They were still riding through the forest when the Stoneheart warriors caught up to them in a thunder of hoofbeats. Flora couldn’t mistake their relief when the glow of their torches revealed her astride Brom’s mount, alive and unharmed.

  Yet Flora had expected to see one other with them. “Did my cousin not come?”

  She was answered by Erra, Brom’s second-in-command. “Prince Vash remains with your king.” Her piercing gaze shifted to Brom and her voice seemed heavy with meaning as she added, “He awaits a message.”

  “Tell him that Flora is safe,” Brom said, his arm tightening around her waist as if to reinforce how safe she was. “I will take her home—but let him know that the Stoneheart clan will never claim King Martas as a friend.”

  Flora’s heart constricted. But she could not even draw breath to protest before Erra had turned her horse on a tight rein and set off, flanked by two other warriors.

  “Flora needs rest,” Brom said to the others, and was told that a stream and clearing lay not far ahead. A few rode on at a quicker pace to set up camp, while Brom and Flora—leading her exhausted gray gelding—continued at a walk.

  Finally she found her voice, but mindful of the warriors around them, spoke for his ears only. “Innis cannot defend against the ogres. Not alone. And they do intend to start a war. My uncle was not mistaken in that.”

  She was living proof of their intentions. And only because Brom had arrived in time, otherwise she’d have been dead proof.

  “We will speak on it tomorrow,” he replied quietly. “If we begin now, no rest would we get this night, for there is too much to explain—but I vow to you that your people will be protected.”

  Never would Brom speak a promise that he wouldn’t keep. Flora was certain of that. She was not so persuaded as to the other reason he gave. “I did not think you intended to let me rest when we make camp. You spoke of tasting me, instead.”

  “You will be lying on your back in my furs with your legs wrapped around my head. You need not exert any effort at all, except to hold in your screams when I make you come. That seems to me a fair way to rest.”

  Flora snickered. Then the image he’d painted hit her, and anticipation drew her nerves taut.

  That tension heightened as they arrived at the camp, where the warriors had already set up a single round tent made of hide surrounded by an array of bedrolls. Flora quickly bathed in the cool stream, rinsing leaves and dirt from her hair, and only accepted a clean tunic because it was another of Brom’s. While she sat by the fire drying her hair and eating her fill of bread, cheese, and roasted rabbit, Brom tended to the raw abrasions around her wrists, applying a salve and carefully wrapping them in strips of linen. And each moment she was thinking of his furs, and his mouth, and the screams she’d have to hold in.

  Then Brom rose to his feet and held out his hand. With her heart pounding wildly, Flora took it.

  He led her to the tent, but her gaze lingered on the bedrolls around it. “They’ll be outside?”

  “Except in rain or snow, we prefer the open sky.”

  “But your furs are inside.”

  “They are.”

  “How did they know to put your bedding there?”

  Brom grinned and swept open a flap of hide, then ducked his head to enter. “They have seen me look at you.”

  Flora had seen him look at her, too. So many times. And she’d mistaken some of those looks, particular the tender ones—but there was no mistaking the hunger in his expression as the tent enclosed them in a darkness only broken where the firelight slipped between the seams.

  “And when they came upon us, your lips were still swollen from my kisses.” His voice dropped as he moved in closer, cupping her face in his hands. “I would kiss you again, Flora.”

  “I would allow it any time.” Though she would only have this one night. “On my mouth or anywhere else.”

  She felt his quiet laugh against her lips, then there was only his mouth, and his tongue, and heat rushing through her flesh. Only in her dreams had she imagined kissing could be like this—so wild and world-consuming, so that every sensation that his touch evoked was as sharp as a knife’s edge…and yet there was nothing beyond the walls of their tent, as if all the rest of the world had vanished.

  Did he feel anything near to the same as she did? But he could not. How could anyone feel like this and then throw it away?

  Unless their heart was made of stone. As Brom had said his was.

