Page 174 of Commanding Flame and Shield
“Friends, My Lady?”
“I would quite like to have one friend in the world, Niamh. And I would like it to be you.”
“As you wish, Your Maj—” She grinned as I narrowed my eyes. “Saoirse.”
Conn entered the room, his cloak billowing out behind him, hair frosted with the kisses of winter. He closed the distance between us and set his palm against my face. I leaned into the embrace and inhaled the scent of him.
“My love, it’s time to go…”
...“Frida? Frida, did you hear me?”
I shook my head frantically, tears soaking my face. My very soul was shredding in two as I begged, “Don’t!” The demand fell short. “Stop talking like this.” I raised my trembling hands, breath coming faster—too much faster—as I wiped his blood off on my dress. Bjorn lifted his crimson palms, wrapping his rough, slick fingers around either side of my face. He raked his hands through my hair, and a sob broke through my lips. I reached to set my hand across his sharp jaw, his tears soaking my palms. He kissed each eyelid, and then my cheeks, breath coming in wet, haggard gasps.
“Frida. With me and my father gone, the city will not hold. You must run. Promise me. Promise me you’ll run.”
“Stop!”
My agonized cry cut the vision off. There were more, so many more lives to dig through, but my energy was entirely spent. I opened my eyes to find four stunned faces in front of me. Aren’s tight expression twisted in grief, Alec’s eyes were wide. Young, beautiful, blood-spattered Freya was the only one with confirmation in her eyes, which were so like her brother’s that they took me back. The Wraith—myfriend.
August’s hands were trembling, his eyes wide, wild and watering. His lower lip quivered, as his eyes scoured into mine, as though he could dive deeper into my soul.
Voice hoarse, he whispered, “Saoirse?”
His visible flood of emotion triggered my own, the tears pouring freely in warm waves down my face. A wince escaped with the effort it took to rise off Aren’s chest, sitting up as August shook his head softly.
“Yes. And Frida, Ceana—”
My explanation was cut short, as August threw himself forward, his hands cupping both sides of my face with familiar gentleness.
Emerald eyes, red-rimmed, frantically searched back and forth between each of mine as the memories continued to bubble up to the surface at his touch. They were cut short as his shield slammed into me. I knew it only worked because my power was so spent, but I didn’t care. His breath filled the space between us with his tantalizing scent, as he leaned forward and silenced my words.
His lips warm and urgent, he pressed them against mine, and it completely undid me. The world vanished. All the pain, fear, ache of wounds, worn muscles and drained power, vanished into the abyss of August’s kiss. Air no longer felt cold, it simply…was. My hands moved of their own accord, raising to tangle in his tousled hair, only invigorated by the rain saturated tendrils. He leaned back for the briefest moment, only to wrap his arms around me, and heave me up onto my knees, guiding me to straddle over his own. His arm remained, an iron anchor, wrapped around the small of my back. August’s free hand returned to the side of my face, cupping my cheek and neck as his lips pressed down again on my own. Heat swelled from my core through my limbs, and I breathed it in. Reveled in it. Soaked in every ounce of desire, of longing, of the tension that had built between us those long months. Everything about his embrace was home, familiar, and safe, and as vital as the air in my aching lungs. He pulled my bottom lip between his teeth, and my breath came faster, more urgent.
Again and again, he brought our lips together, the feel of our breath mingling, of his hand against my back, made my core coil like a spring begging to release. I brought my hand to his face and felt the tears still pouring from him—felt the many lifetimes of love and of loss within them. Felt the pulse of his emotion through my chest as his heart hammered, just as rapid as my own. All the grief I’d held for Michael through this life, came spilling forward, and a sob broke us apart. He kept my body pressed against his, the bulge against my thigh more enticing than I could articulate. I wanted him, all of him. To be his, forever. To connect after centuries apart.
August kept our foreheads pressed together, his calloused hands traced my face, warm palms wiping the tears from my cheeks before stroking along the line of my neck. The heat of him caressed the side of my breasts, before gripping my rib cage, then squeezing my waist. As though he feared I’d vanish if he stopped touching me.
Perhaps one of us would. It certainly felt that way to me, too. When I finally opened my eyes, he did the same, and a frantic kind of laughter danced between us. We had survived the battle of the Renown. Survived August using himself as bait. We had found each other, all over again. How many times had his soul tried to reach me?
After a long while, foreheads resting together, our breathing slowed. We peeled ourselves apart and looked around. Our companions had granted us a private reunion, and I saw them all scattered through the clearing, levitating the injured to Saraya’s improvised med tent, and praying over the dead.
August cursed under his breath, and with a sigh, pushed himself away from me. He stood, looking every bit the Commander he was forged to be. He reached his hands for me, grin cheeky, and pulled me to my feet. I winced when the wound tugged on my leg, but looked down, relieved to see it had webbed itself back together. Gratitude swept over me. I caught August also examining my injuries before he gave me an approving nod.
“Our people need us.”
SEVENTY-NINE
AFTERMATH
AUGUST
The rustle of tent flaps caught my attention as I stitched up a wound no one had magic left to heal. I turned just as James and Sam stepped into the med tent, eyes immediately snapping to me. Shoulders relaxing, my breath came out in a whoosh as they both closed the distance and threw their arms around me. None of us had much in the way of words, but we clung onto each other tightly for a moment, and apologies poured through my lips as they muttered reassurances. I would find a way to protect them—somehow, someway, I would shield them for the rest of their too-short mortal lives.
We broke apart only when a small, timid voice croaked, “August?”
I whipped my head up, finding Layla, the neck of her ruined pajamas peeking out under a familiar denim jacket that skimmed her thighs. I'd have to thank Alec for that later. Her face was clear of any evidence of what they had done to her, those wide eyes trained on me. James and Sam stepped back as Layla closed the gap to throw her body against mine. I tentatively locked my arms around her, heart aching as her sobs shook against me, weeping into my chest. I wrapped a hand around the back of James’ neck, pulling him in as Sam looped his arms around the opposite side of us. We all bowed our heads together as Alvara appeared and offered me a small smile meant to comfort.
Westerlunds will take them for now. Keep them safe.
