by Everly Frost
“That’s all?” he asks.
I can’t tell if his question is angry or sarcastic. As if he’s saying that keeping him alive will be an impossible task.
Peering over my shoulder, I try to read his expression, but his face is in shadow.
He can’t hide in the darkness from me.
I allow my power to shine, casting light across his face. He looks drawn, still slightly groggy, making me suspect that I woke him from a deep sleep when I screamed.
“You could have rolled in the other direction,” he says, a challenging statement of fact. “You didn’t have to roll into my arms.”
I snap forward again, scowling into the cramped space. When the tables toppled, I could have darted toward my clothes and ended up outside the shelter, not plastered up against Nathaniel in nothing but my underwear.
A retort rests on my tongue, but I inhale his scent before I can let my scorn loose.
Even sweaty and dirty, he smells like sex and heaven. In that order.
Squeezing my eyes shut, I try to forget what his hands can do to me, what his lips can do to me. When I don’t immediately pull out of his arms, they ease around me.
His lips press to the sensitive spot on my neck just behind my ear, making me shiver to my core.
“You scrubbed my name off your face,” he whispers. “You want to break us apart and put as much distance between us as possible, but it won’t work. We’re bound together, body and soul. My heart to yours.”
His fingers splay across my bare stomach, his big hand allowing his fingertips to brush across the top of my pelvis, slow strokes that burn through to my center.
“You can’t get to my heart through my body,” I snap. “Not this time.”
“Actually, I want to get to your mind, Aura. Your beautiful mind. That part of you that has already reasoned through every outcome of the next one and a half days and come to a single conclusion.”
I shiver again, but this time, it’s fear. Our second day will soon be over. I want to claw back the time and return to Null. Stay there and never leave.
“You believe that there is only one path now, but that’s not true,” he says. “Every minute, every breath we take, we have the chance to change the course of the future.”
The conviction in his voice tells me he believes what he’s saying, but I can’t allow any hope to cloud my judgement. I turn in his arms, cautiously and awkwardly. He’s as dirty and sweaty as I am, mud smeared across his cheeks, dust glistening on his chest.
“You’re not the only one who has choices to make, Aura,” he says. “I can’t ask you to trust me now. Or believe me. But I won’t stop trying.”
The space between us glows again. My power is returning with a vengeance with every breath I take. As strong as that makes me feel, my hand trembles as I press my fingers to my face. I ground dirt into my wounds. The most reckless thing I could have done. I lower my hands, pressing them against his chest, but he doesn’t take advantage of the contact like I thought he might.
“You said the dragon will take as long as possible to get here,” I say. “Do you still think that?”
He nods. “Midnight is my guess. In the meantime, Cyrian will leave us here because he wants us as weak and dehydrated as possible, but there’s something he forgot about: a water pump in the corner of the greenhouse.”
We need to hydrate. I give him a quick nod, preparing to wriggle downward. He beats me to it, withdrawing his arms to maneuver himself slowly toward the opening, feet first.
He pauses as his head reaches the level of my stomach and then my pelvis, dropping two quick kisses on either side of my hips, his palms grazing my thighs as he continues on his way.
Damn sneaky…
By the time I wriggle out of the shelter, he crouches next to an obstruction of pots piled in the corner of the greenhouse. He carefully shifts them out of the way.
The water pump he reveals is like finding gold, but when he pumps it… nothing happens.
He spins to me, grinning. “Wait for it…”
The ceiling suddenly opens up like storm clouds. Water sprays around me, misting across my skin.
Nathaniel bends to the pump again. “If I turn this dial…” He pumps the lever again and this time, clear water pours from the spout. “It comes directly from the spring, so it should be safe to drink.”
He rinses out a cracked piece of ceramic with enough depth to form a cup, filling it and handing it to me before he finds one for himself. I fill and refill the bowl until my thirst is quenched, nearly bursting with how much water I drink. As I lean back against the wall with relief, I startle to find Nathaniel stripping off and hanging his clothes carefully over the table.
