“All right,” I said when he stopped speaking.

“As you know, this is not the way with all Airenzian men, but it is the way with a fair few.”

“Including you.”

His body settled more fully under mine. “Yes, I’ve found of late it’s best to let my woman have the running of my home.”

I started laughing.

“You were right, the silver settees are rather bright and welcoming in the Great Hall,” he teased.

“I’m glad you concur.”

“Though I cannot approve your destruction of part of a barracks to enlarge the greenhouse.”

“Hmm,” I mumbled.

He smiled at me.

I stared at him.

My Cassius was smiling, after that day, after all his days in this dreary place. He was abed with me, his stomach awash with his seed, he was going to ink me into his skin, he had hope for our future, and he was smiling.

“Can we carry on with my reading?” I requested.

“Of course, though my answers might be muffled as you’ll be sitting on my face while you trace my skin.”

I shivered.

His smile turned wolfish.

Then his hands took control of me.

I would soon discover he did not tell the truth, for he didn’t even attempt to answer while his mouth worked between my legs as I sat astride his face and traced his skin.

But then, with all he gave me, if he had tried, I wouldn’t have heard him anyway.

102

The Oath

Jellan

Underground Lair of the Beast

WODELL

When he came to Jellan in his dark hole, Jellan braced.

He had been making an effort with the Beast, and although there were occasions when the creature seemed perplexed by its thoughts or feelings, or its ministrations were gentler than they had been, the Beast was still solely ruled by the witch Marian.

There was nothing Jellan could do, for she was always there, watching.

Though, not now.

She had gone to the surface with her females to gather food and other necessities.

Leaving Jellan alone with the creature.

Cowering while trying not to appear like he was cowering atop the thin blanket she had allowed him, Jellan watched the handsome being toss itself despondently on the ground opposite him, its thick, waving golden hair shining in the torchlight, its finely honed features a beguiling mixture of swells and shadows.

It lifted its knees, rested its wrists against them, and dropped its head.

Jellan waited, but the Beast said nothing, nor did it move.

“Do you intend…?” He did not finish that as he pushed up and back, pressing to the stone behind him, and he changed his question, “Are you all right?”

“She does not take me to the surface any longer,” the Beast replied.

“Well, I—”

“And I have been down here forever,” the thing whined.

Jellan did not speak.

The Beast lifted its head. “She does not care about me. All she wishes is to use me. She has not even given me a name.”