The Primordial Flame

Barging In.

The soft morning light filters through the rough wooden blinds of the cabin, casting warm golden stripes across the bed.

Bram is still fast asleep, his heavy, muscular arm wrapped loosely but protectively around my waist, pulling me flush against his warm chest. It is a rare, almost impossible sight, a man who usually wakes before the sun, constantly on guard, allowing himself to steal an extra hour of quiet peace with me anchored in his arms.

The moment I begin to stir, his breathing changes. The deep rhythm of his sleep breaks, his body instantly attuned to my slightest movement.

Instead of pulling away, I shift closer into his embrace, burying my nose into the crook of his neck. The familiar scent of leather, cedar, and rain surrounds me, completely washing away the last lingering shadows of last night's nightmare. I press a soft, slow kiss to the warm skin just beneath his jaw, then another right over his pulse point, gently coaxing him out of sleep.

A low, deep rumble vibrates against my chest as Bram lets out a long, contented sigh. His grip on my waist tightens, drawing me even closer until there isn't an inch of space between us.

His dark eyes flutter open, heavy with sleep but softening instantly the moment they land on my face. A small, rare smile touches his lips, one reserved only for me in the quiet dark of his room.

"Good morning, Little Tiger," Bram rumbles softly, his voice thick and gravelly from sleep. He lifts his free hand, his large, calloused thumb gently brushing a stray lock of auburn hair away from my eyes, his touch impossibly tender for a man who commands an army of thieves. "How are you feeling?"

I rest my hand against his cheek, leaning into his touch, feeling completely safe and secure in his arms while the quiet woods rustle softly outside our window.

“I’m feeling better. Everything is always better in your arms Bram, and seeing that I’m feeling better I say climbing ontop of him, why don’t we take an extra hour to do some of those unspeakable things we enjoy so much.”

A deep, dangerous chuckle rumbles low in Bram’s chest as his dark eyes flare with sudden, dark heat. The heavy lethargy of sleep vanishes in an instant, replaced by a fierce, possessive focus that locks onto me as I climb onto his lap.

His massive hands slide smoothly up my thighs, still clad in comfortable trousers, and settle firmly on my hips, anchoring me securely against him.

"Is that so, Little Tiger?" Bram rumbles softly, his deep voice dropping an octave as a slow, wicked smirk touches his lips. "You come into my bed, steal my morning, and now you want to keep me hostage for another hour?"

He leans up, his rough thumb tracing a lingering path along my jawline before angling my chin up to meet his gaze. All the protective gentleness from the night before remains, but beneath it now burns an unmistakable, fierce desire, a silent promise that he is more than ready to lose himself in me and make me forget every shadow of the world outside this room.

"I won't hear a single complaint from you about being tired later," Bram whispers huskily against my lips, his hands gripping my hips tight as he pulls me down into a deep, slow kiss that steals the breath right out of my lungs.

His large hands move with deliberate heat, rolling me back onto the soft mattress so he can hover over me, his broad shoulders blocking out the morning sunlight filtering through the blinds. He removes the linen trousers and large tunic with agonising slowness, his dark eyes tracing every inch of my bare skin as if committing it to memory.

Bram lowers his head, pressing a long, hot kiss right over the pulse point on my neck, making a shiver run down my spine. A dark, low hum of absolute, appreciative desire vibrates against my collarbone as his lips move lower, tracing a path of feverish heat down my chest, over my ribs, and onto my belly.

"You're breathtaking, Little Tiger," Bram murmurs huskily against my skin, his hands sliding around my waist to pull me flush against him. His breath warms my skin, sending a wave of electric shivers through every nerve. "Every inch of you."

The heat between us is broken in a single, chaotic second by the heavy timber door bursting wide open.

In his exhaustion last night, Bram had completely forgotten to throw the iron latch after carrying me in fast asleep. Driven by sheer urgency, Vane doesn't even think to knock. He barges straight into the bedroom, his eyes wide and wild.

"Bram! Carrion’s carriages are right outside the eastern,"

Vane’s loud shout cuts off mid-sentence as his eyes register the scene in front of him: Bram hovering over me, bare chested and fiercely protective, and me scrambling under the sheets, completely caught off guard.

"Vane!" I shriek, my voice echoing off the timber walls as my cheeks burn a fiery crimson.

"Get out!"

Vane freezes dead in his tracks, his jaw dropping so far it practically hits his leather boots. A dark red flush instantly creeps up his neck, spreading all the way to the tips of his ears as he scrambles backward toward the hallway.

"Oh gods! I, by the Light, I didn't!" Vane stammers frantically, turning his back so fast he nearly trips over his own boots. He slams the door shut behind him, shouting through the heavy wood from the corridor, "I'm outside! The door is closed! I'm staring at the wall! Just, put some clothes on, please!"

On the bed, Bram lets out a low, gravelly groan, burying his face into the crook of my neck as his shoulders shake with deep, suppressed laughter.

"I am going to throw that man into the river," Bram rumbles huskily against my skin, though a dark, amused grin tugs at his lips.

He presses one final, heavy kiss to my burning cheek before reluctantly pushing himself up from the mattress. "I suppose our extra hour just became ten minutes, Little Tiger."

Within minutes, we pull on our clothes, me back into fitted leather trousers and Bram's soft tunic, and Bram buckling his heavy leather armguards into place. Bram shoves the timber door open to find Vane leaning stiffly against the far wall, staring intently at a ceiling beam as if it holds the secrets of the universe.

"You're lucky I left my daggers on the nightstand, Vane," Bram rumbles, his voice deep and stern, though the faint smirk on his face betrays him.

"I didn't see anything, I swear on my life!"

Vane squeaks, running a hand over his face before adjusting his posture and clearing his throat, desperate to regain his composure.

"Look, Carrion is actually here. He came into the tree line with only three guards, flags of truce flying high. He says he isn't here for a fight, he's asking to speak with Amelisse and hand over his allegiance to the Blackhand."

Bram’s dark eyes narrow, all amusement vanishing as the commander takes over once more. He places a solid, protective hand at the small of my back, looking down at me.

"What do you want to do, Little Tiger?" Bram asks softly. "We can meet him at the tree line, or bring him inside on his knees."

"Bring him inside, I’ll speak to him, but I want you with me, Bram."

Bram nods without hesitation, his large hand gently squeezing the small of my back before sliding up to rest at the base of my neck.

"Always," he rumbles softly, his dark eyes fierce and steadfast. He turns his sharp gaze to Vane. "Disarm his men at the perimeter and bring Carrion into the main hall alone. Put four archers in the rafters and have Jax posted at the side door. If he so much as reaches into his cloak for a handkerchief, drop him."

"Consider it done," Vane says, relieved to have a mission to focus on after his earlier blunder. He hustles down the hallway to rally the sentries.

Five minutes later, Bram and I stand side by side at the heavy oak war table in the centre of the main hall. The room is quiet, the tension thick enough to slice with a blade. Kael and Arden stand near the hearth with their hands resting on their sword hilts, their eyes fixed on the entrance.

The iron studded front door creaks open, and Vane steps inside, guiding High Lord Carrion into the room.