For Advance/Early chapters :p
atreon.com/ScoldeyJod
The adrenaline of the battle had faded, leaving behind an exhaustion so deep it was a physical ache, a hollowed-out feeling in my bones. My Seidr was a guttering, low flame, my body a map of new aches and old pains. But I was not cold.
Daenerys was a line of pure, living heat pressed against my side, her leg thrown over mine, her arm draped across my chest. She was asleep, truly asleep, for the first time since we'd entered this cursed city. The terror had passed, leaving in its wake the calm of a shared victory and the sated, heavy peace that follows a desperate, pounding, and frantic night of passion.
I lay awake, my arm under her head, my fingers idly tracing the line of her spine. I breathed in her scent—sweat, smoke, and that intoxicating, jasmine-like sweetness that was uniquely hers. My monster. My Queen.
Loki's cold, calculating mind was already moving, plotting our next step. The House of the Undying was a pile of dust. Pyat Pree was a memory. But we were still prisoners. We had no ships, no gold, and we were surrounded by enemies who now had a very good reason to fear us—and a terrified, cornered animal is the most dangerous kind.
Daenerys stirred, her body instinctively pressing closer to my warmth. "Loki?" she murmured, her voice thick with sleep, her face still buried in my chest.
"I am here," I whispered, my lips brushing her silver-fuzzed hair.
She tilted her head back, her lilac eyes, heavy-lidded and dark, finding mine in the dim, pre-dawn light. A slow, sensual smile touched her lips. She looked like a cat that had devoured the cream.
"Good," she breathed, her hand sliding from my chest, down my stomach, her fingers tracing the hard line of my hip bone. It was a lazy, possessive caress, a shameless reminder of the night's intimacies.
My body reacted instantly, a familiar, chemical heat pooling in my gut, a desperate craving for her that seemed to have no limit. I was drained, exhausted, but for her, I felt I could summon storms.
"We have to plan," I said, my voice rougher than I intended as her fingers drifted dangerously lower.
"Later," she whispered, her lips finding my collarbone, her tongue a hot, wet caress against my skin. "Now... there is only us."
She rose, her body a pale, luminous shadow in the darkness, straddling my hips. She was heaven on earth, her soft boobs, full and heavy, swaying as she moved, her light nipples, already hard, pebbled in the cool air. She was a goddess of fire and flesh, and she was mine.
"Daenerys," I growled, my hands gripping her waist, "we have—"
KNOCK. KNOCK. KNOCK.
The sound was a brutal, abrasive scrape against the perfect, sensual silence.
Daenerys threw her head back, a sound of pure, frustrated fury hissing from her lips. "By the gods, can we not have one moment?"
"Khaleesi?" Jorah's voice, that same, dead monotone.
"Heel, dog," I snarled under my breath, my own frustration a burning, acid taste.
Daenerys slid off me, her body slick with a fine sheen of sweat. "I am weary of this, Loki," she spat, grabbing a silk robe. "I am weary of this city, this cage, this... man."
"I know, my Queen," I said, rising and pulling on my own breeches. "Which is why today, we take what we need and we leave."
"Enter, Jorah!" she commanded.
The door opened. Jorah stood there, his face grim, his eyes flicking from me (bare-chested) to her (in a thin robe, her hair a wild mess), and then quickly to the floor. His jaw tightened, but he said nothing. He had accepted his place.
Irri, her handmaiden, was behind him, her eyes still wide with the terror of her magical sleep.
"Gather," Daenerys said, her voice all business. She sat on the edge of the bed, a general holding a war council. The intimacy of moments before was gone, replaced by a cold, hard fire. "We are leaving Qarth. Today. Xaro will not give us ships. The Thirteen will not help us. We will take the gold to buy our own." She turned her gaze to me. "How?"
I smiled, a slow, cold, and predatory smile. This was my domain. This was a heist.
"Yesterday," I said, "Xaro's arrogance was his weakness. Today, it will be his ruin. He has lied to you from the moment we arrived."
Jorah looked up. "His vault."
"Exactly," I said, nodding to the knight, a brief flicker of respect. "He told you it was empty. A lie to make his offer of marriage seem more generous. A man like Xaro, a merchant who trusts no one, does not keep his wealth in a shared city bank. He keeps it with him. His vault is his heart, and we are going to cut it out."
"It is impenetrable," Jorah argued, his practical, soldier's mind taking over. "It is in the heart of his palace, made of Valyrian steel, with a lock that has no keyhole. It opens only to... magic." His eyes narrowed at me.
"Not just magic," I corrected. "It opens to a story. A riddle. But the lock is not the problem. The guards are. We cannot fight our way in and out. This must be clean."
I began to pace, the plan forming, Loki's cunning in its element. "We need three things. A distraction, a bypass, and a mule."
"A mule?" Irri asked, her voice trembling.
"Someone to carry the gold," I said, looking at Jorah. "You will be our mule, Ser. You will also be our muscle. You will wait with a cart in the servant's tunnels beneath the treasury. You will get yourself and Irri there, and you will kill anyone who gets in your way."
Jorah nodded, his eyes bright. This was a plan he understood. Action. Violence. "And the bypass?"
"Me," I said. "My Seidr is low, but it is magic. I can handle a lock. But that leaves the most important part. The distraction."