  With a sobbing hitch to her breath, she clung to his shoulders. Then ran her palms down his chest, desperately touching the skin that she’d never feel again, the wonderful steel of his muscles and the roughness of hair, the rapid thrum of his heart that beat ever faster when her hand gripped the thick column of flesh straining the leather of his breeches.

  His hips jerked, thrusting that hot length against her palm. With a tortured groan, he broke away from her mouth, his chest heaving ragged breaths. “Don’t touch— It’s too— I can’t—” His forehead pressed to hers for an endless second. “I’ve needed you for too long, Flora. I’ll spend into your hand.”

  “Then I’ll lick it from my fingers as you did mine.”

  A growl ripped from his chest. The world spun, then she was on her back, in his furs, Brom’s mouth devouring hers as his hands dragged at the tunic, baring her thighs, baring her breasts. His heavy body pinned her as he licked his way down her throat, though she squirmed and fought to touch more of him, to taste more of him, so focused on the battle that the pleasure of his teeth tugging at her nipple shocked from her a startled cry.

  Instantly Brom was over her again, his thumb pressing between her parted lips, quietly hushing into her ear. “I would share everything with my clan but this,” he said in a voice as hard and thick as the rampant erection cradled between her thighs. “Your pleasure is mine alone. Yes?”

  Flora nodded, then sucked on the tip of his thumb. Brom stiffened above her before parrying with a roll of his hips that ground his rigid cock against her most intimate flesh. Barely did she stop her cry, whimpering instead low in her throat.

  “Just like that, Flora,” he said huskily. “Mine alone.”

  His alone. She buried her fingers in the thickness of his hair as he returned to her breasts, desperately trying to remain quiet as his mouth teased her tight nipples from sensitive to aching, so that the gentlest pinch of his teeth and slick of his tongue brought her near to screaming.

  It was both relief and torment when Brom kissed his way lower, but he was slow, so slow, that she released his hair and skated her fingers down ahead of his mouth.

  Again Brom surged over her, bringing her hands up with him to pin over her head. He nipped at her bottom lip. Softly he warned her, “Mine alone, Flora.”

  She had to laugh at that. He would claim everything but her hand in marriage.

  Yet when Brom hesitated, as if he’d heard the bitter note and meant to question it, she shook her head. She would not waste this night when it was all that she would have. “Yours alone. Please.”

  His gaze searched hers before he nodded, and kissed her in the way that made the world disappear, until once again there was only him and her, and the havoc his mouth could raise upon her heart and her flesh. In the dim and flickering light within the tent, he was shadow and fire, burning a dark path from her lips to her stomach—and there he paused, to breathe her in, to spread her wide, so that by the time his journey resumed, her every muscle was trembling, and it would be this memory that was the brightest of all the jewels, this one this one this one, because in the instant before he lowered his head, the way Brom looked at her seemed beyond tenderness, beyond cherishing, beyond even worship. In that deceitful dark, she could almost dream that he loved her.

  But she would take whatever he gave. Take it as she did the first gentle, searching kiss that parted the folds of her cunt and laid her open to the next, and the next, and the next. Her cries she only held back with her hand to her lips, as his tongue licked and licked, hungrier with each taste, gathering her closer, gathering up more of her, until her legs were wrapped around his head and his forearm pinned her hips, because it was so sweet, and so good, and she couldn’t stop moving, couldn’t stop twisting, as if each devastating lick unleashed a hurricane of pleasure beneath her skin. A scream built with it, and when the storm broke even biting her fist could not contain it—but Brom was there, surging over her again, drawing into himself everything he’d given her, his kiss deep and shattering. His hand worked between them, ripping at the leather lacing his breeches. Groaning, he shoved between her legs, grinding his cock against the sodden heat of her cunt—then stilled as his body was racked with violent shudders.

  Hot seed spilled over her lower belly. Suddenly laughing into his kiss, Flora wrapped her arms around his heaving shoulders.

  When their breathing eased, Brom lifted his head and gave her an abashed look. “I had no intention of doing that.”

