by Valerie Mars
Still, an impulsive call to action repeats over and over in my mind: Make her smell of Bash Ankerstrand long after the night has passed.
The crinkling of her eyes blooms into a full smile as she sets down the tea. “What does it mean when your eyes glow?”
“Are they glowing now?” She nods. Of course they are. I’m wrapped around her little finger. “It means I’m feeling especially emotional.”
She unravels my arms from where I’ve unconsciously crossed them over my chest, threading her hands through mine. “You’re more shy than you let on.”
I loose a silent snort, because she’s right and wrong at the same time. I’m far from shy, but I do shy away from experiencing my emotions. Losing your cool with a fire gift is what earns you the nickname Hothead.
“If I’m emotional enough, the flames don’t stop at my eyes.”
“Even the positive ones?”
She has me there. “No. The good ones are fine. But some good feelings can lead to bad ones.”
Her lips press together. “Should we stop?”
“Stars, no. I’ll set the place on fire out of protest first. Get over here.” I pull her arms around my shoulders and she settles onto my lap while boring into me with golden eyes so similar to my own. But her eyes are safe. “I’ve come a long way in recent years, it’s just my default to shy away from it.”
“Not all of you is shying away from it,” she murmurs, breaking into a huge grin as she looks down.
“That’s because you smell so good.” I bury my nose into the place her neck and clavicle meet as she writhes against me, giggling that it tickles. When she stills, I steal another breath and mumble into her chest. “You have no clue how good this shirt smells on you.”
She nudges me from my personal Eden. “I think I do.” The moment I lift my head, her lips press onto mine with blistering heat, and it occurs to me that it’s the second time she’s gotten the jump on Bash Ankerstrand, the notorious philanderer.
I open her mouth, savoring the remnants of tea that blend seamlessly with her perfume. Her hands pull at my hair, sending a thrill down my spine. I break us apart and cup my hand near her breast. She pulls it against her in approval, returning to my lips with crushing force before pulling away all too soon.
She straightens and rests her arms on my shoulders, locking her hands behind my neck. “Still willing to be a good boy for me?”
For the love. Of. Ophelia. Dumbstruck, I nod through heavy breaths.
“Don’t move,” she says, bracing her hands on the couch back and rising to her knees.
I palm her ass without shame. “I won’t let you fall.”
Her fingers comb through my hair until she’s exposed my right ear. She positions her mouth close enough to make me shiver. “You’ll pay for that,” she whispers purposely loud before running her tongue along the tip of my ear.
Maybe I was wrong. Maybe pleasant emotions can cause fires, too. I might set this couch on fire.
But it isn’t the couch I should worry about. It’s my cock, and the way Mallory grinds against it while teasing my ear. I try to be still and I try to be good, but I’m gripping her ass like it’s the helm of a ship during a Summer storm.
The moment she rests, I grip her bottom and carry us both from the couch. She squeals, locking her legs around my waist. “Good girl,” I chuckle.
“Not fair,” she whines, tugging on my bottom lip with her teeth.
I hiss. “I’ll show you not f—” What the fuck is that? Metal clinks against metal at my door; the unmistakable sound of someone inserting a key.
“Bash?” The clinking doesn’t reach Mallory’s mortal ears.
There’s only one other key to my suite. I shake my head and lower Mallory to the floor before moving between her and the entryway. The person opening this door is about to get a fistful of flame.
I manage to grow the orb to the size of a watermelon by the time it swings open. My fingers flex as the figure steps into the light, but it’s his scent which alerts me first.
I smell the sea and a roaring fire—I smell myself.
Dark copper hair and brown eyes enter the suite, and I choke the flames without thought. My voice cracks out into the shadows. “Gus?”
He grunts, stomping to his room and tossing a bag in there. It lands on what might have been the basket of fancy soup spoons.
“Sorry. I’ll clear that out,” I say.
He leans his head in, making out the shapes in the dark before disappearing momentarily and returning with a bejeweled dagger. “No. This is good. We’re going to need it to slaughter them.”
