.

Instead, his fingers were fire.

I gasped when his hand settled over the center of my chest, right above my pounding heart, as if he could feel every frantic beat calling to him.

I furrowed my eyebrows, mirroring the strain and longing etched into his expression. Whatever battle raged in him, it echoed inside my own ribs.

The deep rumble in his throat when he spoke made me shiver, his tone, all need and yearning.

“You have my heart.”

Swallowing hard, not tearing my gaze from his face, I nodded.

My palm was still pressed against his chest, where his own heartbeat thrummed through his clothes. “And you have mine.”

I couldn’t help but slide my other hand up his shoulder, his neck. I almost moaned when I plunged my fingers through that silky, pale hair.

Groaning as if struggling to control himself, he caught my hand in his. Leaning his forehead against my own, he squeezed his eyes shut as he whispered his vow, “Remember, you’re all I want. You’re all I will ever want. No matter what happens.” He bent his head to take my mouth, and my eyes fluttered closed of their own accord.

Remember…

No matter what…

Sucking in a breath, I took a moment before opening my eyes.

Awake.

Flopping over, I lay flat in my bed.