Blood of Wolves (The Drake Chronicles Book 3) by Lauren Gilley

Author:Lauren Gilley [Gilley , Lauren & Gilley, Lauren]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HP Press
Published: 2021-11-01T18:30:00+00:00

~*~

“There. Just like that.” Rune was strong and warm at her back, his hands dwarfing hers where he helped her grip the arrow, and draw back the bowstring. Her muscles didn’t quiver, and the bow didn’t shake, and she knew it was all down to him; that he was the one truly controlling the weapon, and she was just letting him move her. But she tried to focus – tried not to think too much about the way his warm breath stirred her hair, and whispered past her ear. Tried to ignore the warm, steady thump of his heartbeat between her shoulder blades. “Ready?”

She nodded.

“And…loose.” They let go together, and, with Rune’s other hand steadying hers on the bow, the arrow snapped forward, a straight shot that landed in the yellow-painted center of the target.

“Ha!” Rune cheered, clasping both her shoulders and squeezing. “You did it!”

“More like you did it.” She tried and failed not to sound bitter about it.

He laughed, and leaned down to press his lips to her cheek – he lingered a little, long enough that the butterflies in her belly fluttered. “Do you think I could draw and shoot properly when I first started?” he whispered, like a secret.

“It honestly wouldn’t surprise me.”

He laughed again – with her, she could tell, and not at her. A low, rich, sweet laugh that prompted her to turn in his arms, bow forgotten against her thigh as she threaded her fingers through the silver cord ties of his leather tunic.

His hands ducked beneath the fall of her cloak to grip her waist, his expression fond, dark eyes bright in the torchlight. “You’ll get it. It just takes practice.”

She didn’t share his confidence, but he smiled so warmly at her that she could only smile back – and stand up on her toes when he leaned down to press his cold lips to hers. A soft kiss, not as unrestrained and heated as the ones they’d shared in the royal apartments, away from the prying eyes of passing guardsmen, but it sent a thrill through her all the same. She wanted to announce their betrothal formally; wanted to confess the truth to Leif, so that she and Rune could be properly together. So they could be married beneath a snow-dusted arbor in the garden, and so that he could touch her more. All those generalized longings were taking firmer shape with every brush of hands or lips, and she wanted him, more eager than afraid, now.

He lifted a hand to cup her face, bowstring calluses catching at her jaw as he angled her head, and traced her lip with the tip of his tongue.

A horn sounded. Three sharp blasts that echoed off the stone walls of the yard, and of the palace itself.

Rune’s hand tightened on her waist, and they pulled back from one another, breath catching, eyes widening. His look of shock confirmed her fear: the horn was an alarm.

Around them: shouts, and the clank and chime of mail

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