I make sure Mallory’s still behind me. “Slaughter who, Gus?”
“The Yellow Ones.” His knuckles turn white around the dagger while the fingernails of his other hand dig into his palm.
“Where’s Wren?” He shakes his head. “The young’ins?”
The dagger flies past my nose and sinks into the front door. “Gone. All gone, and half the village with them.” His voice is glass and gravel as he sags against the wall. “The children went so fast. Maybe it’s a blessing. Wren…she couldn’t handle it, she—” He cradles his head. “Me, the other strength gifted, and those smart enough to leave early are probably the only ones still walking.”
He steps up to me and my hands heat on reflex. He’s unhinged and my vulnerable Mally-girl is within his reach. My body tenses for the unthinkable, but before I can make any decisions, he falls to his knees with an expression I’m seeing on his face for the first time. One that I wish I could wipe away. “I’m going to kill every single one of them, Bash. Will you help me?”
32
Mallory
“Bash’s eyes weren’t the same when he escorted me out the door. You could call them honey when he’s happy, but at that moment his eyes looked ready to burst. They glowed like red coals, and his hands were pulsating orange.” His hands were like toasters again, but I’m not sure if most Techies have those. “He refused to touch me for fear of leaving a mark.” I sigh. “Little does he know that I was marked long before that moment in the form of a bruise on my ass. And that’s without getting laid.”
Ferra shakes her head. “A tragedy in itself. He was right not to touch you, though. Are you going to try to see him today?”
“He’s going to have his hands pretty full. In the non-sexy way. If I see him on the grounds I might approach him, but otherwise I think the two of them need time alone.”
“I’m so sorry, Mallybrook. This certainly wasn’t the story I was hoping to squeeze out of you.” The pity she’s oozing makes me uncomfortable.
I wave her off. “You caught me fair and square yesterday. Truth be told, I was afraid of everything I was feeling given the temporary nature of our situation and probably felt like acknowledging it to you would make it too real.”
She snorts. “Got real fucking real now, hasn’t it?”
My face cracks into a plastic smile, because it beats crying or downing a fourth cup of coffee. My hands will be shaking soon as it is. “Beyond the point of return, I fear.” And I truly do fear. I fear how it’ll rip me apart to return home in two days. Last night with the tunic—I saw the way Bash looked at me when I entered the room. I felt like a joke, but he didn’t think so. His eyes hit that molten honey glow, and he started chugging tea to seem nonchalant. Everything about his body language and the way he tried to put me at ease confirmed that he really does care for me. And now he’s hurting.
It’s funny how important someone can become to you in such little time.
“You need a hug,” she says, rising from her seat. Lilies surround me as we embrace and I talk myself off the ledge of crying. There was enough of that last night after I got back to my room. Something catches my eye outside my window, and when it slips into view again I jolt from the hug.
“There’s someone outside the window.”
“I know,” she says, laying a strand of my hair back on the proper side of my part. “A little birdy told me.”
I squint my eyes at her before walking to the window. “An actual bird, or are you messing with me?”
She laughs. “This time it was an actual bird. She told me people are gathering around the building with dark water. When I stepped out earlier, I saw the painters.”
I take a peep, and sure enough, there’s a guy slapping the black paint they’ve been throwing everywhere onto the side of our tower. “Wouldn’t our resources be better spent making arrowheads or something?”
She shrugs. “Maybe they’re banking on the rousing of our gifts. I’ve found it better not to question authority. It only brings frustration.”
“Odd statement, coming from a girl who questioned her entire village’s ideology and flew the coop.”
“Oh please, you know what I mean,” she says, throwing back her head.
I silently snort, and something else catches my eye. Sometime during our conversation, an envelope slid under my door. Ferra must have been super into my story not to hear it. I’ll pretend I wasn’t. I need some supernatural hearing brownie points after the painters incident, anyway.
“An envelope arrived while I was trying not to cry, by the way.” I walk over and pick it up. “Let’s see what game we’re playing next.”
