The Alien’s Vicious Starflash Manor (Empire of Frost and Flame #2)

Chapter 14

CHAPTER 14

IVRAEL

I am the first to notice when Izzy winces, her hand flying to her temple. At the motion, Lara’s attention instantly switches to her sister.

“Are you okay?” Lara reaches for Izzy.

“Just a headache,” Izzy mumbles, but her fingers press harder against her temple, and she leans into Lara’s light touch.

“Allow me.” Power thrums through me as I study Izzy’s face. Her skin has gone pale—not Icecaix pale, but the sickly pallor of pain.

Or perhaps...

The same royal blood runs in her veins. The same potential that makes both sisters so necessary to my plans.

That makes Lara so tempting.

Is it possible this is somehow connected to her powers?

I catch Lara’s gaze. The worry in her eyes makes something twist in my chest. The tiny winged raya flits from Lara’s shoulder over to Izzy and buzzes around her.

“Lucilline.” My voice cracks through the air. The young maid appears almost instantly, hands already wringing together. “Lady Izzy requires attention.”

“Of course, Your Lordship.” She hovers near Izzy’s chair, uncertain. “Should I fetch a healer?”

“No.” The word emerges sharper than intended.

No one else can examine Izzy—I can’t risk anyone discovering what she truly is. What they both are. “Herbal tea and a cool compress should suffice.”

Lara’s lips press together. She clearly wants to argue. The ribbons at her wrists pulse with her barely contained emotion, and frost patterns spread across my wine glass in response.

Izzy’s discomfort grows more obvious as the seconds pass. She lists slightly in her chair, eyes squinting against the glow of the Caixlights floating overhead.

“Perhaps you should lie down,” I suggest, studying her reaction carefully.

Is this truly just a headache? Or something more?

The timing is suspicious—we need both sisters’ powers awakened before the summit.

“I’m fine,” Izzy insists, but her complexion has taken on a greenish tinge that makes her look distinctly unwell.

Lara half-rises from her chair. “I’ll help you back to our rooms.”

“No.” Again, my voice echoes with sharp authority.

Defiance flashes in Lara’s eyes, hot enough to make the air between us shimmer. The raya, glancing back and forth between us, lands on her shoulder and whispers in her ear.

We can’t waste this evening—we don’t have enough time to waste any of it. “Lucilline will see to your sister. You have other obligations.”

“My sister needs me.”

“Your sister needs rest.” Frost coats my tone. “And you need to learn to dance.”

Izzy waves off her sister’s concern with obvious effort. “I just need to sleep it off.”

Lucilline steps forward. “I’ll take good care of her, miss. Promise.”

“You’ll come get me if she gets worse?”

At Lara’s question, the maid nods emphatically. “I will. I swear.”

The raya buzzes up from her shoulder again and squeaks something to Lara in her tiny voice.

“Can Kila go with her?” Lara asks. I’m about to decline the request automatically, when her voice softens. “Please?”

I find myself unable to resist the request, and I watch as they leave—the raya perched on Lucilline’s shoulder, Izzy leaning heavily on the maid’s arm, her steps uncertain.

Part of me wonders if I should send for a healer anyway. If something goes wrong with either sister before the ritual...

I turn back to find Lara watching me, suspicion clear in her gaze. The ribbons around her wrists catch the light, reminding us both of her bonds. Of her purpose here.

Of my control over her.

Of all the things I can never allow myself to feel for her.

“You don’t have a ballroom any longer. Where do you plan to teach me Caix dances?”

“The west wing ballroom is gone,” I concede, moving closer to her. “But we still have the gallery.”

Her gaze snaps to mine. “The gallery?”

She shivers, and I’m certain it has nothing to do with cold.

Good. She remembers our last encounter there as vividly as I do. The memory burns through my blood—her body arching into my touch, the taste of her sex under my lips, the way she moaned my name...

The way she shattered against me.

No. Focus.

