Protector of the Flame

by Isis Rushdan

“It is the year and day of your birth.” Neith floated closer, carried on an eerie wind.

  Serenity recoiled.

  “You have no idea how important you are. You and Cyrus are the best chance for ending the nightmare of the curse and ushering in a new era.” Neith caressed her cheek with the back of a cold hand. “You are in the safest place on the planet and still you pursue danger, chasing it as if you had a thirst for death. Tread with more care or it may be quenched.”

  It was a warning, not a threat. And after Adriel’s two minutes, she needed it.

  “May your sketching prove more successful this time. You are to remain here until I return.” Neith waltzed out of the office, closing the door.

  Riddled with shame, she pressed her head to the stone wall. She stood there for the longest time, despising herself. How could she allow him to…to what? He hadn’t even touched her, but what had transpired between them was every shade of wrong and it sickened her.

  When the shaking finally left her, she went to the safe, entered her birthdate and it opened. Only her sketchbook was inside.

  She sat on a settee and opened her pad but couldn’t draw Neith. One image filled her thoughts, making her core flutter and mind reel: Adriel down on his knees, looking up at her, lust setting him aflame.

  She sketched him—rapacious eyes, parted lips, tongue grazing his teeth, hands clenched in restraint. She yanked the sketch from the pad and wished there was a fireplace where she could turn the evidence of her betrayal to ash. Instead, she tore it up into tiny pieces, so small it could never be made whole again, carried the shreds to the railing and opened her hands.

  A breeze carried some of the evidence away. As the rest drifted down into the garden, she pushed that image of Adriel from her mind for good.

  When Neith returned, Serenity stood, feeling like a prisoner about to be executed.

  The ancient beauty shut the door. “Adriel confessed what he did to you.”

  No need for a confession. Everything had been obvious and he wasn’t the only one at fault.

  “He has the ability to manipulate his secondary gift once someone has been touched by it,” Neith continued. “I should have warned you, prepared you, but this…”

  Serenity braced for what Neith hesitated to say. A sinking feeling made her stomach flip-flop and she thought she might puke.

  “You are both vulnerable to this link, for you have become his weakness. Around you he is defenseless and not in full control of his own gift.” An inkling of worry flitted across the ancient beauty’s normally smooth brow.

  “In the future, refrain from being alone with Adriel. If he ever gives you a command you are reluctant to follow, you must focus on the one true thing in your heart that you know to be real without a shadow of doubt, and then you must resist him despite the pain it will cause you. It has taken me decades of practice to learn how to do this effectively, but you must try lest this bond wreak havoc you cannot contain.”

  If there had been a trash can nearby, she definitely would have hurled. This tether to Adriel just kept getting worse. It was twisted and ruthless and more powerful than any of them dared to conceive.

  She ought to fear him and what he could do, but there was no fear where there should’ve been.

  Neith glided to her, face impassive. “What happened earlier, never happened. Do you understand?”

  Easy enough, she had already decided the same. “Yes.”

  “I’ve given Cyrus the rest of the day off and tomorrow to spend with you.”

  Bewildered, she was almost afraid to ask. “Why?”

  “Would you prefer to spend the time with me while he toils away in the laundry hut?”

  “Of course not.”

  “Then the proper response should be ‘thank you’.”

  “Thank you.”

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Serenity’s stomach ached, disquietude gnawing at her insides as she went to the dormitory level. She opened the door to her room to find Cyrus sitting in the middle of the bed.

  Towel wrapped around his waist, hair damp from a shower, hands behind his head, he leaned against the wall. “The laundry hut is the pit of hell. I don’t know what you said or did to make Neith give us two days off, but if you hop in bed I’ll show you my gratitude.”

  Tugging on a smile, she undressed. The refuge of their joined energy streams brought immediate satisfaction, but it wasn’t enough to purge the shame. She crawled onto the bed between his long, finely muscled legs and pulled the towel off. Nothing could erase what she’d just allowed to happen with Adriel from her conscience, but she opened herself to the delicious wave of desire that always flowed when near Cyrus.