“If I end up with Maggie or Ezekiel again, I’ll be happy,” she hums.
Maggie. “Is that the shifter girl?”
She cocks her head. “How’d you know she’s a shifter?”
I slide my finger under the wax seal. “Met her during the gala.”
“Ah. Technically her name is Magnolia, but that’s the least Autumn thing I’ve ever heard, so I’m going with Maggie.”
“I know Ezekiel by a different name, myself,” I smirk.
“Oh?”
“Mhmm. He stole Kai away on the night I first kissed Bash. Materialized from the shadows and scared the shit out of me. Kai called him…” I mime a drum roll, not sure if she knows the reference, “…Zeke.”
She turns up her nose, repeating the nickname like it’s a curse. “I’ll stick with his full name, thanks.”
Shrugging, I pull the letter out as she gathers close. I want to throw the stupid thing as soon as I see the word “amphitheater.”
Ferra’s hand presses to my back, patting me in a way that reminds me of Kai. “Let’s get there early and take our time.”
I nod solemnly, pretending to sniffle. “I’m gonna wear nice, flat shoes and something opposite of that heavy dress.”
“Groovy. Ready to go train?”
I groan. “Never.”
I have to hand it to Ferra. She worked me so hard I almost forget to check for Bash before leaving. We kept away from other groups, sprinting back and forth across a dirt path as her version of a warm up. It explains the healthy size of her butt. Mine now aches with a second tenderness.
After that, she offered to teach me a few ways to topple someone from their feet using leg sweeps or momentum. She caught my fall the first few times, but was letting me hit the ground before long. “We’re preparing for war, not practice,” she said. She isn’t wrong, but my body’s different from theirs. I’ll be battered for days. Lesson learned about training with Ferra, I suppose. The dangers of being a spy.
If the boys are here, I expect they’ll be in the sands. And there’ll probably be a group of spectators because it’s their beloved Ankerstrand twins reunited at last. Even if August apparently gets the lion’s share of the adoration.
The cheers of the crowd reach me long before I arrive at the fighting pit. I can’t see the pit itself until I climb onto the stands and peer over the heads that gather around the ring. It’s somewhat amusing to me that they’re still training swordplay before coming into crazy-strong powers, but I guess it’s better to stay prepared when you don’t know what your power’s going to be. Or if Oberon’s Clause will even work.
I don’t want to imagine what August is going to become, because he’s an absolute beast in his current state. Bash is not a small or weak man, but his brother is making him look like a rag doll out there. Much of that must come from his gifted strength, which seems unfair given Bash isn’t hurling fireballs at him. But that’s life with a brother, I guess.
And it isn’t like war is fair, anyway.
They exchange parries, but Bash quickly disengages, relying on agility maneuvers to get him out from underneath his brother. He avoids sustaining the clashing of swords, for at that point it becomes a contest of strength, and that’s one he’s certain to lose. The problem is, they’ve been going at this for some time. They’ve worn a depression in the pit from non-stop footwork, and their tunics are soaked with blood and sweat—Bash’s more so.
I try to remind myself Bash is far less mortal than me, but when his leg buckles and August’s blade swings over him undefended, I scream. He rolls out of the way, swiftly righting himself and locating me in the stands with a look of abject panic. The moment I realize I’ve distracted him, August’s swing connects.
He looms over his dazed brother on the sands. Quick as a viper, he thrusts a finger in my direction. “That? That is going to get you killed. Get your ass up!” He pulls him to his feet, and Bash doesn’t make eye contact with me again.
I remain another minute before deciding I’ve seen enough. Already feeling low, I decide to stick a cherry on top of this shit sundae and drag myself to Ryland’s study. It’s later than our usual meeting time, but he’s sure to be in there, waiting to hear the hot load of nothing I’ve gathered as a spy the past twenty-four hours.
At least I won’t disappoint him.
The door opens before I can reach for the handle. “Looks like you were working hard.”
