Page 182 of Commanding Flame and Shield
A gargantuan Spanish villa—built of stone, stucco and ceramic tiles—stretched across a manicured lawn. It bore a guest house, a pool, and a mind-boggling wrap around deck, poised like a jewel at the southernmost tip of Port Royal.
“Holy Hell,” I breathed as we pulled into the driveway. I couldn’t conceal the awe in my voice. It was the same breathless phrase I’d mumbled when Ally tore the cover from her McClaren in the private hanger we’d jumped into. If I was honest with myself, I should have guessed an immortal lifespan had collected immortal luxuries, but I’d never seen them do something so flashy. But the estate…
The stretching palm leaves rustled and hissed in the calm breeze, and the steady crash of waves immediately slowed my heart and made my muscles ease. Even so, we paused and raised our hands towards the estate, stuffing my shield entirely within the box I’d carved for it, so that she could get a full read on the house.
She led me from one extravagant room to the next, in between kisses and caresses. The heat of her skin against mine, the thrill of the past life memories, the slide of her palm along my back, or down my neck, had my blood roaring. I didn't hear a damn thing she said about the artwork or architecture.
“Jesus," I growled as she stroked her fingers along my cock through the denim. I grabbed her waist, yanking her against me, and earning a trill of laughter as I forced her back against the nearest door, caging her in with my body. My mouth came down hard and demanding, and her lips fell open. With a flick of her tongue, I was lost in the taste of her.
Radiant face full of mirth, she pulled me into the bedroom.Herbedroom, I realized, as the collection of books became obvious, even here. They were stuffed everywhere. The white plaster walls climbed to a curved, vaulted ceiling, and I was vaguely aware a chandelier hung in the center, a million-dollar turquoise view stretching beyond.
But Ally was yanking my shirt free, hot breath raising goosebumps on my chest. I raked my fingers through her hair, sucking and pulling at her lower lip as she backed up until she bumped into one of four tall, arched windows. I traced my fingers up the line of her leg as she hitched it around my hip and palmed against the apex of her thighs. A groan tumbled from me as I found her absolutely soaked for me. Alvara moaned as I sucked at the skin of her neck, and her back arched as she pressed into my groin. That sound, God that sound. I would devour her whole if she let me.
“You’re mine,” I whispered against her ear, and she shuddered within my arms. She nodded, and then claimed a kiss. Warm, and urgent.
“And you’re mine,” she whispered.
“I’m yours.” The words lit my soul on fire.
EIGHTY-FIVE
SISTERS
ALVARA
Someone was sitting on me. My hip ached, and yet the excitement on the air made up for any bit of discomfort, as did the already familiar scent.
“Good morning, sleepyhead!” Freya slid off my hip onto the bed, cradling herself against my torso. She tucked her auburn hair behind an ear and grinned at me. I blinked as my eyes adjusted to the blinding light around me.
“August?”
“No, silly, it’s me. Frey-ah,” she smirked. “I have banished your betrothed to the pool house with the other brooding warrior types, as per tradition.” She rose, and, lithe as incarnated shadow, she strode to the window and threw back the last of the curtains, taking that blinding glow to an unendurable level. “The last time I watched the two of you get married, it was in a castle on the Irish moors, heavily guarded by knights. And while I suppose celestial warriors aren’t that different from knights, I think this one will be much more fun.”
“I certainly hope so,” I yawned as I sat up, stretching my arms, and rolling my neck. The familiar scent caught my attention, and I grabbed the coffee off the bedside table, sipping it down gratefully.
“He said you’re basically useless without it, so I decided we’d get a jump on things.” She clapped her hands twice—so loudly I flinched, and then startled to see Fae and Lana come dancing into the room, broad beaming grins brighter than the sun over armfuls of fabric, curling irons and an intimidating box of cosmetics. My stomach flopped backwards like a pancake, and I snapped my eyes up to my soul sister, who merely grinned in response. Eyes stinging, I blinked, frantically trying to force the tears back down.
“You alright there, Ally?” Fae turned one armchair towards the window, rather than away from it, and tapped the back of it expectantly. I obliged her request, my heart a thunderclap in my chest.
“I just—I didn’t think…after I lost Michael, I never thought I’d…” Their joy as they surveyed me knocked me right over the edge, tears pouring freely down my cheeks.
“Ooooh! Ally, sweetie!” Fae squealed, diving forward to sit on my lap. She wrapped her arms around my neck, as Freya stepped forward to wipe the tears off my cheeks.
Together, we all wept, even Lana, her hand pressed into her lips as if she could contain the sobs as she jerked her gaze away. I didn’t bother. Let them rock through me as I thought about every life, each moment and thin thread that finally wove our paths back together. Thought about every detail of my mate. The way he smiled, studied, fought, loved. The way he followed me to death’s door, unflinchingly. His unwavering honesty and loyalty.
And I knew what I had to do.
EIGHTY-SIX
BETROTHED
AUGUST
Freya and Lana had banished me and the boys before the coffee had even brewed. Alec had taken to firing up our own pot in the poolhouse’s kitchen, while Aren tackled breakfast. Ansel was stretching by the window, eyes on the vendors decorating the pristine lawn below. He was still a bit stiff, but miraculously healed, save the cruel purple scar stretching down the entire length of his torso.
Aren had a chipper wedding playlist on over the speakers, currently blaring “Gotta Good Feelin’” by Pigeon John, and it seemed some of the vendors were fond enough of their client that they were singing along as they lined out chairs, wrapped nearly everything sedentary in white gauzy fabric, and positioned endless clusters of extravagant flower arrangements across every surface.
Alec laughed behind me, drawing my attention from the flurry of activity. Ansel, too, turned around to see our friends at the kitchen island. Alec was pouring us each a mug of coffee, and Aren was just behind him, sloshing a few ounces of Baileys into each cup.
