Sword's Call (31 page)

Claiming her mouth, he groaned her name into their kiss, pulling back to propel forward hard. They fell into a frantic rhythm.

He tried to go slow, but Cera wasn’t having it.

Nails sinking into his lower back and rear end, she urged him even faster.

Jorrin gave her what she wanted, taking them higher and higher.

Sweat covered them both as they moved together, and his spine tingled. He was close, but he wanted her to fall over the edge with him.

He didn’t have to wait long. He pulled back and shoved forward, Cera gripping his arms and throwing her head back on a moan. She stiffened, crying his name.

Jorrin held her, watching her shatter completely, a wave of pleasure washing over them both that he felt, both physically and magically.

Overwhelming in its intensity, it was different than before.

He felt Cera
absolutely.

Her whole body contracted.

Pleasure assailed him.

Cera’s thighs shook around his waist and he held her close as he thrust forward one last time. Jorrin’s body jolted, her name fell from his lips. Squeezing her against him, he buried his face in her neck as his erection jerked inside her, spurting his release.

She trembled in his arms as the aftershock of passion slid over them both.

He collapsed in her arms, pressing a tender kiss to her lips. “I love you.”

Jorrin wanted to explain what had happened with his magic. Making love had never been so intense . . .
more
than just the love they shared, but no words would form to explain properly. Rolling onto his back, he pulled her into his arms. He needed her as close as he could get her.

“I love you, too, Jorrin.” Cera snuggled into his side, resting her head on his chest.

Letting his eyes slip closed, he reveled in the thrumming of her heartbeat as it slowed from its frantic pace. He absently caressed her back and tucked his other arm behind his head.

“Jorrin?”

“Hmmm?” he returned, not opening his eyes.

“It is always like this?” Cera blushed prettily when he finally met her gaze.

“What, love?”

“You know, making love . . . is it always . . .”

“Always what, love?” he asked, amused.

“So wonderful . . .”

Smiling, his heartbeat quickened. “No one has ever made me feel like you do, Cera. The night at the ruins, as well as this time.”

“Have there been . . . a lot of . . . others?” Her brows drawn tight, a frown marring her beautiful face.

Jorrin chuckled and she glared. “No, love. A few.”

No one but her mattered.

Cera harrumphed.

Cupping her face, he looked deep into her eyes. “I’ve never told another woman I loved her, Cera. Just you. Only you.
Always.
And I tell you truly that I’ve been with others, but you and I made love in the true sense of it.”

Cera flashed a brilliant smile that took his breath away. She leaned up and pressed her lips to his.

Jorrin groaned as his body responded to her quickly and desperately, as though he was starved for her. His erection was instantly taut and throbbing, trapped pleasantly between their bodies.

The intensity of his need for her jolted him, tingling his magic to alertness.

His body warmed to Cera’s desire as well.

She wanted him just as badly as he needed her.

Love wrapped them both like an aura, and Jorrin shook as she held him tighter.

I love you. Blessed Spirit, I love you so damned much,
he thought-sent. Kissing her deeply, Jorrin pressed her into the bed. Shivering, he parted her thighs and settled his body on top of hers.

Her hands slid down his back, landing on his rear end and pulling him flush against her sex. She broke the kiss, and their gazes collided. “Again?” Cera whispered against his lips.

“If you’re not too sore.”

She answered by lifting her hips in an invitation Jorrin didn’t refuse.

Chapter Twenty-six

Riding with a small army was a bit different from what Jorrin was used to.

Riding with the
king’s
small army was something he’d never even fathomed.

Cera rode next to him on Ash. Her expression was pensive; Jorrin relaxed in his saddle.

They’d left Tarvis the previous morning and though their pace wasn’t exhausting, he’d be glad when they arrived at Terraquist. Jorrin had never been to court and definitely wasn’t looking forward to it. Nerves flipped his stomach.

The large group rode until sunset, setting up camp in a sizable clearing for the second night.

Jorrin groaned.

A second night of no privacy, sleeping in a large tent with a group of other men. A second night with no chance to be alone with Cera.

