13. Chapter 13
13
Graysen
I crowded up against Wychthorn in an alcove near the den. Sage kept close, prowling back and forth.
“What the hells were you thinking, going in there?” It came out harsher than I’d intended.
She flinched.
And I felt like an asshole. But when she soared through the den’s threshold, I’d panicked. It took everything I had to hide it from Sirro. I didn’t even know why fear flooded through me, why panic crushed my lungs with a tight fist.
Fuck. I never panic.
Well, almost never.
“I wasn’t… I just…” Her hands fluttered as she tried to grasp the magnitude of what she’d done. “I wanted to speak with my father. I didn’t think—”
“Shit, Wychthorn… Sirro.” I roughly rubbed my chin with the tips of my fingers. Sirro could find a way to bend the Alverac, and I was so close to claiming Wychthorn. How many daughters, even a few sons, sheltered from the intricacies of our world, knew swifting? I doubted Carola Pellan would know how to spell swift , let alone what it meant. However, Wychthorn did. There was a finely honed intelligence in my little bird, and the rightful heir to the Great House, if Byron wasn’t such a sexist prick.
“You’ve piqued his interest.” And not only her clever mind, either. Other women ?thought it a romantic idea to be picked for Sirro’s harem. How many daughters had he chosen over the centuries? How many never returned? And those that did—
Fuck. It wasn’t anything I’d wish, even for Wychthorn.
There was an intimacy in how I caged Wychthorn as we whispered in the shadows of the alcove, our bodies leaning in, heat swirling between the slight gap. We’d never been this close before tonight.
What the hells am I doing?
In only a few hours, this is what we’d become?
She scrubbed her creased forehead with a knuckle, the adamere beads clacking together with the movement. “ Shit, shit, shit… ”
Besides my baby sister, she was the only other girl I knew who didn’t hunger for the power and beauty that surrounded Sirro. He didn’t have her knees buckling and her simpering and drooling after him. As much as I despised her, I had to respect her for that. And there was something else, something gnawing at the walls I’d built to keep her out. Something I didn’t want to think about—
Stop right now.
Make her go away.
“Graysen,” she whispered, severing my thoughts. She glanced warily toward the oak door of the den. Her tongue darted out to wet her lower lip, chin lifting as she stared up at me with intense gray eyes.
Graysen. Not Fucking Prick or Arrogant Asshole or Crowther or even You. Interesting.
She seemed edgy, as if she were debating whether to tell me something, her mouth opening and closing and opening once more. She glanced away and shook her head ruefully, her braid swishing over her shoulder. “Nothing.”
My hand on her arm made her still. I was curious. What did she want to share?
“Master Sirro. He wanted us to think it was a declaration of war.”
“It is a declaration of war.”
“It felt… wrong. ”
“ Felt wrong?”
She chewed the inside of her mouth, frowning. Her gaze snapped to mine. “Like weight…when something feels different in your hand. As if you haven’t quite realized you’ve picked up the wrong book, but…the weight of it feels off.” She blew out a breath, looking as if she wished she could take it back. “It sounds stupid. I shouldn’t—”
“Don’t.” The truth of it all, it did feel wrong. I’d sensed his urgency for me to agree, to make his opinion solid and founded.
Her gaze sharpened. “There’s something else going on, I’m sure of it. What if it wasn’t a declaration of war? What if it was more about them looking for someone?”
My brows nudged together— Go on.
“If the Horned Gods have an interest in others , why shouldn’t someone else?” Her tone dropped even lower. “What if they found who they were hunting for and hid it by burning the others?”
I sucked in a breath. She was right. So far, no one had come out of the shadows to claim responsibility and they’d struck once before this time.
The door to the den suddenly opened and Sirro strode out, followed by his Familiar and the rest of the Heads of Houses.
Sage went alert. Bristling. Tail straight.
I angled myself closer to Wychthorn, pushing her deeper into the alcove, offering protection and shielding her slight body with mine.
Territorial possessiveness gripped me hard the moment Sirro stepped into view. That insistent pounding in my head, roiling through my blood: protect protect protect…
My lips almost curled back into a snarl.
Sirro breezed past, his amber eyes sliding over me, trying to see through my figure to where I kept her hidden. Her trembling hands suddenly fisted the fabric of my shirt, and I heard the rapid beat of her heart as her breath quickened. She was mine, and no one, not even a Horned God who could shatter every bone in my body, was going to take her from me.
Sirro’s footsteps faltered as he stopped, turning back.
Move— that gaze demanded as it landed on me.
Fuck you, Sirro —but I slowly slid aside.
He relaxed his posture, with a hand tucked into his pocket, his weight on one leg, the other bent slightly. He dipped his head to Wychthorn as she stepped into view. “It was a pleasure seeing you again, Nelle.” He smiled, raising his head—
And that smile faded.
I cast a sideways glance. Shock rattled through me.
Who was this girl?
She’d collected herself and banished the trembling that had overcome her only moments ago. Now there was a stiff, disdainful line to her body. My little bird was five foot nothing, but right this moment she seemed to tower over Sirro.
Steel and iron met golden eyes.
If he frightened her, nothing gave her away. Not even I could sense it. She was ice. With a haughty angle to her chin, she schooled her features into glacial coolness, as if she were stationed above him, not the other way around. As if he should be kneeling at her feet.
“I hope we’ll meet again…soon.” Sirro furrowed his brow, stunned at the co ldness radiating from her.
I almost burst into laughter. Welcome to my world, Sirro. This girl could slay with just a look.
But Wychthorn merely inclined her head to Sirro with an imperious arch to her eyebrow.
Fuck, she didn’t need me to protect her at all.
Sirro walked away, giving her a swift, perplexed glance over his shoulder. I supposed to double check himself. No one, I suspected, had ever dared to dismiss him so thoroughly. He was a Horned God, after all.
Wychthorn didn’t move a muscle and kept that glacial expression intact until we both heard the front door to the mansion open and shut. Only then did she slump back against the wall, expelling a breath of utter relief, a hand clutched to her chest. “ Holy hellsgate… ”
I pressed closer, bowing my head, and hers angled up. “Fuck Wychthorn. If looks could kill.”
She gifted me a crooked grin, kicking out with her heeled shoe at me—not hard, playful. “He simply needed to know that I have no interest.”
“Turning down a Horned God?” I purred. “Someone else you want to bed? Someone stupidly beautiful?”
“Maybe I should call him back?” she shot whip-smart.
“Don’t you fucking dare.” But I knew she was teasing.
The sound of clattering shoes against the tiled floor came from behind me. I half-turned to find Byron grinding to a halt, anger and displeasure washing all over his age-lined face. I was well aware how it might appear to him, me pressed close to his daughter, but I couldn’t care less.
“Nelle,” Byron said gruffly. “With me, now.”
I arched a biting look at Byron. He knew better than this. His jaw clenched, but he asked, “If you don’t mind, Crowther?”
Better —I smiled coldly back.
Strangely, I found myself reluctant to let her go. Before I did, I had to know how she’d discovered Sirro had been pressing us to accept the act of war by how wrong it had felt to her. “How often do you feel these things?”
She understood what I was asking. Her cheeks seemed a little rosier, but that could have been the lighting. She didn’t look at me as she answered, brushing past. “Only when it comes to you.”