Potent desire spread through me. I arched in his embrace, my body aching and tense.

“Please,” I heard myself whisper—beg.

Ash answered without hesitation, knowing what I wanted. Needed. He moved faster, grinding against me as he took me right to that slick edge and then over it. I let out a scream as hot, tight spasms shook me.

Ash’s head kicked back as he drew me down on his cock. A roar of release escaped his throat while he held me tight to his chest. It was a sound that must have shaken the walls of the palace.

One last shudder ran through my body as I clung to him, trembling with aftershocks of pleasure. Moments passed, and I became aware of the fact that he’d lowered me to the edge of the desk again, but was still deep inside me, cool and throbbing.

He kissed me. The one before had been that of unyielding need. This was a gentle and languid benediction.

His fingers trailed down my cheek as he eased himself from me and stepped back. Wavy strands of hair fell against a slightly flushed cheek as he pulled his pants up, his chin pointed downward.

Was he blushing?

I thought so, and there was such a sweetness to it that I felt my heart do several little skips.

Leaving his pants unbuttoned, he looked over at me. Only the thinnest streaks of eather were visible as one side of his lips curled up. “I wish to paint you,” he said, crossing the distance between us. “With you like this.”

I glanced down at myself. “You wish to paint me topless—wait.” Surprise jolted me. “You can paint?”

One shoulder lifted. “I used to when I was younger. Can’t say I was any good at it.”

I gaped at him. “What have you painted?”

“Landscapes—mostly Mount Rhee,” he said while pulling my blouse sleeves back up, referencing where the draken resided. “And how the meadows would look if filled with poppies. Sometimes, I did portraits.”

My mouth was still hanging open. “I can’t believe you’re just now telling me you can paint.”

“It’s not something I honestly thought of before.” He tugged some hair free from under my shirt collar. “Truthfully, it’s not something I even thought of until now. I haven’t painted in years.”

Years likely meant decades. All I could do was stare at him in stunned silence. Honestly, I shouldn’t have been surprised. Those long fingers of his were talented, and I’d always thought they were far too graceful for someone who had only ever handled a sword or dagger. I knew—

“Portraits?” I asked. “You said you’ve painted portraits?”

Ash nodded.

A sudden sense of knowing filled me. “You painted the portraits of your parents.”

He didn’t answer immediately. “I did.”

I was once more staring open-mouthed at him.

“When Kolis killed my mother, he also ensured that all traces of her were destroyed,” he said after a moment. “My father was too preoccupied with a babe he never planned on rearing alone and grieving to stop it.”

A bitter knot of grief settled like a stone in my chest.

“So, there were no portraits of her. When my father was killed, there was nothing left behind of him either. I already had no real image of my mother in my mind, and I knew that as the years passed, I would forget what my father looked like, too. I didn’t want that.” His forehead creased. “I painted him first—when the memories were still fresh. Then, with Nektas’s help, I painted my mother. It was the last time I painted.”

Sadness mingled with awe as I murmured, “My gods.”

Grabbing hold of the sides of my vest, Ash’s gaze met mine. “What?”

“It’s just…beautiful and tragic,” I said, breathing through the sting in the back of my throat. “I wish I had better, more eloquent words.”

He paused to kiss me. “Your words are always good enough.”

Actually, his were. Mine were poor imitations. “You can paint, Ash.”

He gave me another half-shrug.

“Seriously,” I insisted. “Your mother looks real.”

Pausing, he frowned. “That’s because she was real, liessa.”

“I know. That’s not what I meant. I never would’ve guessed that someone who hadn’t seen her—who only had the memories of another to go from—was the one who had painted her. That takes real skill. You’re not just good,” I told him. “You’re really, really good.”

Ash was quiet.

“And I’m not just saying that because I can’t draw a straight line.”

His lips twitched. “I’m sure you can draw a straight line.”

“No, I can’t. If you don’t believe me, ask Ezra the next time we see her.” As soon as I said her name, I yearned to see her. It was hard to move past it. “She’s witnessed my poor attempts at doodling. I’m bad, like really, really bad.”

A grin finally appeared. “I wish to see just how bad you are at drawing.”

“No, you don’t.” I eyed him, suddenly thinking about all the bare walls in the many chambers. “Do you still have those other paintings?”

He nodded.

“Where are they?”

“In one of the chambers you apparently haven’t entered yet,” he answered.

“Take me to them. Right now,” I demanded. “I want to see them.”

“I would be glad to. But not right now.”

My eyes narrowed. “Why not?”

He chuckled as he came back to me. “Besides the fact that you remain without pants,” he murmured, nipping at my lower lip, “you need to feed.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

Thoughts of seeing his paintings vanished as those four words elicited a sudden throbbing in my upper jaw. Until that moment, I hadn’t felt like I needed to feed.

My gaze dropped to his throat, and the ache moved to my chest and then my stomach, reminding me of hunger pains. Muscles tensed, and I could’ve sworn I saw his pulse beating beneath his flesh. My throat dried with the sudden need to feed. I started to lean forward, but my thoughts decided to go in an unwanted direction.

An image of Veses flashed in my mind—her at Ash’s throat, taking from him as she straddled him. Used him.

I drew back, my heart thumping unsteadily. I didn’t want to do that to him. “I feel fine,” I said.

“I know you do.” He cupped my cheek. “But we don’t know how much essence you used against the kynakos. And even if you hadn’t been in that fight, you would still need to feed every couple of days for a bit as your body continues to adapt to the Ascension,” he reminded me as he smoothed his thumb across my cheekbone. “If you don’t, you’ll feel as exhausted as you did while in your Culling.” His eyes met mine as he fixed my shirt. “I don’t want to risk that.”

“You’re right. I remember. It’s the whole baby-Primal thing.”

His eyes searched mine. “Then why do you hesitate?”

“I…I guess I’m not used to it. I don’t find it repulsive or anything,” I quickly added. “It’s just…”

“Different.” He moved on to the vest, his fingers as nimble and quick as they had been when he unhooked the clasps. “That’s understandable. It’s not yet natural to you.”

“But it will be,” I murmured, running my tongue along the back of my teeth. The pulsing sensation returned, more intense than before.

Ash watched me, his eyes halfway closed. “I enjoyed it when you fed from me before. Thoroughly.”

I stopped messing with my fangs.

“And when you were at my vein, it was only you I thought of.”

I went completely still.

“I knew it was your fangs piercing my skin. Your mouth that moved against my throat,” he continued. “I knew it was you I willingly gave my blood to. Not her.”

A tremor ran through me. Gods, how had he known? I didn’t think sensing what I felt could’ve filled in the gaps like that. A mix of emotions swirled through me. I was relieved that he hadn’t thought about her when I fed from him and was clearly far better at dealing with certain things than I was. But that relief carried the bitter edge of guilt.