He steps directly in front of the pump, turns the dial again, and pumps the lever. A moment later, a cascade of water pours from the ceiling onto the spot where he stands, drenching his body and washing off the first layer of dirt.
It also washes off the blood.
I worry at my lip when I can finally see his wounds. Cuts across his arms and legs. He winces as he carefully washes out the wounds, pumping the lever again.
I stride across to him. “Here. Let me.”
My hands brush his as I take hold of the pump and give it a good push. It takes a bit of effort, but it’s nothing I can’t handle. He considers me quietly—but his silence feels a little dangerous—his gaze shadowed in the growing dark before the water cascades down his damn perfect body again.
I allow myself to glow a little as night thickens outside so that Nathaniel can concentrate on washing out his wounds.
The sun must have sunk well below the horizon now—I can tell because of the falling dark—but there’s nothing to see beyond the glass ceiling above us. No visible stars. Right now in Bright, the stars would be sparkling like diamonds scattered across the sky.
“Was last night the first time you saw the stars?” I ask. I pump the lever again as I search the sky above us, hoping to see the moonlight that I crave.
“No.”
His arms crash around me, pulling me against his body under the stream of water.
I gasp as the liquid plasters my hair to my face, washing across my head and shoulders, soaking through my bra and underpants. I tip my head back, my breasts pressing against his chest, my legs straddling his thigh.
“The first time I saw starlight was when I saw you,” he says, dragging me up against him so that I have to arch up on my tiptoes to keep my feet on the ground, completely reliant on him to retain my balance.
The water stops flowing, but I’m already soaked. It’s hard to care when all I feel is the pounding of my heart and the heat of his body.
One arm still wrapped around my waist, he places me firmly back on my feet, then leans to the side and pumps the lever one-handed, causing another cascade of liquid to wash over me. I tip my head back, close my eyes, and let it flow.
His arms slip away from me. “Wash now, woman.”
He shakes out his hair and stands to the side, butt-naked and dripping, controlling the pump to keep the water flowing. I let it wash through my hair first, then across my shoulders before I remove my underwear and check over my wounds—scratches across my stomach and cuts on my face that I can feel but not see. He surprises me by holding out his hand for my wet underwear, wringing it out and slapping it across his shoulder.
He gives me a cocky grin. “Your clothing will dry faster with my body heat.”
“What about me?” I ask, giving him a challenging stare. Completely reckless given the distance I’m trying to put between us. He hasn’t bothered to dry himself off and there’s nothing resembling a towel in sight. “How am I going to get dry?”
He looks me up and down, a brazen glance. “Hmm.”
He gives the lever a pump without taking his eyes off me, but this time, he reaches above my head to fill a ceramic container to the brim. The water resumes its cascade around me as he strides away to the nearest table, turns it the right way up, and throws the water over the top of
it.
What a strange thing to do…
I watch him carefully as he returns to the shower, fills the pot again, and repeats that three times until the water runs clear off the top of the table. Then he comes back a fourth time, carrying his dirty shirt with him, and edges his way under the water so that I have to step out of the flow. He washes his shirt out—again until the water runs clear.
There’s still enough heat inside the greenhouse that I’m not cold—even with the cracked opening in the ceiling.
Returning to the table, he spreads the shirt and my underwear out flat across it as if he’s expecting the sun to come out any moment and dry them.
I can’t help the laugh that bubbles to my lips. Watching him concentrate on his task makes me think this is how I must have looked last night when I carefully lay myself down on the surface of the Spinning Lake to see the diamond in its depths. Completely absorbed and determined to carry through with my goal.
“I don’t see how that answers my question,” I say, unable to keep the smile out of my voice.
“No,” he agrees. “But this might.”
He prowls back to me, and this time, his heated gaze burns across my every curve. A shiver runs to my toes, but I stand my ground and wait for him to reach me, my head held high, water dripping down my body.