All three of them looked at Daenerys.
She stood, her face a mask of cold understanding. "Xaro."
"Xaro," I affirmed. "He is hosting a reception for us. He wants to show you off. You must give him exactly what he wants. You must distract him so completely, so utterly, that he and his entire household guard are nowhere near that vault."
"How?" she asked, her voice flat. "He will be clinging to my side."
"You will promise him what he craves," I said, my voice low. I walked to her, ignoring the other two. I cupped her face, my thumbs brushing her cheekbones. "You will tell him you have considered his offer of marriage. You will tell him... 'yes.'"
"What?" Jorah exploded. "Khaleesi, no!"
"You will tell him you accept," I continued, my eyes locked on hers, "but on one condition. That he proves his... potency... to you. In private. In his bedchamber. Far, far away from his vault."
Jorah looked like he was going to be sick. Daenerys, however, did not flinch. Her lilac eyes burned into mine, a chemical reaction of understanding and a new, dark excitement. She was a dragon, and she was learning to play the games of men.
"I will... lure him," she breathed.
"You will," I said, my voice a low, possessive growl. "You will make him believe it. You will make him ache for it. You will keep him occupied until I send you the signal. Can you do that, my Queen?"
A slow, terrible, beautiful smile spread across her face. "I am the blood of the dragon," she whispered. "I can make any man burn."
Jorah looked away, his shame and disgust a palpable thing. Irri looked terrified.
"Good," I said. "Jorah. Irri. You have your orders. Get to the tunnels. Prepare the cart. We move at the height of the reception."
They nodded and, with a final, worried look at Daenerys, left the chamber. The door boomed shut, leaving us alone once more.
The silence that fell was thick, charged. The plan was laid. The die was cast.
Daenerys walked to me, her silk robe whispering against the marble floor. She stood before me, her head held high. "He will... expect to touch me," she said, her voice clinical, cold.
"He will," I agreed, my jaw tightening, a sudden, burning spike of rage at the thought of his oily hands on her skin.
"And you are using me as bait," she stated.
"I am," I confirmed.
"Good," she said. She raised her hand, not to my cheek, but to the front of my breeches, her fingers closing around my already-hardening length. "Then you will remind me who I belong to. You will mark me, Loki. So that when I am with him, it is you I feel."
My breath hitched. The sheer, shameless, possessive power of her... it was a sledgehammer.
"You are playing with fire, my Queen," I growled, my hands finding her hips, pulling her flush against me.
"I am fire," she corrected, her voice a husky, seductive promise.
I didn't wait. I ripped the robe from her shoulders, baring her to the waist. Her soft boobs, her light nipples, were already hard, aching for my touch. I lifted her, my mouth finding hers in a brutal, pounding kiss. This wasn't the slow, healing intimacy of the previous night. This was a frantic, dirty, possessive claim.
I carried her to the wall, pressing her back against the cool marble, my mouth leaving hers to plunder her neck. "He will smell me on you," I rasped, my lips finding her breast, my tongue laving her nipple.
She cried out, a sharp, aching sound, her head thrown back. "I want him to," she panted, her fingers digging into my hair. "I want him to know that I am yours."
This was a new, dark, and dangerous intimacy. This was not love. It was conspiracy. It was vengeance. It was the two of us, monsters together, using sex as both a weapon and a seal.
"He will want you to say yes," I grunted, my hand sliding down her stomach, my fingers finding her. She was already so wet, so ready. Her center was a slick, hot promise.
I pushed one finger inside. She gasped, her body arching. "He will want your submission."
"He will have... nothing," she moaned, as I added a second finger, my thumb finding that small, hard bud.
"You will promise him everything," I growtled, moving my fingers in a fast, crazy movement, "and you will give him nothing. You will give me everything."
"Loki!" she cried, her body trembling, her climax building, a frantic, pounding wave. "Please... I can't..."
"Not yet," I commanded, my voice a low, hard growl. I pulled my hand away, leaving her aching, desperate.
I lifted her, her legs wrapping around my waist, and I walked her to the bed. I laid her down, my eyes burning into hers. "You are my queen," I said, positioning myself at her entrance.
"I am yours," she sobbed, her hips rising from the bed, a desperate, shameless craving.
I entered her with a single, deep, powerful thrust, burying myself to the hilt. We both groaned, a sound of pure, perfect possession.
This was not just sex. This was a branding. I moved, my rhythm deep, slow, and punishing. I was marking my territory. I was reminding her, reminding myself, who she belonged to. Every thrust was a promise of vengeance. Every gasp she took was a seal on our pact.
"He will not have you," I grunted, my pace quickening, the friction a burning, exquisite fire.
"Only you," she panted, her nails scoring my back, her body pulsing around me. "Only my monster."
I felt her climax hit her, a violent, shuddering explosion that shattered her control. The sight of her, the feel of her, sent me over the edge. I roared, my own release a burning, pounding flood, my seed a final, possessive claim in the heart of the woman who would be my queen, my weapon, and my world.
I collapsed on top of her, my body weak, my mind sharp. I rolled off, pulling her with me, my arms a steel cage around her.
She lay, boneless and sated, her head on my chest.
"Now," she whispered, her voice thick, "I am ready to lie to a king."