Page 88 of Ashborne Forged

Rage ran in my veins like lava, but I didn’t let him hear it. No. I wallowed in my need for my mate, and let him hear every breathless huff, as I slowly prowled closer, praying he wouldn’t notice.

“The bond is more than simple union, my Lord. Far more than a contract. It is a divinely empowered thrust of need for intimacy and connection. It scours you to your soul, hollows your chest into a chasm, precisely shaped like the One given to you. It replaces the organ that beats in your chest with a bellows, spewing fire, a burn that can only be quenched by your mate. It cuts through the dross of this life, past flesh, bone, and sinew, to your eternal soul, and it demands that your mate is drawn in. The drive for completion is undeniable—”

“I am not stupid,” the Lord said, his voice thick, lip curling from his teeth. “Your point is made. And yet, you see?” He let go of her arm and clamped that hand to the back of Grace’s neck, shoving her a step closer to me.

She squeaked, but caught herself before she flailed. Her eyes welling with tears, but locked on mine as she sent rush after rush of love and need and gratitude through the bond. It stole my breath, and in conjunction with the fury that man ignited with his treatment of her, threatened to break my restraint.

“Your words make sense to a man like myself—who knows the world, and women,” Breckon spat. “But the Lady Grace, with her innocence, blushes to her roots.”

“It isn’t only her face that blushes when she’s embarrassed,” I said, letting one side of my lips slide up. “Her skin is far paler under her clothing. Pale, and unblemished—with the exception of her wounds from training. And a strange, dark freckle in the dimple of her buttocks. On the left side,” I added, when he froze and his eyes instinctively dropped to her hip.

The man made me sick, and Grace blushed beet-red. I continued to shovel reassurance, and a plea for forgiveness to her, but kept my focus on him.

“Her bleed isn’t due for another three weeks,” I continued, leaning closer as if I shared an intimacy. “I suppose you could wait until then to actually marry her. To be sure. But there’s always the chance that—”

Breckon turned on Grace, shock and disgust on his face.

And Grace, my beautiful, bold, reckless mate, didn’t hesitate.

“When his handle stood up, it brushed the underside of my br—”

“You dirty little slut—”

To my shock, he raised his free hand as if he’d strike her, and in a blink, the taut leash I’d kept on my control snapped. I roared, and launched at him, amid a cloud of shouts and curses.

29. I Know You

~ VOSKI ~

I tackled him. He hit the tiled floor with an oof, his hair falling away as his head snapped back, and cracked on the floor. I’d successfully broken his grip on Grace, and screamed at her to run, as I scrambled up his body while he was still disoriented, cocking an arm—only to be caught at the elbow, and dragged from him.

“Voski, for fuck’s sake!” Donavyn roared, pushing between us to block my view of the asshole as Gil and Ronen dragged me from his sweating carcass.

Behind him, Lord Breckon attempted to bounce to his feet, but he staggered, and his hair—which had appeared thick and sweeping, had fallen aside from his head in an inexplicable chunk to reveal a shining pate that reflected the glow of the candles in the room.

Grace, her eyes wide, and hands on her mouth, stared at him as I struggled against my brothers. “You saw!” I snarled at the queen. “You saw his disrespect! You saw his—”

“Be still.”

She didn’t raise her voice. Didn’t move from her seat. But the words rang through the room like a gong.

I froze, still straining against the grips of my brothers, and pleading with my eyes for her to see.

Alarm sang in all my senses as the queen, with a strangely smug expression, pushed out of her chair and began to cross the room toward Breckon, her hand landing on my extended arm at one point, with a squeeze that, from anyone else, I would have assumed was intended as reassurance.

But her glittering eyes never left Breckon.

“My sincerest apologies, Lord Breckon. You see the difficulties I have controlling these very, er, primal soldiers. You’ll understand better now, why I usually leave them in the Keep, rather than bringing them to the castle. They lack refinement. This is why, I really must insist, if you’re ever to enter Vosgaarde again, you must tell me prior to your arrival. I simply cannot be everywhere at once, and if one of them was to find you on our land…”

“Violent, coarse men,” he spluttered and coughed, brushing off his jacket with trembling hands, and jerking at his lapels to cover his nerves. “I knew this one looked familiar, only I couldn’t place it. But now, seeing him snarl in that way from close up, I remember.”

“Oh?” the queen stood at his toes, between us, picking at his jacket as if it were marred with lint.

But Breckon wasn’t distracted. He dropped his chin and stared straight at me, pointing, brave now that there was a wall of crowns and Commanders between us. “He killed my man. Two weeks ago. While we were on the hunt for Grace.”

Adrenaline punched through me as everyone in the room jerked to stare at me, shock painting their features.

I frowned—almost laughed. “What? Who?”