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

Chapter 33

CHAPTER 33

IVRAEL

T he agony of shifting back into my Caix form burns through every cell in my body. My bones crack and reform, each vertebra grinding against the next as my spine shortens, my neck retracting. The sound echoes off the ice walls of the maze like breaking glass.

I force myself to remain silent through the transformation, though my jaw aches with the effort of containing my groans.

Wings fold inward, scales retreating beneath my skin like molten metal being forged in reverse. The sensation sends tremors through my newly reformed muscles. When the last scale disappears, I find myself on my knees atop the wall, shivering and Icecaix-shaped once more.

Lara stands a few feet away, and for once she isn’t running, her expression a mixture of fascination and wariness that makes my chest ache.

Even through the haze of post-transformation pain, my body responds to her presence, to the way she takes an instinctive step toward me before catching herself.

“I didn’t know you could shift.” Her voice carries equal parts accusation and awe.

She takes another step closer, and I catch the scent of her. It makes my newly reformed senses reel, and even after everything that’s happened tonight, my cock hardens.

“Neither did I, until recently.” My laugh scrapes raw in my throat as I add, “Just now, actually.”

The admission costs me another crack in my carefully maintained control.

A wave of dizziness washes over me as I attempt to push myself to my feet. My muscles scream in protest, remembering a different shape, a different way of moving.

The ground seems to tilt beneath me, and I stumble. Before I can fall, Lara’s hand catches my arm. Her touch burns like fire against my ice-cold skin.

“Easy,” she murmurs, steadying me. Then she catches herself, seems to remember who—what—I am, and starts to pull away.

I catch her wrist before she can retreat completely. “Don’t.”

The word emerges more plea than command, and her eyes widen at my tone—but she doesn’t try to pull away again.

“An ice dragon,” she says instead, shaking her head slowly. “I didn’t think that was possible.”

“It’s not. Or at least, it never has been before.” I steady myself against one of the maze walls, ice crackling beneath my palm where my control slips. My other hand still circles her wrist, and I can feel her pulse racing beneath my fingers. “No one’s ever seen an ice form of a firelord shift.”

“But how—” She breaks off, glancing at my naked form before her, then quickly averting her eyes. A blush stains her cheeks, and something hot and hungry stirs in my core at the sight.

“How did it happen?” she finally manages.

I study her face in the crystalline reflections that surround us, seeing her reaction multiplied infinitely. The maze shows me every angle of her expression—the curiosity, the wariness, the unwilling fascination. My grip on her wrist tightens fractionally as another tremor runs through me.

“My father—” My voice catches, and I have to swallow hard before continuing. “My father wasn’t just Starcaix. He was part firelord as well.”

“But you’re Icecaix,” she says, shaking her head in confusion. “Your ice magic?—”

“Comes from my mother’s bloodline, yes.” The words taste bitter on my tongue. “I’m a mongrel by any pure-blood’s standards. Starcaix, firelord, and Icecaix all mixed together in ways that shouldn’t be possible.”

“Is that why you—” She gestures vaguely with her free hand, encompassing my state of undress, the lingering effects of the shift. “Why it happened now?”

“The double full moons are approaching. They affect all Caix magic, but mixed blood like mine...” I trail off as another shudder wracks my frame. “Let’s just say it’s particularly susceptible to their influence.”

I laugh again, though there’s no humor in it.

Her fingers flex beneath my grip, and I realize I’m still holding her wrist. I should let go. I know I should. But the warmth of her skin against mine feels like the only thing holding me to this form, to this moment.

“The moons affect your magic that much?” Lara asks, her free hand reaching toward me before dropping back to her side in an aborted gesture of comfort.

“They affect all Caix magic. But mixed blood responds... differently. More intensely.” I close my eyes briefly against a wave of dizziness. “Especially blood that was never meant to mix.”

I fight to remain steady as another aftershock of the transformation ripples through me.

“That’s why you spend so much time at the pole,” she says slowly. “Why you have a spaceship when most other Caix shun technology. The distance from the center of Trasq’s magic helps control it, doesn’t it?”

The insight startles a laugh from me, though it ends in a grimace as my newly reformed muscles spasm.

“Clever girl.” My thumb traces absent patterns against her pulse point. “Yes. The weaker magical field at the poles makes it easier to maintain control. The technology helps too, though I can’t explain exactly how.”

“And the fire in your blood?” Her voice drops to barely a whisper. “Is that why you keep fires burning in your chambers when other Icecaix hate them?”

My lips curve in a bitter smile. “Among other reasons. I’m an abomination by any pure-blood’s standards—Starcaix, firelord, and Icecaix all in one.”

“You’re not an abomination,” she says fiercely, and the sudden heat in her voice makes my breath catch.

She twists her wrist in my grip, not trying to pull away but repositioning until her fingers can wrap around my forearm. “You’re proof that all these divisions between races are artificial. Meaningless.”

