by Ariana Nash
Alador’s brows lifted. “Just over winter?”
He wanted longer, maybe forever, but he wasn’t sure whether Venali would have him, or even if he had any right to ask. “For now.”
“Is it to recuperate or… something else? Someone else, perhaps?”
“Do I need a reason?”
“No. But I wondered what to tell Venali when he asks why you’re still around.” Alador smiled.
And of course Alador knew it all. For an ancient elf, he sure kept his ear to the ground.
“He’s like a son to me,” the elder said, eyeing the blades again. “He feels things deeply, despite presenting exactly the opposite to the sentinels and assassins he guides.” He side-eyed Trey. “You pair have a good thing. Don’t fuck it up.”
Trey blinked and Alador returned to his table, busying himself with rolls of maps. “Ashford owes you a great debt. Of course you can stay. Now, please, go and tell Venali you’re staying. Alumn, his brooding is painful to watch.”
It felt like the right decision, and with every step toward Venali’s room, his heart lifted. He could stay, if Venali wanted him to, and maybe it would become more permanent. Trey wanted it. He wasn’t sure if he’d ever wanted anything more.
Venali didn’t answer his door. It was too early for AD, but he tried there anyway and found someone stacking the wine and cups, ready for the evening. “I can help,” he offered. It would pass the time, waiting for Venali to show.
It wasn’t long before Venali did arrive, alone, thankfully. If he’d sauntered in with a string of lovers at the tips of his gloved fingers, it would have made Trey’s staying all the more difficult.
“Hello, messenger,” Venali purred, eyeing Trey like a cat measuring its prey for lunch. “Filling the time before you leave or are you a server now?”
Trey poured him a drink. “Maybe.”
Venali’s eyebrow twitched. He lifted the cup to his lips and drank deeply. Trey admired the way his throat moved and imagined mouthing over his fluttering pulse.
“Another, if you please.”
Trey poured a second and one for himself, and when Venali lifted his cup, Trey chinked it against his. “I’m staying,” he said.
Venali’s cup hovered near his lips. “You are?”
“If you want me.”
Those piercing eyes narrowed. “For how long?”
Trey shrugged and downed his drink. It scratched down his damaged throat but warmed him through. “However long you want me for.”
Venali straightened, his frivolous smile fading. That hadn’t been the reaction Trey had hoped for, and as Venali leaned his arm on the bar top and moved closer, Trey’s pulse raced. “Don’t break my heart, Trey.”
Trey leaned in, too, his mouth hovering close to Venali’s. “I won’t,” he whispered, lips brushing Venali’s. “I’m staying and I’m yours.” Few words had ever felt so right. Trey kissed him painfully softly, the first kiss since he had stumbled half-dead off the moor. A tease and a brush of his lips and tongue. Venali was resistant, guarding his heart. Breaths shared, Trey searched his ocean eyes, falling into their depths. Venali teased a kiss back, his wine-sweet lips delicious against Trey’s. And with that kiss, he’d handed Trey his heart.
Venali’s hand slipped to the back of Trey’s neck. He pulled from the kiss to press his forehead against Trey’s. “I love you,” he whispered, the crowd and club forgotten. “Your messy hair, your worn-out clothes, your roughness, your nonsense words, and the marks you bear for those you’ve lost. I love how you see through me. You make me want tomorrow. Please don’t leave me again.”
“Never.” His reply wobbled and not from the damage Conor had done. Trey loved Venali too. He wasn’t sure how or when or even why—Venali was a wreck, but he was Trey’s wreck. He cared to see him smile, to hear his laugh, to see him happy and safe. Venali deserved to be loved, the good kind of love.
“You need to come home with me right now.” He grabbed Trey’s hand and pulled him out from behind the bar, then used his body to pin Trey back against it.
“Right now?” Trey teased. Venali smothered him, all sharp angles and lean edges. Venali’s eager need prodded Trey’s hip.
They made it as far as outside the door to Venali’s room before he plastered Trey against the corridor wall and kissed a torturous path down his neck. “I’ve missed you,” Venali panted out. His smooth, gloved fingertips stroked Trey’s cheek. “My messy messenger.”