He reaches across my shoulder, takes the length of my black hair in his big hands, and squeezes the water out of it, then he allows my hair to drop against my back again.
I cast him a questioning glance.
He gives me a half-smile that makes my heart miss a beat.
With tantalizingly slow movements, he slips one arm around my waist and hooks his other beneath my backside, bending his knee and angling it between my legs. Slowly, he draws me upward.
His voice rumbles in my ear. “The door to the greenhouse may be closed, but all you need to do is say no.”
I tip my head back to see him. Washing ourselves was necessary. This is not. A completely unnecessary drain on our energy, in fact.
“You have to fight soon.”
“And?”
“You need to conserve your energy.”
He drops a kiss against my ear that makes me shiver. “Dark stars, Aura. If I have an hour left alone with you, this is how I want to spend it. If you’re objecting on your own behalf, then say so and I’ll stop, but let me make my own choices about what’s best for me.”
My lips part and my cheeks burn. “Am I still your wife?” I press my palm to what must remain of his family name after I scrubbed off the ink. “Did I change anything when I did this?”
“Does it make a difference?”
I shake my head: No. “My path is yours. And yours is mine. Until one of us is dead.”
It doesn’t seem to matter how much I try to keep Nathaniel at a distance, to keep him away from my heart. I find myself spinning back to him. His body. My body. The glow from his heart and the glow from mine.
He crushes me up against him, his lips finding every reachable part of my face, neck, and chest as he carries me to the table.
Chapter 25
By the time Cyrian’s hunters tear the barricade off the door, the light in the sky has changed to an eerie white glow that tells me the moon has risen fully. Nathaniel and I are dressed and as ready as we can be for whatever’s coming our way. We stand back from the doorway, quiet and prepared.
Even though my armor is ripped across my stomach and chest, I still carry one remaining hip dagger as well as the sword concealed across my shoulder. Luckily, Cyrian doesn’t know enough about fae armor to know that the dagger I used earlier is not my only one.
Nathaniel is dressed in his long pants and shirt again—even though the material is also ripped and, in his case, damp. I’m worried about the cold when we leave the greenhouse. I haven’t spent a night in Fell country to know whether the temperature drops as severely as it does in Bright.
I want to ask him about the humans in Null—they will be waiting for us to return and preparing to fight, but when I try, the words stick in my throat—and not because I’m nervous.
“What about Null?” I finally manage to ask, trying to shake off the block in my mind that stops me from even thinking about the human army. In fact, it’s been hard to even remember them since I left Null.
Nathaniel gives me a wry smile. He watches me practically chew my words as I speak them. “Nobody who leaves Null can speak about what is there.” He shakes his head, scowling as he chooses his speech. “But I’m sure it’s fine.”
It’s hard to place an interpretation on what he said—I’m hoping he means the humans are safe and will stay where they are. They shouldn’t attack the castle tonight because there’s no safe plan of attack while the Three Chances are in play.
The back of Nathaniel’s hand brushes mine, the barest connection as the clattering at the door increases and it’s finally flung open.
“Out!” One of the hunters shouts. He’s one of the few whom Nathaniel didn’t beat bloody earlier—a large man with a scar that meanders down his left arm from his shoulder to his wrist. I heard the others call him “Snake” and it seems to match his personality as well as his scar.
Snake lifts a bottle of water to his lips as he stands in the doorway, blocking the exit despite his order. I think he’s trying to goad us into trying to take the flask because he expects us to be dehydrated. We’ve concealed the water pump again, but the scent of rain fills the greenhouse, fresh and dewy. He doesn’t seem smart enough to notice.
Behind him, ten other hunters hold burning torches that cast garish shadows across the animal heads sitting on their shoulders.
“No Cyrian this time?” I ask, not seeing the King among them.
Snake grins. “You’re his entertainment while we wait for the dragon.”