  Her kabashem was the most perfect male. His hard, chiseled body was built for sex and killing. Those massive hands could crush a man and had or dampen the most intimate place between her legs, making her slick with need. Blue-black eyes gleamed with a fiery passion that threatened to consume her and she wanted to be entirely possessed by him and him alone.

  She ran her hands up his sculpted thighs to the anchor of his hips. His cock stiffened. She brushed her long curls across the shaft, lowering her head, and then took him into her mouth.

  He groaned. “I thought I was the one who was supposed to be showing gratitude.”

  Taking him deeper, his swollen crown tickling the back of her throat, she buried her anxiety. She sucked the thickness of him, massaging the shaft with her tongue, again and again as if an act of penance. A sweet tightness built in his heavy balls. He was close to the brink.

  Cyrus broke her hold and pushed her down on the bed.

  She splayed her thighs, rocking her hips up in invitation. He slipped into her wet heat, his touch holding sway like the tide.

  She longed to lose herself in the savage beauty of him, his earthy, pure scent, in the wild masculine heat that could melt every inch of her.

  Lingering guilt faded in the sweaty bliss of his hard chest pressed to her aching breasts, muscular arms wrapping her in a cocoon, the slick friction of their thighs, mouths crushed together, tongues lost in a dance of delight.

  She succumbed to the fancy of his pleasure, yielding to his every need and whim until she passed out from exhaustion.

  A knock at the door woke them. The sun had already fallen. The room was cast in a soft light of early evening. Cyrus went to the door without bothering to dress.

  “Neith wanted to ensure you didn’t miss the evening meal and enjoyed your respite with no worry,” Mira said.

  “Thank you.” Cyrus took something from her and closed the door.

  He returned to bed, carrying a bamboo tray filled with food and a pitcher of wine.

  “This is too generous for Neith.” He set the tray down. “What did you say to her?”

  Serenity lowered her gaze and picked up a piece of crab. “I don’t know what she’s up to. We should enjoy it. We only have one more day.”

  His brow furrowed in contemplation as he ate, but he didn’t speak of it again. Not even when they were treated to room service the following morning and evening.

  When the day came for things to return to Neith’s sense of normal, Cyrus whistled as he dressed. Their love fest had been heaven, ecstasy she didn’t deserve after such reckless behavior.

  By dinner, his elation had been sapped and they fell back into a routine.

  Days rolled from one to the next. At breakfast she listened to Cyrus grumble about his work detail, then studied Latin in the office. She spent hours sketching, failing to capture Neith’s soul. Enraptured in her kabashem’s arms, the nights flew on the wings of pleasure.

  Everything was normal. The sky was a cloudless azure in the day, the weather temperate and sunny. Far from the glaring lights of a city, stars shined bright as diamonds in the evening.

  But something was missing, as if Adriel had stolen the wind.

  After breakfast she kissed Cyrus and wished him well on his next detail at the orchard. As she ascended the walkway, passing the second
level up to the library, someone grabbed her from behind in an ineffectual chokehold.

  She jammed her elbow backward on pure instinct, stepped behind whoever it was and flipped her assailant.

  Adriel hit the floor in a thud.

  Sunshine burst in her chest.

  A smile broke on a face so resplendent his pick of human women would’ve fallen at his feet. Laughter bubbled from him as he stood. She’d forgotten how much she loved the angelic sound.

  “Shouldn’t grab people from behind.” She hit his arms and chest playfully. “You were gone a long time.” Almost two weeks.

  “Well, if this is the greeting I get, perhaps next time I won’t return.” Ah, the accent was back.

  The light of his flame radiated through his smile, giving his face a heavenly glow. Just that fast, at the mere sight of him, she’d forgotten that her instincts where he was concerned were ruled by a force she didn’t fully understand. She regained her bearings, gave him a real punch to the stomach, causing him to double over, and went back to the library.