Alumn, he felt divine pressed close, like fierce passion bottled in male form. “I’m not going anywhere.”
Venali kissed like there was no tomorrow, like this moment was everything in his world, like Trey was his world. He didn’t deserve Venali’s encompassing passion, but he’d try to be worthy, and that had to be enough.
Venali fumbled with the door and shoved it open. They staggered inside, mouths hungry for each other, hands tearing into clothes, seeking hot skin.
A cool, spring-scented breeze pulled Trey’s mind away from Venali toward the windows. Broken glass glittered beneath flickering lamplight. The drapes rippled, stirred by the breeze sweeping in through shattered windowpanes.
Venali pulled from Trey’s embrace and drifted toward the broken pane. A gust of cold wind blasted in, sweeping his hair back from his face. He turned, his face confused, mouth open to say something—
An arrow streaked across the room, flashing like lightning. It punched into Venali’s chest, shoving him sideways, almost off his feet.
Trey sprang forward.
Conor emerged from the bedroom, Venali’s bow raised, a second arrow nocked. He drew the string back, making the bow groan.
“No!”
Trey reached for Venali’s outstretched hand.
He couldn’t stop this, couldn’t reach him in time.
The second arrow flew. It slammed into Venali’s chest, jerking Venali around. He folded inward, around the pain, staggered, stumbled, and fell against the couch. No, Alumn, no!
Trey collapsed to his knees beside Venali and pressed a trembling hand to his chest, skimming around the twin arrow shafts. Warm blood soaked through Venali’s shirt. The second arrow had punched in too close to his heart.
Venali breathed too fast; those breaths too short. How many breaths did he have left? Trey touched his face, smearing blood across his pale skin. Venali’s eyes said sorry.
“Get up!” Conor snapped.
Trey barely heard him. He couldn’t look away. Didn’t want to hear, to see.
“Get the fuck up or get an arrow in the back!”
“Get up,” Venali whispered.
Trey’s vision blurred. He couldn’t.
Conor pulled on his shoulder. Trey twisted, shaking him off, and stared up the point of an arrow to Conor’s hate-filled face.
“You’re fucking hard to kill,” Conor sneered. “Get up.”
Slowly, Trey climbed to his feet. Conor backed off, but the arrow stayed nocked, the string tight. He couldn’t hold the weapon armed forever. He would tire. He’d have to lower the bow.
Trey lifted his hands. “Why?”
“You really don’t know?”
“I know. I just want to hear you say it.” Trey stepped closer, forcing Conor back.
Hate had twisted his face, making him ugly and hollow. The easy smiles and gentle laughs were long gone. Had they ever been real?
“He knew…” Conor jerked his chin. “He knew I killed the others. You told him.” He grimaced, as though disgusted, but not with his own actions, with Trey’s. “He’ll never love me now.”
Venali’s breaths rasped. “It wasn’t love.”
“You don’t know that!” Conor screamed. Tears fell, wetting his face. He relaxed the bow’s string and lowered the bow, but still held the arrow nocked. “You don’t know because you hardly even saw me! I loved you and you threw me away like I was just some cock to pass the time!”
“You were.”
Conor swung the bow toward Trey.
“Don’t!�
� Venali cried out.
“Watch each other die!” Conor’s fingers slipped from the string, setting the arrow free.
Trey jerked aside. The arrow sailed past. He dashed forward and slammed the ball of his hand under Conor’s jaw, slamming Conor’s head back, rocking him on his feet. Trey landed a punch in his gut. Conor buckled. He should have reeled, should have fallen, but he threw his arms around Trey’s waist and tackled him with a roar. Trey’s back hit the windows. Glass cracked. Conor slammed his forehead into Trey’s. Trey’s head smacked back, his vision splintering. So fast, too much. Glass cracked again. If the window failed, they’d both fall through. Just die!
An arrowhead burst through Conor’s throat.
Everything stopped.