“The gallery is long enough for basic steps.” I gesture for her to precede me. The ribbons at her wrists pulse as she moves, and my magic hums in response. “And private enough for practice.”

Too private.

But there’s nowhere else suitable, and time grows short.

My cock throbs in time to the ribbons I bound her with.

We walk in tense silence, our footsteps echoing off marble floors.

Even now, she moves with unconscious grace—a queen clothed in servant’s memories. The new court dress emphasizes every elegant line of her body, the silk whispering against the floor.

The gallery stretches before us, long and shadowed. Portraits of my ancestors watch from the walls—almost entirely pale faces and ice-blue eyes judging my every move.

Judging my weakness for this woman.

Except my father.

“Here.” I stop in the center of the space, turning to face her. I hold out my hand in the formal gesture that begins every court dance, ignore how my pulse quickens when she steps closer. “Shall we begin?”

She eyes my offered hand like it might bite. Smart girl.

Her fingers slide into mine, warm against my perpetual cold, and for a moment I forget about duty and destiny and the fate of my world.

For a moment, there is only this.

Only her.

Her skin burns against mine. Frost patterns bloom where our palms meet, spreading up my arm like frozen lightning. When my other hand settles at her waist, she inhales sharply.

“The Icecaix Aevai,” I manage, though my voice sounds as if it’s being dragged across broken rocks, “is a dance made of more than mere simple steps. It’s a display of power. Of control.”

“Like everything else in your world,” she mutters.

“Our world,” I correct, unable to stop myself from tightening the ribbons around her wrists. “You’re part of it now.”

The ribbons draw her incrementally closer, until I can feel every curve of her body pressed against mine. Until there’s nothing between us but silk and duty and all the lies I tell myself about how I can use her.

How I could save her.

The contact sends electricity arcing through my body, and I have to bite back a groan at how perfectly she fits against me.

I begin to lead her in the steps of the dance, show her how the power and control shift from partner to partner from moment to moment.

As we turn across the floor, as her body begins to sync with mine, I find myself wondering—not for the first time—if there might have been another way. If in some other life, she might have come to me willingly.

Those thoughts are poison. I have a duty. A purpose.

So why does holding her like this feel so dangerously right?

“You’re fighting the rhythm,” I say as she stumbles slightly.

“Weren’t you supposed to have the control just then?” She sounds suspiciously breathless.

Control I’m rapidly losing, with her warm and pliant against me. The scent of her hair fills my lungs—citrus and stardust and sunshine. Everything I can never have.

Everything I must eventually destroy.

My fingers flex against her waist, and she stumbles slightly.

The ribbons at her wrists pulse in time with my heartbeat, binding us together in ways that go beyond mere magic. Beyond plans and prophecies and the fate of my frozen world.

When she looks up at me through dark lashes, I know I’m lost.

Damned.

Saved . The word whispers through me.

Her hands rest against my chest, and the heat of her touch burns through layers of carefully constructed control.

I wonder if she can feel how my heart races beneath her touch. Wonder if she knows what she does to me, how she makes me question everything I’ve worked for.

How she leads me to a betrayal of composure that would horrify my Ice Court compatriots.

Jonyk and his court would never allow such an alliance. The very thought would be enough to see us both executed. And that's only part of why I must remove him from the throne. Only part of why I need her to play her role in my carefully crafted plans.

Plans that grow more impossible with each beat of my traitorous heart.

But there is no court here.

No witnesses to my weakness except the portraits of my ancestors glaring down at us with frozen disapproval.

Just us, and the dance, and all the reasons this is a terrible idea.

Her scent fills my lungs until I can barely breathe past the need consuming me. She should smell wrong to my Icecaix senses. Instead, she calls to something inside me, something that recognizes her as mine despite all logic and duty saying otherwise.

When she lifts her face to mine, a stray beam of starlight shines on her face, and something molten stirs in my chest. I know I should turn away. Should remember my duty, my purpose, all the reasons I cannot allow myself to feel anything for her.