  He caught up to her, wrapping an arm around her neck, and kissed her cheek. “That actually hurt. I’m sorry, but I had to leave to clear my head.”

  The arrogance to assume his absence was the only reason for the punch. She pushed his arm away and considered hitting him again.

  He mocked her frown. “Cheer up. I’ll always come back. I’ll never stay away from you for long.”

  That both titillated and terrified her.

  The way he’d used his gift to coerce her into a compromising position should’ve left her outraged. Yet it was impossible to stay mad at him for long.

  Unnatural.

  She needed him to believe her anger was as real as it should’ve been. “I’m not happy with you.”

  “Really? Because the smile you first gave me says otherwise.”

  She stopped and slapped him. It pained her heart more than her hand to wipe the smugness from his face.

  A tether that could turn into a leash.

  She had missed him, was entirely too happy to have him back, and was shamefully drawn to him beyond reason, but Adriel was dangerous. “Neith told me what you did to me.”

  He ushered her to a corner away from the historians, who now stared. “Forgive my weakness.” He lowered his voice. “I will never compel you again. I give my word. Please believe me.”

  She wanted to believe him, to trust him as she had before, but the truth was she couldn’t trust herself near him. She was another person around him, one who jeopardized the most important thing in the world, the heart of her kabashem.

  “I came back because I couldn’t bear to be away any longer, but I know the line.” He straightened his posture, body stiffening. “I know my place. I would die before putting you in that position again. I am your brother and will act as such. Please, don’t deny me your friendship.”

  She searched herself for any strange tug on her will. There was none. Friends were in short supply in her life, always had been. She valued his friendship and still hoped one might be possible. “Brother and sister. Nothing more.”

  Obvious relief broke in a wide smile. “Nothing more.”

  “But we need space, Adriel.”

  Lines riddled his brow. He was probably just as confused as she was at how to achieve distance on an island, but he nodded in agreement. The resolution was quick, easy. She wanted to relax, but something in her gut wouldn’t let her.

  No matter what, she vowed to focus on the one true thing in her heart and do anything to preserve her love for Cyrus.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  “Where do you work today?” his kabashem asked.

  “Harvesting silkworms.” Cyrus put his elbow on the dining table, propping his head in his hand.

  The start of the morning meal was a riot of activity, endless chatter, team leaders hustling to eat, the loud clatter of dishes.

  “Sounds better than laundry or the orchard or the fields.”

  Better wouldn’t come until they were off this forsaken island and at Herut where they belonged. He should be at Herut now to expedite things. Although Abbadon could be trusted to see the task done, it was taking too long.

  This place had an ill effect. The lush oasis and all of its tropical trappings were changing them.

  His mate had formed a peculiar friendship with Adriel that riled him to the bone. He didn’t want to be a tyrant dictating who she could socialize with and he told himself, there was really no need for concern. But…it ate at him, twisting his thoughts, stoking a fury in him he didn’t understand.

  Serenity rubbed noses with him, scratching at his beard. “It’s still early. The sun is barely up.” She stroked his thigh, moving to his crotch. “We could go back upstairs for a bit.”

  He wasn’t himself anymore. The menial tasks he was given should’ve been more an irritation than real work, yet he tired easily lately.

  “There is no bit for us.” He yawned, removing her hand from his leg. “I get lost in the smell of you, the feel of your body, and all sense of time is washed away.” He raked fingers through her hair. “Neith said if I didn’t show up bright and early I would be put on nightshift somewhere.”

  Always on edge and in need of rest, he was unable to find any. It was as though his energy stream had sprung a leak, sapping him to exhaustion. The only respite came in the absence of his mate when he connected to the collective, but at the same time he couldn’t stand to be separated from her. His days on Neith’s island were a constant torture. The only comfort came from knowing they were numbered.

  Three individuals he didn’t recognize joined their table. A tall male with broad shoulders, salt-and-pepper hair and a wide chest sat in front of them, eyes cast toward the floor. A sprightly woman with a pixie hair cut flounced down. The third, a short and stocky warrior sat with a nod hello.