  She grinned. “I rather enjoyed it.”

  And enjoyed it even more when he rolled to his side and slid his fingers through his seed, then slipped down to the wetness between her thighs. Still sensitive, she bit her lip—and found him watching her face with all the tenderness in his eyes that she’d mistaken before.

  “Do you wish me to stay with you this night?”

  She wanted him forever. But this was what she had.

  “I do,” she said softly.

  In response, he kissed her mouth, then used the discarded tunic to clean her off before gathering her into his arms. Flora lay her head over his stone heart and held on tight. Tomorrow he would take her home.

  Somehow, she had to make this night last her for the rest of her life.

  3

  Given so little time to spend with him, Flora hadn’t meant to sleep. Yet she must have, because she awoke to the decadent pleasure of Brom leisurely feasting upon her cunt. She had but a moment to admire him in the pale morning light, his dark hair tangled and his mouth reddened and glistening with her wet lust—then his tongue slicked over her clit, and ecstasy rolled through her veins in a long, hot wave. She choked on a cry, then crammed her fist against her mouth, her body undulating with each long hot lick until Brom had to hold her down again, and then she could do nothing but come and come and come.

  This time he made his way back up slowly, kissing a path to her mouth where he settled in for another long and leisurely taste. But eventually the noise from outside had to intrude—his warriors were readying the horses and waiting to take down the tent.

  And so this sweet dream had to end.

  His dark eyes narrowed when she closed her eyes and turned her head away. “Should I not have awakened you by kissing your cunt? Have I angered you?”

  “No!” Never could she let him think so. “Anywhere, anytime. I meant it. I am merely…”

  A dreaming fool.

  “Do you worry about your uncle?”

  “Partially.” At least that was true.

  A muscle worked in his jaw. “Do you still intend to fulfill your duty to him?”

  “No,” she said quietly.

  “I am glad of it.” He brushed a curl from her cheek. “We have much to speak of. We will ride together again.”

  On his stallion. So this was not yet the end. Not until they reached her uncle’s palace. With a hesitant smile, Flora swiftly kissed his mouth. The next minutes were spent donning clothes, rolling up his furs, and finding any excuse to touch him—and with her heart full, so stupidly full, because such fullness would only hurt all the more when it was punctured again.

  They set again an easy walking pace, though with one of Brom’s warriors leading her gelding. She spent the first minutes watching the horse for any signs of lameness or strain—but aside from lingering fatigue that a week at rest and grain ought to cure, he seemed well enough.

  Though…they were going the wrong way.

  She glanced at the sun to be certain. “We are headed east.”

  “We are.”

  Toward his clan’s territory? “You told Vash that you’re taking me home.”

  “I am. To my home. And now your home. You’ll be safe there.”

  Longing pierced her heart. But it could not be. “I won’t abandon Innis. I may not be of much use in a war against the ogres, but I can be of some use.”

  “There will be no war. The ogres are no threat to you or to Innis. The threat to you comes from another direction.”

  A disbelieving laugh escaped her. “Did you forget already how you found me last eve? And what the ogres’ intentions were?”

  “Yesterday you were terrified and had no time to think. So think on it now.”

  She forgot, now and then, how Brom sometimes irritated the piss out of her. Think on it? What was there to think? Her uncle had long held that ogres were planning to destroy Innis. At one point, he’d argued for making the first strike, marching into the mountains and routing them out of their caves—only to have his son, his generals, and his councilors advise him to wait, as Innis’s defenses were stronger than an army advancing into unknown territory would be. Which was why her uncle had been so desperate to form an alliance with the Stoneheart clan; whether striking out or defending, the warriors’ strength would improve Innis’s chances either way.

  When Flora had been taken, her uncle had been proved right…except the ogres hadn’t attacked the kingdom. Instead only two had tried to provoke Innis into declaring war on the ogres.

  Nausea suddenly churned in her gut. “You think my uncle hired them?”

