Broen Shield

Though the cask was just as dust coated and travel worn as the rest of them, the ale flowed thick, strong, and black as tar. Bitter enough to disguise that whoever'd made the stew had only a base understanding of when potatoes had gone off.

Perfect night.

A drizzle had started, but only every third, frigid drop wormed through the canopy. The air had turned autumn cold, as promised, with the sunset. Fire crackled and spat embers into the darkness between their feet. Blue must have had a thousand such nights. Collected strangers become companions on the road. Vague discomfort of a body pushed too hard with little chance for relief.

She sighed into the acrid depths of her tankard and caught Reece's gaze over the pewter lip.

The sort of night meant to end with damp kisses.

The taste of sweat and beer and midnight on a lover's lips. The liquid blue of his eyes was nearly black. Blue felt them like hot wax on her skin.

They'd drawn the long straws—

Larch always cheated

—and would take first watch. Blue had not yet died of an aching cunt, but she suffered.

Blue looked away first and studied the tree line as the others shuffled off to find their uneasy beds. The trunks seemed to waver and dance in the low, red fire. Like something besides deer and foxes capered through the Wizards Wood. She held her breath and listened for snapping twigs, the clandestine brush of steel on scabbard. And heard nothing.

Just the beat of her own heart. The crackle of flame.

It felt, though, like something was coming. Perhaps not now. But tragedy slouched out on the edges of fate.

"What's out there?" Reece breathed against her ear.

"Fuck," Blue jerked, goose flesh running down her neck. "Nothin' so far as I can tell."

At some point while she'd spooked herself, Reece had moved to sit beside her. She need only turn, raise onto her knees, and press against the long line of his body. Dig greedy hands beneath his robe.

Take

.

Instead, Blue stilled completely as Reece rested a broad palm on her nape. Rough edge of one thumb nail teasing behind her ear. The priestling was talking; she could hear him saying something distant about the poetry book and priest who'd written it for his lover a century past.

"Are you listening?" Reece asked.

Blue couldn't listen, couldn't focus on anything except for the radiant thread of lust that now seemed taut between his hand and her clit.

"Blue?" He clenched his hand, hard, just this side of pain. That lance of starlight exploded behind her eyes, throughout her chest.

She looked at him now, face and throat flushed strawberry. "Nay."

"Very good." Reece leaned down so that the blade of his nose brushed hers. His face held no mildness, not hint of the gentle man of the Sun she'd met this morning. "D' you want me, Blue?"

He asked the question into her panting mouth. The hand not on her neck gathering both of hers into an implacable grip.

"I do." Blue could have broken his hold, but she only relaxed into his restraint. "Badly."

"A kiss then." When she made to move, his hands tightened. "Only a kiss."

Reece waited until she repeated his words and closed his mouth over hers. Wet slide of soft lips. Scrape of stubble. The hand at her nape slid forward to her jaw and pressed her mouth open.

And the kiss became a ravaging. Teeth and tongues. And careful, crystalline control.

When it shattered, would she?

But then, Reece softened so that only the ghost of a kiss brushed her lips. The barest touch against each corner. Bridge of her nose. Eyelids.

Finally, the damp stamp of his mouth between her eyebrows. A promise sealed.

When Blue final peeled open her lust heavy eyes, Reece was as composed as if he'd given noonday mass. And not thrown her into a knot of lust and turmoil that she was still unpicking when Creo and Arno woke to take second watch.

The tent she shared with Larch was just long enough that their feet didn't stick out and barely wide enough for the two of them abreast. The interior was close and warm and smelled like home. Blue should have been able to fall into an exhausted, if restless, unconsciousness. Instead, she felt the rapid beat of her own lust like a second heart between her legs. She rubbed her thighs together in search of some kind of relief.

Blue reached for her waistband.

It wouldn't take much. A twisted finger. A gentle exhale.

Larch's hard grip on her wrist stopped the motion. In the dark, she could only see the edge of his jaw and the glitter of eyes. So, they seemed suspended in a primeval sea.

Far enough away from the rest of the world that she didn't stifle her gasp when Larch sucked her fingers into his mouth. Worked his tongue around and between them.

And guided both their hands downwards. Paused at her waist. Until the frantic nod of her head against his bicep encouraged him further. He hissed when their tangled fingers met the wet heat of her cunt.

Larch directed just her fingertips. Gentle, so delicate at first that they barely touched. Incrementally faster. Harder. Until Blue clamped teeth into the cotton of his shirt. But it was his whisper of "Blue" into her ear that finally drove her to the red rush of release.

Morning might have brought shame or tension if Larch were a different man, or Blue a different woman. But they'd taken the same girl to bed, together, more than once. If it felt dangerous when Larch had brought their hands to his mouth again and kissed her fingertips, Blue refused to acknowledge the peril.