I tip my head, unimpressed, and allow my magic to glow around my fingers. Its calming light won’t harm anyone, but Snake jolts backward in case it touches him.
“We’ll see about that,” I say, catching Nathaniel’s hand and spearing through the gap Snake’s sudden step back created. If we need to fight for our safety, I would rather be outside in the open to do it.
Starlight glows brightly around both of us, but I have to be careful about how much I allow it to touch Nathaniel. If the hunters see that it doesn’t hurt him, they’ll figure out it won’t hurt them, either.
Snake recovers quickly, moving into position and ordering the other hunters to surround us. The opening in front of me closes far too fast, but at least we’re outside the greenhouse now.
Snarling, Snake pokes his spear at me. “You’re going back to the White Walls. Lady Ethel wants to play with you.”
I hide my shudder, taking comfort in Nathaniel’s presence at my back. Ethel told me that her weakness is enjoying other people’s pain. Nathaniel said that if Cyrian found out I was fae, he would torture me to the full extent he could without shedding a drop of my blood.
The longer the dragon takes to arrive, the longer Nathaniel stays alive. But it also extends the time that Cyrian has to make my life unbearable.
Snake leads the way back to the White Walls.
When we arrive, we find that the arena has been cleaned up. There’s no sign of the bodies or the blood. The stones are pristine again. Torches are attached at intervals around the walls to light up the space, although there are no spectators this time.
Cyrian reclines in one of the thrones. A large, brown pelt falls across his shoulders with the head of a bear encasing the back of his head, its jaw framing his forehead. Nathaniel said that Cyrian was his father’s Champion. Cyrian must have been physically strong—he still is, although his fighting skills have given way to his reliance on magic. I have no doubt Cyrian killed the bear himself, but whether he did it with or without dark magic is another question.
Christiana sits rigidly on the throne beside him. It’s impossible to tell for sure, but it doesn’t look like Cyrian’s controlling her with dark magic this time. She�
��s wearing a glittering black dress, low cut and fitted. A black pelt with white flecks rests around her shoulders and a chunky diamond necklace plunges from her throat to her cleavage. Her glistening brown hair is piled on her head, a few wisps trailing past the darkening bruise across her cheek. Torches on either side of the thrones accentuate her pale cheeks and catch the diamonds.
If it weren’t for the bruise, she would look like Cyrian’s Queen, not his captive. Her gaze immediately seeks Nathaniel, the deep worry in her eyes making my heart squeeze. When she looks at me now, her lips press together in a firm line and the tension around her eyes increases.
Her fingers tighten around the armrests of the throne, as if she’s restraining herself. I can only guess her emotions. She wanted to strike Hagan for bringing Nathaniel to the castle and putting him in danger, so her feelings toward me must be beyond angry: rage that I’m fae, fury that I will fight Nathaniel under the Law, hatred that I’m the reason he’s captive now. And beneath it all must be confusion about why he doesn’t treat me with hatred.
As Snake draws to the side of the arena behind us and the other hunters enter the stands, I quickly assess the rest of the area.
Plush lounge chairs with blood-red coverings have been brought into the arena, located on either side of the thrones. Ten other people sit in them, drinking from crystal goblets. They’re all dressed in fine clothing and wearing glittering necklaces and bracelets—even the men. One of them is Lady Ethel, so I guess the others are somehow part of Cyrian’s Court, that they’ve gained favor in one way or another like she has.
A shadow moves at the side of the arena. Hagan is dressed in simple black pants and a shirt, similar to Nathaniel’s clothing, but he’s also wearing his pelt to stay warm, the wolf’s head appearing even more vicious in the flickering lamp light. A row of daggers rests around the belt at his waist.
Hagan’s eyes narrow with anger as his gaze rakes over my cheeks. He steps forward as if he’s about to say something, but Ethel jumps to her feet, interrupting him.
She’s holding a set of chains consisting of links that appear to be covered in velvet.