  “So does your cousin.”

  That could not surprise her. “Vash was always of the opinion that the evidence my uncle gave of the upcoming attack seemed slight. And I was always of the opinion that I was safe from him. That is why he took me in, and would have married me off—so he could make use of me in a way that wouldn’t enrage the rest of Innis. Instead he hoped to enrage them so they’d demand to go to war.”

  “We believe he did.”

  She gave a sick, hollow laugh. “No wonder he proposed marrying me to you. He knew that you would have led the Stoneheart clan into the mountains yourself if the ogres had eaten your betrothed. Is that why you rejected the proposal?”

  “No. I would have always refused such a marriage.”

  Her heart shriveled. “Oh.”

  “And Vash and I had not guessed then that your uncle would use you in such a way.” His voice suddenly roughened. “Flora?”

  “I am well.” She hastily wiped away the tears that had dripped onto his forearm. But her response was hardly more than a croak and he would know it for a lie. Pressing her palm to her mouth, she tried not to sob, but it seemed a long time before she could trust herself to speak, and still it emerged on broken breaths. “What was…the message?”

  His arm around her tightened its embrace. “To Vash?”

  She nodded.

  He hesitated for a moment. “It is as I said. The Stoneheart clan will never be friends to King Martas.”

  But Brom was friends with Vash. And Brom had vowed that Innis would be protected.

  Oh. “Vash will kill my uncle and take the crown?”

  “He will.”

  Probably for the best. “He did not ask for your support?”

  “Not when it might seem as if the Stoneheart clan had betrayed the offer of friendship that your uncle extended.”

  And so that no one would wonder whether Brom had made a puppet of Vash after he claimed the throne. “I see. What was it that my uncle had hoped to gain by marching an army into the mountains?” Oh, but she could answer that herself. “The mines. It is said they are filled with jewels and gold, which the ogres care nothing about.”

  “Two did.”

  “True.” Because her uncle must have paid two to kill her. And now…what was she to do? “So you are taking me out of my uncle’s reach.”

  “I am.”

  “And I am to wait until all is settled before I return to Innis?”

  Brom stiffened behind her. “You wish to return? Did I not please you?”

  “I… I don’t—” Her lips smashed tight as tears threatened again.

  His voice was harsh. “By the wetness of your cunt as you came, you seemed well pleased. So I will continue to court you.”

  “Court me?” Pain ripped a bitter laugh from her chest. “You already rejected me.”

  “Never would I reject you,” he snarled. “I rejected that marriage.”

  Had she gone mad? Did words make no sense? “I don’t understand. How—?”

  “Never would any of our clan marry to secure an alliance—or any other such arrangement. Only a marriage for love is acceptable.”

  Her lips parted as his words filled her with hope, so much hope, yet she could not be foolish again. “For love? But your hearts are stone!”

  “As they should be,” he said, and caught her chin to tilt her head back against his shoulder, his brow furrowed as he studied her face—as if baffled by her confusion. “Is yours not?”

  “No! I wish it was!” Then it could never have shattered. “How can you speak of love if your heart is too hard to let it in? Wouldn’t your heart be impervious to love?”

  A slow smile curved his mouth. “How can you speak of love if you believe a heart is soft and weak?” Abruptly he laughed. “Like chalk. That is what you meant? I believed it a jest when you said my heart must be akin to a soft, white stone. Is that what you wish? To share a love that will easily crumble in your fist?”

  “No, I… I…” She suddenly felt dizzy, as if the entire world had shifted under her feet.

  “Love,” he said quietly, “is the strongest of all true magics. Trust that it can penetrate anything. Even stone. But what my heart will not do is easily crumble. And so the love within a stone heart will weather any troubles, just as a mountain stands against storm and quake. In time enough, perhaps my heart might wear away…but that time would be far longer than I am ever likely to live.”

  “Oh,” she whispered.

  “But you thought elsewise? You thought that I couldn’t love—and that I’d refused you? And so you kept away from me.”