  “Are you Cyrus and Serenity?” the woman asked.

  “Yes,” Serenity answered, caution spiking in their merged energy stream.

  “We’ve only just returned and learned you were here. Forgive our curiosity. I am Iah, this is Lotharius—” she pointed to the stout warrior, “—and our team leader Atlas.”

  Slowly, Atlas’s gaze lifted and their eyes met. Bloodstone eyes, malachite flecked with carnelian. They were so solemn and sublime they almost didn’t look real.

  His kabashem squeezed his knee. “Can you see it with just a glance or is it by touch?”

  “I can only see it by touch,” Atlas answered gently.

  Cyrus yawned again. “See what?”

  “Death,” Serenity said, not taking her gaze from Atlas.

  One of Neith’s busy little library bees dashed into the dining hall. The most docile warrior he’d ever seen. He thought her name was Mira. She scanned the room and ran to their table. “News from Abbadon.”

  Serenity and Cyrus leapt to their feet and hurried to the library. A white pigeon flew by them as they entered Neith’s office.

  “Your Council has petitioned for an early convention of the Pesedjet. Sekhem has denied the petition on the grounds that any grievance can be heard at the next duly scheduled session.”

  “Is that it?” Cyrus asked, his voice harsh with frustration. It had been weeks. He needed to be at Herut where he had the means to light a fire under Sekhem and Aten and force this issue to a speedy resolution.

  “For now. They will toy with Herut, going back and forth with excuses until Abbadon finds one that sticks. It’ll take time. And time is what we need.”

  “I have to send a message to Leta and Orazio, explaining my actions,” he said. “Better yet, I should return to Herut to handle this matter myself. They’ll need my vote anyway if an early session is called.”

  “It’s been made clear you’re the property of Herut and shall return when it’s safe for you and your kabashem. Until then we must ensure my neutrality holds and your blood grievance heard. They shall be patient and you may give Abbadon your proxy.”

  Jaw clenched, Cy
rus stepped forward. He was done with subservient labor and following blind orders. He was done waiting and hiding, when he should be out fighting for their lives.

  Serenity grabbed his forearm. “There are worse places to wait it out. These days together here could be our last. Perhaps we should be in less of a rush.”

  There weren’t enough days in two lifetimes to spend with his kabashem. Hastening the end of them was the last thing he wanted. He turned to her, softening. “Easy to say when you work in the library.”

  “Speaking of work, shouldn’t you be down at the silkworm hut?” Neith asked.

  Cyrus glowered at the old sage. His hatred of her island and her rules flared anew.

  Indignation raked their joined energy stream.

  “I’ll see you at dinner,” Serenity said, hoping to regain his attention.

  He kissed her and left.

  “Still sketching or ready to paint?”

  “Still sketching.”

  Settling into her position on the chaise, she picked up her children’s Latin book. Although Nakia had finished it before her sixth year, Serenity found her interest lacking. Neith closed her office door and held a remote control up to the wall behind her desk with the sword. A click of a button and the wall slid to the side to reveal flat screen monitors, floor to ceiling, showing images from across the island.

  Tossing the kiddie book aside, Serenity leapt over to the wall of monitors.

  Neith made herself comfortable in her wingback chair.

  The monitors captured images of all the workstations, the front of the building, the small strip of beach she had lingered on with Adriel, the kitchen and just about every other place on the island, except for the one blind to Neith’s cameras.

  That was the sage’s secret, how she always knew what was going on.

  She hit another button and all the monitors filled with the same image, but enlarged as if the screens formed one. Cyrus stood in a hut, speaking angrily with Ximena. He swatted at moths flying around his head. He picked up a spool of silk and threw it on the ground. The squirrel monkey on Ximena’s shoulder swiped at his face, nearly grazing his cheek. Cyrus pointed at them, shouting, then stormed out.