He ached to hold her and make love to her again. A few stolen kisses behind the tents the previous evening was all they’d managed. Jorrin wanted to fall asleep with her in his arms, like the night at the ruins, like they’d gotten used to in Tarvis. If nothing else, he’d learned how to be an excellent sneak.

After they’d endured the evening meal under the scrutiny of her family and the king in the great hall, Jorrin had snuck into her room, made love to her again and held her all night long. The first of the best nights of his life. The three following, the same. Making love and sleeping in each other’s arms.

Cera would be in the same tent she’d been in the previous night with the few women travelling to Terraquist: her aunt and several maids.

Jorrin looked up from his seat on a log when someone called his name.

Tristan Dagget smiled as he strode over. No longer dressed in the total black of a shade, the young lord wore the colors of his Province, browns and greens. Tristan handed him a skin of water.

“Thanks,” Jorrin said, taking a deep drink and flashing a smile. “How much longer do you think it’ll be until we get there?”

“Another day or two, I’d imagine. In a hurry?” Tristan arched one dark eyebrow. Amusement made Jorrin’s magic tingle as the lord followed his gaze to Cera.

She was talking to Braedon and Lucan, not far from them.

Around them, soldiers were starting fires and caring for horses. Everyone had worked together to pitch the large tents and, the last having gone up only moments ago.

Jorrin quirked a half-smile when he met Tristan’s hazel eyes. “Privacy wouldn’t be something I’d complain about.”

“I’m also missing someone at the moment, though I haven’t seen her in months.” Tristan’s expression sobered.

Guilt rushed Jorrin. He couldn’t imagine being away from Cera for months. “Is she in Terraquist?”

“Aye.”

“So, you’re as eager as I am to get there?” Jorrin asked.

Tristan chuckled.

“Hopefully you’ll be with her soon,” Jorrin added.

“It’ll be good to get back. I tend to spend more time in Terraquist than I do Berat, honestly.”

Jorrin felt eyes burn him, and looked to his right.

Rory Leodin watched him, curiosity etched in his expression.

The other half-elf’s sister was now with Cera, Lucan, and Braedon.

The lord once again followed his gaze. “They mean no harm. They’re very curious because you’re like them. I’ve known them for several turns, good mages and loyal to a fault.”

Standing, Jorrin stretched and smiled. “Oh, it doesn’t bother me. I’m probably just as curious about them.”

Cocking his head to the side, Tristan nodded. The lord’s demeanor was generally pensive and observant, but Jorrin liked the young man.

Did Tristan ever loosen up?

What type of girl could have captured the stoic young man’s heart?

Then again, Jorrin could imagine long months with Varthan would traumatize anyone. Hopefully, Tristan wasn’t damaged from the experience.

Their conversation was cut short by the king’s bellow for a hunt.

Cera jogged over to them, her bow in hand and her cheeks flushed pink with excitement. “Are you coming?” she asked, and hastily bid Tristan a hello.

The lord inclined his head and smiled.

“You’re much better with a bow than I, love. I think I’ll sit this one out.”

“But your father’s going,” Cera said, crestfallen. “You said he hunts with magic.”

“Oh.”

So Cera wanted to see what Braedon could do.

Jorrin took one of her hands in his and smiled. “You can go without me. It’s all right, love. What do you think, Lord Dagget?”

“Just Tristan,” he told Jorrin. “Hunting with magic is a sight to see, for sure.”

Lady Ryhan grinned.

Jorrin said something that made her laugh, but Tristan’s mind slipped away.

Aimil’s dark eyes and her smiling face took command, and his companions’ voices faded, giving his heart a pang. He hadn’t seen her in so long.

Tristan missed his love more than he could put into words.

During his time with Varthan, he’d suppressed his feelings and memories in order to protect her.

If Tristan closed his eyes, he could
see
her telling him she loved him and would wait for him, the night of the spring ball.

The night before he’d joined Varthan’s shade compound.

Tristan had held her close, wishing he didn’t have to rush into danger, at the time not knowing if he’d see her again, or see the day she’d finally become his wife.

He’d had to do the same with his family and the king, blocking his affection for them. Tristan couldn’t let Varthan have any suspicions about him.

