Page 34 of The Withering Wood

He moaned against her throat, then kissed up her neck, to her jaw, and leaned his forehead on hers, sharing breaths.

“Do you believe me now?” he asked, tugging on her hair.

“Yes,” she whispered, skin hot with desire and need, unable to think of anything except Oberon’s breath on her flesh, how close his lips were to her own.

Hot, pleasant pressure built between her legs as they moved against each other. A whisper in the back of her mind told her stop, that no good would come of this. That there were more important things they should be focusing on.

But as pleasure spread through her body and the prince’s hand roamed up hers to cup a breast while grinding his cock against her, those thoughts faded away. She couldn’t remember the last time anything simply felt good. For years, there’d only been pain. Just more or less of it. From her injury. The cold. The dying earth around her.

Didn’t she deserve to feel good for once? She could’ve pushed him away, and she knew he’d stop if she asked, but she didn’t want to. Not with his hands worshiping her and the involuntary groans of pleasure that rippled from him.

Maybe if she indulged this one desire, it’d purge him from her body. Then when this was over, they could go their separate ways without a lingering, unfulfilled want haunting her days.

She closed her eyes and tilted her head back against the cool stone, giving in to the building bliss between her legs that spread warm elation through the rest of her body, numbing the ache in her knee. There was only the prince’s hardness and powerful hands roaming her body. His escalating breath and firm lips against her neck.

His words echoing in her mind, saying that she was beautiful.

She rolled her hips faster against him, chasing the pleasure, tightening her fingers in his hair, on his clothes.

“Oh, fuck, Oberon,” she panted.

He groaned and pushed against her as he tugged on her hair again. She moaned at the sweet, aching burst shuddering through her. She turned her head so his hand slid across her cheek. Opening her mouth, she took his thumb between her lips, the faint taste of honey blooming over her tongue.

“Gods, Cerise,” he whispered and the purr of her name through the heady need in his voice tightened her thighs around him. “I want you to come for me.”

She groaned at his words, their deep tenor rippling through her body.

A sudden, thunderous crack erupted beyond the ruins, pellets shattering against the stone walls behind them. Cerise tried to instinctually duck but was locked in place as the prince’s arms flew over her head and braced against the stone, shielding Cerise.

The barrage vibrated through the rock, the crack of bone and rock piercing her ears.

The scattering ceased, but only for a moment. Farther in the distance, another one of Azkanix’s bones burst.

Then another.

And another.

“We need to see what’s happening,” she said into the prince’s shoulder.

“Right.” He stepped back from the wall, a furrow forming in his brow as he stroked his beard. Cold air washed away the press of his body against hers and doused the flame of arousal.

Like the crackling of knotted wood in a fire, Azkanix’s bones continued to fracture and shatter.

Broken remnants of stairs clung to one of the ruins walls. Steps were missing where it would’ve met the now non-existent ceiling, a gap the size of a child between the top step and the adjacent wall which sat a little taller, likely part of what was once the second level. They could hop from the top step to the wall, which was now a ledge, and hopefully the height over the treetops would let them see what caused the bones to burst. Maybe it was just from the change in temperature and pressure from the blizzard the day prior coupled with the clear skies today. But if that was the case, Cerise would’ve heard a similar cacophony many times in her life. Yet this persistent, intermittent eruption was unfamiliar, and each pop buried a deeper seed of dread within her gut.

Oberon climbed the stairs first, her heart jumping as he leapt from the last step to the top of the wall. Arms wrapped over the ledge, he hoisted himself up until he sat on the edge, legs draped over either side. He swiped away the snow and extended a hand to Cerise.

She stared at the open palm, just over an arms-length away. Part of her wanted to ignore it, to swipe it away with Beloved. Yet her leg still quivered with the pains from yesterday, from the accumulated fatigue of the days prior. If she didn’t reach for his hand and her knee gave out beneath her, she’d fall to the ground, doing even more damage. But she was nearly as tall and muscular as he—if her leap failed and she grabbed it, he might be pulled to the frigid stone earth below, too.

Another bone popped in the distance. The frequency could only mean the work of a necromancer manipulated the fragments. Vraethik was out there, spreading Azkanix’s curse.

They needed to know exactly what he was doing. What awaited them beyond the ruins.

She leaned Beloved against the wall and with a quick, crackling bend of her knees, she leapt for the precipice. The prince’s hand found her upper arm mid-air and she clasped to his triceps while her other arm landed on the edge. His strength eased the strain on her tired muscles as she pulled herself up beside him. Testing the iciness of the stone, she carefully rose to her feet, the prince rising with her and keeping a steadying hand on the small of her back. If it was anyone else, she would’ve punched them for their presumptiveness.

But with his words still ringing in her ears, the feel of his breath a lingering ghost on her neck, his continued touch made her wonder if he really had spoken his truth. That maybe he was seeking more ways to be near her, not because he pitied her but because he wanted to be close.

With him at her back, she wasn’t worried about slipping and falling. She turned in the direction of the sound of erupting bones. Her breath caught in her chest at the sight below.