Instead, I bend to meet her, drawn by a gravity stronger than duty or destiny.

My magic surges beneath my skin, frost patterns blooming across the floor in spiraling fractals that mirror the chaos in my blood.

Despite knowing I shouldn't.

Despite knowing this can only end in betrayal.

Despite knowing I will eventually destroy everything we might become.

My lips brush hers, and the world explodes into golden fire.

The kiss starts gentle—has to start gentle, or I'll shatter us both. Has to start careful, or I'll lose what remains of my control and take everything she offers until there's nothing left of either of us but this burning need.

But then Lara makes a sound low in her throat, desperate and hungry, and what little remains of my restraint splinters. The noise vibrates through me, awakening something ancient and possessive that cares nothing for duty or destiny or carefully laid plans.

My hands find her waist, pulling her closer as frost spreads up the walls around us. She burns against me like a living flame, and I welcome the heat. Welcome the way she makes my frozen heart beat faster.

Welcome the way she melts through every barrier I've constructed.

In this moment, I don't care about fate or prophecy or the salvation of my world. I care only about the taste of her mouth under mine, the way she arches into my touch, the soft sounds she makes as I claim her lips more thoroughly.

Let my carefully crafted plans crumble to ash.

Let my world melt and burn.

Right now, there is only this. Only her. Only us.

And for the first time, I let myself admit that perhaps this—this heat, this hunger, this impossible connection between us—might be worth the price I’ll surely have to pay.

I crush her against me, one hand tangling in her hair while the other spans her waist. She tastes like sunshine and forbidden magic, like everything I’ve denied myself for so long.

The ribbons at her wrists flare with power, pulling her closer as if they have a will of their own. As if they understand my need better than I do.

Frost spirals out farther, spinning across the floor.

Not enough. Never enough.

Her hands slide up my chest to curl around my neck, and the heat of her touch burns through layers of cloth and whatever might be left of duty and restraint. I growl against her mouth, deepening the kiss until I’m drowning in her warmth.

Ice crystals dance in the air around us, catching moonlight like diamonds, but they melt before they touch her skin. She’s heat incarnate, melting everything I thought I knew about control. About purpose. About destiny.

When she scrapes her nails against my scalp, electricity shoots down my spine. My hips buck involuntarily against her, and she gasps into my mouth. The sound undoes me completely.

She arches into me like she needs me as desperately as I need her.

“Ivrael,” she breathes against my lips, and the sound of my name—not my title, not ‘Your Lordship’—breaks something loose in my chest.

My kisses turn savage, claiming her mouth like I’ve wanted to since that first day in the market. She meets me with equal fervor, all that defiance channeled into this moment, this kiss, this surrender that feels more like victory.

The temperature in the gallery plummets, but Lara doesn’t seem to notice the cold. If anything, she burns hotter against me, her body molding to mine as if we were made for this.

We weren’t. We can’t be.

This will end in blood and betrayal, in sacrifice and salvation.

But not Lara’s salvation.

Never hers.

But right now, with her soft and willing in my arms, with her taste on my tongue and her scent in my lungs, I can almost believe in another ending. Almost believe there’s a way to save my world without destroying her.

I break away to trail kisses down her throat, addicted to the little sounds she makes. My teeth scrape against her pulse point and she shudders, her hands fisting in my hair.

“Please,” she whispers, though I don’t think she knows what she’s asking for.

I don’t know what I’m offering.

Only that I’m falling, drowning, burning alive in her kiss.

Because when this moment ends—and it must end—I’ll still be the Duke of Starfrost Manor. Still have my duty, my purpose, my carefully laid plans.

And she’ll still be my sacrifice.

But for now, I let myself have this, let myself taste and touch and take everything she’s offering.

Even though I know better.

Even though I know this kiss, like everything else between us, will eventually turn to ashes, I let myself pretend, just for a moment, that my need for her might be stronger than destiny.

That she could want me as much as I want her.