Conor’s eyes flew wide. He shook his head, mouth opening and closing, and stumbled backward. Venali wavered on his feet, stepping aside. He let Conor drop to his knees, skin turning blue, his eyes blurring with blood. He slumped over and collapsed facedown.
Venali staggered.
Trey rushed in, catching him as he crumpled. He clung to Trey, half smiling. “I think I need your help.”
“I’ve got you.” Trey scooped him up, careful to leave the arrows in situ, and carried him to the door.
“I know you do,” he whispered, head resting on Trey’s shoulder. His eyes fluttered closed.
“Alumn can’t have you.” Trey choked on the words.
Don’t take him, Alumn.
Please don’t.
Not him.
I need him.
I love him.
“Fuck that bitch,” Venali mumbled. He fell limp in Trey’s arms, soft breath sighing out. If those were his last words, they seemed fitting. Trey hugged him close and ran from the room.
They tied another ribbon to the tree. Trey watched it flutter with the others. So many dead. So many loves lost. After everything they’d fought for, after living lives devoted to saving others and fighting impossible monsters, it didn’t seem right that any assassin should die.
Trey closed his eyes and bowed his head.
A gloved hand slipped into his and squeezed. A warm, little smile lifted Trey’s lips. Venali’s shoulder bumped his, making him look. Sunlight caught in Venali’s hair and touched his cheeks, warming his rare freckles. With his face lifted to admire the tree, light played across its perfection.
To think he’d almost lost him cinched Trey’s heart and shortened his breaths.
“He never was very good with a bow,” Venali whispered, his smile twitching.
The second arrow had missed Venali’s heart by less than an inch. Conor’s aim had been true. Maybe some part of Conor steered the arrow off course, or maybe he was just a poor shot.
After two weeks in recovery, Venali had escaped the healers and tried to convince Alador he was fit for sentinel duty. But the scar over his heart went deeper than the mark on his skin. It would take more than a few weeks to heal the inside.
Alador moved through the crowd toward them now. “You wanted to speak with me?”
“I do, yes,” Trey replied. Venali gave his hand a squeeze again and let him go, so he could draw Alador to one side, away from the ceremony.
“How is he?” Alador asked, nodding toward Venali standing beneath the tree.
“Better, I think. You know how he is.”
“I do.” Alador’s smile was a warm one, leaving Trey with no doubt that Alador deeply cared for Venali.
Trey unclipped his dragonblade and offered it up with both hands. The blade meant everything to him, but it was also from a part of his life he was ready to let go. “Will you keep it safe for me?”
Alador looked at the blade and sighed. “I’ll have to write to Eroan and explain.”
“I have a feeling he’ll understand.”
Venali’s attention warmed Trey’s back. Trey hadn’t told him he was officially retiring, but he’d known, like he seemed to know all the important things without having to ask.
Alador took the blade and bowed his head. “Thank you, Trey. For your service and your kind heart. Your impact here has not gone unnoticed. We’re honored to have you settle among us.”
“I’m honored to be here,” he glanced toward Venali, saw him looking over, and added, “and to be with him.”
Alador’s warm, steady hand landed on Trey’s shoulder. “I suppose I need to find a new messenger. Though, you’re irreplaceable.”
“I like to think so,” Trey grinned.
“Perhaps you can convince Venali to hand over his bow?” Alador nodded toward Venali, prompting him to start heading over.
Venali wasn’t ready. “One day, maybe.” When he was as old and wizened as Alador.
Venali dipped his chin in respect and noticed Trey’s blade in Alador’s hand. He lifted his sizzling gaze to Trey.
Alador smiled. “It takes someone very special to settle a wandering soul. May Alumn’s light guide you both.” He nodded and left to mingle among those at the ceremony.
Venali moved in closer, placing a gentle touch on Trey’s hip. Gentle or not, it still sizzled with the promise of where that touch might go next. Trey wet his lips. He’d never get enough of Venali.
“You hung up your blade…” he purred, sidling in close, “Does that mean you’re all mine? No more flowers on the pillows of strangers?”
