A Storm of Flames and Deceit

12. Such Conversation

Eris
She groans then, dropping her head onto my shoulder in an emotion most nearly placed at true agony. "Does this mean we need to have another ceremony?" She whines. "First the wedding, then coronation, now mating."

"We needn't have a ceremony so soon if you don't wish," I reply, gazing down at her, finding myself lost once again in the depths of her charcoal eyes. "Admittedly, I'm not sure if I feel comfortable of our enemies knowing that you're my mate. Not yet anyway."

She rolls her eyes. "Protective bastard," she scoffs. "Are you sure you're not just trying to spare me from the frenzy that comes with accepting the bond?"

She sees right through me, my every motive. "That might be part of it," I admit mildly, smiling a weak grin back down at her. "I'm not very good at holding back." The understatement of the century, especially where she is concerned.

She raises a brow in challenge up at me. "Funny. I don't remember asking you to hold back, Hot Stuff," she taunts, her lips hovering beneath mine deviously. I have to hold my breath, afraid that if I breathe her air I will crumble. Her tongue snakes out, greeting my lip, her fingers anchoring in my hair, making it very hard to resist the impulse to kiss her.

I don't deny the thirst, lowering my mouth onto hers, biting onto her lip. She murmurs in approval at the force my teeth take, urging me further. As it is, my fingers are already digging into her hips beneath the hem of her shirt as I battle for restraint, my body reacting to her very pulse- which I can feel under my lips as my mouth finds her throat.

She seems to smile, whirling the momentum, pining me against the door herself this time. I feel my restraint begin to unravel again, my mind falling from my body until I feel positively aflame. She grabs me by the throat, smiling deviously as I grip her back, my finger digging into her backside sharply as she grinds against my hips, her borrowed shirt slipping down her shoulder the slightest bit. There's a loud crash somewhere within the palace, and we startle apart, falling back to stare at each other. Waiting.

Another crash.

"Eris..."

"Stay behind me," I whisper, flames snaking down my fingertips. She nods quietly, eyes wide as I quietly open the door of our bedroom, sneaking out with her on my heels. With one hand, lightning streaks across her fingers anxiously, the other placed gently on my spine as we follow the sounds of crashing.

The throne room beckons us with the noise, the sound of wind howling. It whips at Nephele's hair brutally, even before we have turned the corner. Keeping her close behind me, we slip into the room. A narrow gust of wind twists around itself, taller than Neph and I put together as it picks up debris. In the center of the twister lays the vague silhouette of a man that Neph so instantly recognizes, gasping softly.

Her father.

He's here, but not physically. I nearly throw fire to the twister out of pure precaution as Neph clings to my arm, terrified, her curls whipping wildly in the wind. "Eris Vansera," the silhouette declares loudly, still gazing vaguely out at the throne, merely a projection of Nephele's worst nightmares. My hand flares a little hotter. "Consider this a complaint that I wasn't invited to you and my daughter's coronation."

"What do you want Fergus?" I grind my teeth together, pushing Neph further behind me.

The silhouette doesn't react, but it does respond, indicating that it can hear but not see. "I have a proposition for you."

I stay silent, my gaze burning the twister the way my blood simmers.

"You must love your wife a good deal to make such a mockery of your own title," Fergus goes on. "Who would want to share the crown if not a besotted fool?"