How does everything he says sound like an insult? I stride straight for the pitcher of water and pour myself a glass. It’s his only glass, but whatever. Have some mortal cooties, bud.
“What was your choice of activity?”
I wipe my mouth. “Sprinting and body throws with Ferra.”
He steps to the table. “That sounds like an easy way for her to question your species. I would cautio—”
“I think I blew it anyway,” I spit. “After failing to hear the paint crew right outside my window.”
He shuts his mouth from its agape position, settling into his usual pouty scowl. He prowls to the bay window, clenching his jaw. “If that’s true, we should meet with the council and explain the danger—remove you from the matching.”
“No. I’m not done here.” I sag my back against the table, both of us surprised by my words. “Two more days, Ryland. We’ll decide then.” At the very least, I need to make sure Bash is okay. Any other loose ends I can tie up are gravy.
He turns from the window, cold eyes bearing down on mine. “Then it’ll be two nights at my quarters. You can’t be left to sleep next to her alone.”
I physically recoil, ignoring the flinch in his stare. “That’s ridiculous. Wouldn’t leaving be more suspicious, anyway? Get Kai or Zeke to watch over me.”
“Kai and Zeke have their hands full, and let’s not pretend you weren’t about to spend the night at Ankerstrand’s.”
“Well, it wouldn’t be convincing if I stayed with you, would it?” I hear his teeth gnash this time, and as he stares daggers into me, I ponder if the reason I really came here was to fight—to paint over the pain of the past twenty-four hours.
He comes in far too fast, slamming his hands down on either side of me. The table takes it like a champ, but I suffer an embarrassing gasp. One hand finds my chin, tilting my face upward into eyes that whirl like a maelstrom. The shades of steel fold into one another, impossible to look away from as he inches closer. A strand of his hair brushes my cheek and I’m bathed in cardamom rain, my insides churning as I try to battle both his storm and mine. My breathing quickens, and right before he’s reached my lips, I wonder if it wouldn’t be so bad to sample his pout just once. Finding what he’s looking for, he smirks and pulls away.
“I think you’ll agree I can be very convinc
ing.”
When my stomach drops, I know I’ve lost a battle I didn’t want to admit I was fighting. But who can win a battle against a storm? I long to thrash out at him, dig into him emotionally and mark him the way he’s marked me. But at the end of the day, it’ll only lead to him owning space in my mind. I make an inner pact not to allow that.
“Tell me where and when.” The monotone quality to my voice doesn’t reflect what I’m experiencing inside. It’s a miracle I’m holding it together for once. Faerie seems to make me leak emotions.
His voice also betrays nothing. If it weren’t for Twyla, I’d actually believe him. “We leave the amphitheater together. I will find you.”
I turn to leave. “Is that all?”
“Did you uncover anything noteworthy at yesterday’s gathering?”
“There’s nothing to report,” I say to the door. I might feel a faint breeze on the back of my neck as I leave, but I don’t dare look back.
Working out before the amphitheater was a mistake. My legs are half wood, half jello. I like to think I take my revenge in the punishing force with which I grip Ferra’s hand, but my mortal strength probably feels like spaghetti to her. She’s pretty nonplussed over the entire affair, looking around the stadium as I crawl to the first row.
Yeah, we’re early. It was all I could do to bathe and grab a bite before Kai’s clock informed me it was time to boogie. I scoured my wardrobe for comfortable pieces without a lick of Autumn coloring in them, settling on black wool slacks and a cobalt sweater that harkens to Bash’s cloak. I have little desire to draw attention to myself, otherwise.
Ferra literally pats me on the head as we stretch our legs in the first row. “Much improved,” she says, returning to reaching way farther past her toes than I can as she stretches. “You haven’t been paired twice with anyone yet, have you?”
“Nah. I think I’ll be one of the leftover Springs. Especially as a fresh Separatist, you know?”
She shakes her head with a doubtful smirk. “It’s all in your heritage, silly. That shouldn’t impact the matching.”
