Midnight Star (Star Touched: Fae Bound #3)

11. Zoey

Zoey

I enter Aerix’s quarters, and my heart nearly stops.

Because there, on his polished ebony table, displayed like some kind of dark masterpiece, are my oil paints, brushes, and the unfinished painting I’d left in the courtyard.

But it isn’t the same. The blood flowing from the fountain, once a soft scarlet, is now a deep, menacing black. It’s thicker, more ominous, as if it could seep off the canvas and stain the wood.

He even had the nerve to sign it at the bottom right corner.

Prince Aerix Nightborne.

Cool currents of air swirl around my ankles, brushing against my skin like unseen tendrils.

“Do you like what I’ve done with it?” Aerix’s voice cuts through the silence as he steps out from the shadows, his midnight eyes gleaming. “I thought it needed a bit more… perspective.”

Perspective.

The word curls through me like a blade.

“It’s not yours to alter.” My hands ball into fists, but I keep my expression neutral.

“Isn’t it?” The air around him shifts, a breeze brushing my cheek. “I gave you the paints, the brushes, and the canvas. Every stroke you make with them—every color you mix, every line you paint—belongs to me.”

My throat tightens. Because his words are a reminder I can’t ignore.

Everything I have here, everything I do, is because of him. If he takes it away, I’m left with nothing.

I draw in a slow breath, somehow staying calm. “Is that why you called me here?” I ask. “To remind me of your generosity?”

“No. I called you here because I wanted to see how much you’ve enjoyed my gifts.” He gestures toward the painting, the blackened blood on the canvas seeming to darken further under his gaze. “And to remind you that the same hands that give can also take.”

The current of air around me grows colder, and I suppress a shiver.

But I force myself to keep my chin high, meeting his gaze without faltering. “I’ve enjoyed them,” I say carefully, each word chosen like a fragile step across thin ice.

His eyes narrow, glinting with something between amusement and challenge. “You’re learning,” he says, and he begins to circle me, slow and deliberate. “But I wonder… how much of this is an act? You’ve been so distant lately, Zoey. Cold, even. It’s almost as if you’re trying to block me out.”

The breeze around me sharpens, brushing against my arms like cold fingers.

I need to tread carefully. If I keep stonewalling him, I risk pushing him too far. And if I want him to do anything for me, I need to make him think I care.

“I’m not blocking you out.” I swallow, allowing the vulnerability I feel here—every single bit of it—to seep through. If I want him to bend to me, then I need to show him the parts of me that even I struggle to face. “I’m scared.”

He stops circling, the current around us pausing as well. “Scared?” he repeats. “Of what?”

“Everything.” My voice trembles, but I lean into it, letting the vulnerability spill out. “I was thrown into this world without warning. I didn’t even know supernaturals existed until a few weeks ago. And now I’m here, surrounded by creatures more powerful than I could ever imagine, trying to survive in a place that doesn’t care if I live or die. ”

His midnight eyes bore into mine, and for a moment, I think I see something shift in his expression. Understanding, maybe. Or curiosity. But then he smiles—a slow, deliberate curve of his lips that makes my stomach twist with the same fear I just shared with him.

I hate that I’m scared.

Even more, I hate the hold he has on me.

He steps closer, until he’s right in front of me. “You’re stronger than you think,” he says, and cold radiates off him, the air around us stirring in a way that raises the hairs on my arms. “Stronger than most humans who end up here.”

The words, meant to be a compliment, sound more like a challenge. As if he’s daring me to prove him wrong.

“Maybe,” I say quietly. “But strength doesn’t make this any less terrifying.”

“Good.” He leans in slightly, his voice dropping to a murmur. “Because you may paint your pretty pictures and play your little games, but at the end of the day…” His gaze darkens, the air around us growing colder still. “You belong to me.”

“I belong to no one.” The words escape my lips before I can stop them, sharper than I intended.

His eyes narrow, cutting into me like shards of ice.

“Such defiance,” he taunts. “But tell me—where does all that fire go when you’re with Jake? ”

The question blindsides me, and I blink up at him, confusion briefly breaking my resolve. “Jake?”

“Yes. Jake,” he says, the growing intensity in his gaze making me take a step back. “The way he hovers around you like a lost puppy is almost endearing—if it wasn’t so pathetic.”

My jaw tightens. Because Aerix isn’t just curious.

He’s jealous.

The realization both shocks and unnerves me.

“There’s nothing between me and Jake,” I say, since the truth is easy enough to admit. “He reminded me of someone I knew back home. But the more I get to know him, the more I realize he’s not the same.”

“And Matt?” he asks. “Surely you’ve sought comfort in someone familiar?”

My stomach twists painfully at the reminder of how sick Matt looked in his room earlier. “Matt isn’t himself anymore,” I say, and again, it’s easy to be honest. “He’s obsessed with the queen. It’s like she’s drained everything out of him. He doesn’t even look at me, let alone talk to me. He’s… dying.”

At the final word, emotions I’ve been trying to keep inside crash over me like a tidal wave.

And then, the tears come. Hot and uncontrollable, they blur my vision as weeks of fear, frustration, and despair flood me all at once .

I try to hold them back—to stuff them down like I always do—but it’s no use.

My attempt at vulnerability has morphed into far more than I intended.

Aerix steps closer, and I brace myself for him to mock me, or to make some sort of snide comment about how it’s unbecoming of his pets to cry.

Instead, he reaches forward, his hand brushing my shoulder.

I don’t resist. Instead, I let his arms encircle me, solid and cold, like I’m being pulled into the eye of a storm.

“It’s all right,” he murmurs, softly enough to send another wave of tears coursing down my cheeks. “Let it out.”

I don’t know how long I stand there, crying into his chest while his fingers trace gentle circles on my back. But eventually, the storm inside me quiets, and I pull away—mortified.

I just broke down in the arms of a prince of the Night Court. In the arms of someone I should hate.

“I’m sorry,” I say, trying to compose myself as I wipe at my eyes. “I shouldn’t have?—”

“You have nothing to apologize for.” His voice is steady, and when I meet his gaze, there’s no judgment there. “Even the strongest people need to break sometimes. ”

My heart pounds as his fingers brush my cheek, wiping away a stray tear.

Then, something snaps.

All of the tension between us—the first night when we shared that bed in the bunker, the easy banter when we had breakfast the next day, the moment when he stopped the king from claiming me in the throne room, and all those times when he sank his fangs into my skin, pulling my life force from me and into him… it comes crashing down in a moment of need and desire.

And then his lips are on mine—cool but firm, commanding yet gentle—and I don’t move away.