I have never liked Axis, but something about his relationship is irresistible to me. This short clip takes place during the second book of DarkGlass Mountain, The Twisted Citadel. This fandom needs more fanfiction!
As her brother fights to find the Lealfast a place in the universe, Inardle does her part.
She has always done her part. Inardle is very good at following orders.
While her brother led thousands of her people to pointless slaughter, Inardle spins a web of lies. She captures the heart of the StarMan—no small thing to do.
Too soon, she is in his bed, and her frost rises.
Inardle feels betrayed by her own skin. She has played this part before; the double agent. When she had allowed Lister to use her body (because her brother ordered her to), she had refused to give him the pleasure of raising her frost.
It wouldn't have risen, anyway.
But this man, this arrogant legend of a man who has loved so many women before her, and who she must ultimately betray, makes it impossible for her to guard herself. She blames her injuries—the pain, that is the reason for the frost, the pain, the pain—but she does not want to lie to herself any more than she wants to lie to Axis.
He is Icarii.
Axis' hands are soft on her belly and breasts, his eyes dark as he watches the line of silvery frost appear.
They rejected you. Deep down, Axis is exactly like his father. He is laughing at you. He uses you. He doesn't care.
He grunts when he enters her, and Inardle gasps, feeling as though her entire body was encased in the cold rimes of ice. Her hands come around his back, holding him to her so he won't see her face.
You will have to leave him. You will have to hurt him. In the end he will always return to Azhure, anyway. He will return to the woman who keeps nothing from him, and has followed him to death and back.
Tears sparkle on her cheeks and she arches her back in exquisite pleasure, moving her body in rhythm with his.
Axis feels the wetness on his shoulder when she presses her face against it, but he assumes it is the melting frost.
Inardle closes her eyes, allowing everything to slip away except for the feeling of him inside her, and the damned trails of frost making patterns on her skin.
She is not so sure now, if they are from pain or pleasure.