Trey rested both arms over Venali’s shoulders and drew him close enough to kiss, nudging his mouth, then pulling back to bump his forehead against Venali’s. “I’ve been lost for as long as I can remember.” Wandering from place to place, his heart seeking something he wasn’t sure existed. He’d thought he’d almost loved with Nye, but when that all broke apart, it had broken Trey apart too. Until now.
“I know how that feels,” Venali whispered.
And now there was Venali, picking up the pieces of his heart and slotting them neatly back together with precise, careful fingers.
“Somehow, I found you, with your harem of lovers, your ridiculously stunning clothes, your ruthless pursuit of pleasure, and your prickly exterior hiding a vulnerable heart. And I love you for all those things.”
Venali's lips curved into a genuine smile. “You found the real me.” He moved in, his mouth brushing Trey’s.
“We’ll have to talk about those lovers.”
“Hm,” Venali purred, hands clasped on Trey’s hips, gently rocking. “There are no other lovers and haven’t been for a long time. You carry my heart, messenger. Promise me you’ll keep it safe.”
Trey kissed him soft and slow and full of care, knowing the impossible male in his hands was as fragile as he was strong. This was his life now, and he couldn’t wait to live the tomorrow alongside Venali.
Silk & Steel (excerpt)
Eroan
The iron door rattled on its hinges and groaned open, spilling silvery light inside. Gloom fled to the corners, leaving behind a figure with broad shoulders. Male, Eroan thought. Curious scents of warm leather and citrus tickled his nose. After the wet and rotted smell of the prison, he welcomed any change in the air, even if it meant his visitor had returned.
Eroan kept his head low and his eyes down, hiding any signs of relief on his face. The shackles holding his wrists high bit deeper. He’d been so long in the dark, he’d almost forgotten he was a living thing. The constant, beating pain was a cruel reminder. This visitor was a cruel reminder too.
He knew what happened next. It had been the same for hours now. Days, even.
The male came forward, blocking more light, lessening its stab against Eroan’s light-sensitive eyes. He turned his face away, but the male’s proud outline still burned in his mind. Other images burned there too. The male’s half-smile, the glitter of dragon-sight in his green eyes. Eroan had rarely gotten so close to their kind without killing them.
His mission would have been successful if not for this one.
“You need to eat.” The male’s gravelly undertone rumbled.
He needed nothing from him.
A tray cl
attered against the stone floor. The sweet smell of fruit turned Eroan’s hollow stomach.
Moments passed. The male’s rhythmic breathing, slow and steady, accompanied the scent of warm leather rising from his hooded cloak, and with it the lemony bite of all dragonkin. A scent most elves were taught to flee from.
“Were you alone, elf?” the dragonkin asked. The questions were the same every time. “Will there be another attempt on her life? How many of your kind are left in our lands?” More questions.
Always the same. And not once had Eroan answered.
Steely fingers suddenly dug into Eroan’s chin, forcing him to look, to see. Up close, the dragonkin’s green eyes seemed as brittle and sharp as glass, like a glance could cut. His smile was a sharp thing too.
“I could torture you.” The dragonkin’s smile vanished behind a sneer.
Eroan’s straining arms twitched, and the chains slung above his head rattled against stone. He has me in body, but not in spirit. He gave him nothing, no sneer, no wince, just peered deep into the dragonkin’s eyes. Eyes that had undoubtedly seen the death of a thousand elves, that had witnessed villages burn. If they had souls, this dragon’s would be dark. He could torture me. He should. Why does he wait?
Eroan recalled that cold look when their swords had clashed. He’d cut through countless tower guards, severing them from their life-strings as easily as snipping at thread, but not this one. This one had refused to fall. This dragonkin had fought with a passion not found in the others, as though their battle were a personal one. Either he truly loved the queen he protected, or he was a creature full of fiery hate that scorched whatever he touched.
The dragonkin’s fingers tightened, digging in, hurting, but just as the pain became too sharp, he tore his hand free and stepped back, grunting dismissively.
Eroan collapsed against the wall, letting the chains hold him. Cold stone burned into raw skin. His shoulder muscles strained and twitched. Pain throbbed down his neck too, but he kept his head up, kept it turned away.