Using memory charms and spells on the mages Varthan had in his service, he’d been able to convince them his alias, Dagonet, had been training as a shade for a number of turns. He’d had them report to Varthan how he’d steadily risen through the ranks. Soon, after only a matter of sevendays really, Tristan had been considered one of Varthan’s elite.

Now it was over.

He sighed.

King Nathal promised Tristan as soon as the rest of Varthan’s followers were apprehended and dealt with, he’d be free of it all. He could get on with his life.

Tristan had been in the personal service of the king for the better part of the last turn, from the time Lord Ryhan had first suspected Varthan was really after the throne. He’d done several secret missions.

Right now, Tristan wanted to go home.

Home
was his rooms in Castle Rowan in Terraquist, not with his family in Berat. And
home
was Aimil, who also resided in Terraquist, a Senior King’s Rider like Lady Ryhan.

Being the third son, he wasn’t the heir, so Berat held little for him.

His father had always provided well for him and he loved his family very much, but Tristan had been away from Berat more than he’d been at Castle Dagget, at least since he was about nine turns old.

He’d started honing his magic in Terraquist then, and a few turns after that, in Greenwald with Lord Falor Ryhan.

Lord Dugald Dagget provided well for all five of his sons and daughters, and Tristan would always be grateful for his father. He’d made good marriage arrangements for them all, even for his two youngest sisters, who were only eight and ten at the moment.

Tristan had no qualms about marrying Aimil, and he thanked his father and the Blessed Spirit for her every day. He’d been told from the time he was very young she would be his wife. He’d always accepted it as his duty as a son of Berat.

Tristan had never thought much about love, but spending time with Aimil was more than just pleasant. Even when they were small, Tristan had liked her, but he’d not seen much of her until he’d settled in Terraquist and made it a point to speak with her. Soon after, they spent as much time together as either of them could spare.

Exactly when he’d fallen in love with her was a mystery, but loving Aimil was as natural as breathing.

Tristan couldn’t wait to hold her again.

It was safe to think about her, safe to love her, talk about her.

Jorrin had lifted his spirits.

“Lord Dagget?” Lady Ryhan called. From the concern in her tone, he didn’t think it was the first time.

“Tristan,” he corrected again.

She nodded, flashing a smile. “All right . . . Tristan. Are you coming?”

“No. I’ll stay here as well.”

Lady Ryhan frowned and looked back at Jorrin.

Was she going to pout?

Tristan hid a grin.

“Suit yourselves, I suppose.” She said, held up her bow. “I’ll put this to use, then.”

“Cera, stay close to my father, all right? I won’t worry about you so much then.”

She cocked her head to the side. “You’re worried about me?”

“Not if you stay close to Braedon.” Jorrin winked.

Tristan chuckled.

Jorrin glanced at him, wearing a lopsided grin.

“I can take care of myself,” Cera said, taking step toward him.

“That’s what I am afraid of,” the half-elf said, tweaking her nose.

Tristan grinned as he watched a blush settle on her cheeks.

“Go catch me something to eat,” Jorrin said.

She glared, and Tristan let out another laugh.

“If you’re going to be that way, I won’t share with you.”

Jorrin laughed and shook his head. “Did you hear that, Tristan? She said she wouldn’t share her catch with us.”

“Oh, no. Don’t drag me down with you.” Tristan raised his palms in surrender.

“Coward,” the other man muttered.

Freezing, he stared at the half-elf, contentment washing over him, as if he’d known Jorrin Aldern for turns.

Since when had Tristan felt that level of comfort with someone he’d just met?

“I never said I wouldn’t share with him. Just you.” Lady Ryhan winked at Tristan.

“Come on, love. That’s not nice.”

She shook her head. “Who said I was nice?”

Jorrin laughed again.

Tristan hadn’t laughed in more months than he could count. More weight lifted from his shoulders. “Thank you, Lady Ryhan,” he whispered.

She glanced at him, her brows drawing tight. “Call me Cera, Tristan. What’re you thanking me for?”

Smiling, Tristan shook his head. Heat crept up his neck.

Jorrin shot him a meaningful look before turning back to Cera. “Have a good hunt, love.” He kissed her knuckles and pulled her into his arms.