A harsh laugh escapes me. “Tell that to the Ice Court. To generations of carefully maintained bloodlines and political alliances.”

Another tremor runs through me, and frost spreads from my feet in delicate fractals, and my voice drops. “To my own body, which feels like it’s being torn apart by warring magics.”

“You’re not an abomination,” she repeats, her voice almost angry now. “You’re exactly what this world needs—proof that these boundaries can be crossed.”

Something warm, something dangerous, unfurls in my chest at her words. I force it down, focusing instead on what I’ve observed. “You’ve changed too. I saw you tap into your Icecaix heritage earlier. The way you controlled the ice—that’s not something a human could do.”

Her chin lifts in that defiant tilt of hers. “Maybe I’m just naturally talented.”

“And modest too.” The words emerge softer than intended. “But it’s more than that. I believe you’re beginning to access your Starcaix abilities as well.”

“What makes you think that?”

“The light that surrounded you as you worked the ice.” I pause, watching her reaction carefully. “The fact that you survived Lord Oesterin’s fire at the ball.”

She takes a step back, and I have to fight the urge to follow.

“With your new ice dragon form, why would you need Izzy and me any longer? You clearly have enough power of your own.”

This is the moment. The words I speak next could determine everything.

But I still can’t tell her everything.

“Because I can’t dethrone Prince Jonyk alone.” I step closer to her, my voice dropping. “He’s destroying everything—not just the Icecaix way of life, but the very fabric of our world. The magic is failing, and he’s too blind with power to see it.”

She watches me carefully, clearly not buying everything I’m telling her—but at least she’s still listening.

“He’ll do whatever it takes to consolidate his power. You saw what just happened with those hunters.” I fight to keep my voice steady as I lean against the maze wall, ice crystals crackling beneath my palm. “Jonyk won’t stop until he finds every person with royal blood. Including you and your sister.”

Her jaw tightens. “And you think putting me on his throne would fix everything?”

“Not everything.” I shift on my feet. “But it would be a start. A chance to build something better than his reign of cruelty and rigid divisions.”

“Better for who?” She crosses her arms, but I catch the slight frisson of interest echoing in her voice. “The same nobles who’ve spent the last year treating me like dirt?”

“For everyone.” I take a careful step toward her, my newly reformed muscles protesting. “Think of Kila, of Adefina. Of every servant and every Starcaix struggling to survive under Jonyk’s rule. They deserve better than living in fear.”

Her expression wavers. “And you think I could actually help them?”

“I’ve seen what you can do.” The memory of her controlling the ice, of power radiating from her like starlight, sends another shiver through me. “You could be living proof that the old boundaries between races mean nothing. That change is possible.”

“Or I’m just proof that your precious pure bloodlines aren’t so pure after all.” But there’s less bite in her tone now, more consideration.

“Exactly.” I press my advantage, even as my body screams for rest. “The entire system is built on lies. Jonyk knows it—that’s why he’s so desperate to eliminate anyone who might challenge his claim to power.”

She turns away, staring at the maze walls. “And what happens to Izzy in all this? I won’t risk her life for your political games.”

“I would never let anything happen to either of you.” The words emerge rougher than intended, crackling with emotion.

Her laugh holds no humor. “Right. Because you’ve been so protective of me this past year.”

The accusation slams into me. “I know I’ve hurt you. But this is bigger than us now. Jonyk’s hunters won’t stop. They’ll keep coming, keep killing, until they find what they’re looking for.”

“Or until someone stops them.” She meets my gaze again, and something fierce burns in her eyes.

“Yes.” I let her see it in my face, the desperation driving me. “Help me save my world from what he’s becoming. Help me build something better.”

She shivers, though whether from the cold or my words, I can’t tell. “Why should I believe you?”

“Because you’ve seen what he’s capable of. Because you know what it’s like to be powerless, to be used as a pawn in someone else’s game.”

I reach for her hand, relief flooding through me when she doesn’t pull away. “Help me end his reign before he destroys everything.”

She stares at where my fingers tangle with hers, and I watch the play of emotions across her face.

“If I agree,” she says finally, “it’s not for you.” Another tremor runs through me, but this time it’s not from the aftermath of shifting. “It’s to protect other people.”

“I know.” And I do. It’s one of the things that draws me to her, even knowing I shouldn’t let it. Even knowing what I’ll eventually have to do. Her compassion, her fierce protectiveness—they’re what make her perfect for my plans.

And what make those plans increasingly impossible to contemplate.

But I can’t think about that now. Can’t let myself dwell on future betrayals when the present demands all my focus. When she’s warm and alive in my arms, her magic sparking golden against my skin.

“Will you help me?” I ask again, my voice barely above a whisper.

She’s quiet for a long moment, studying first me and then the ground intently. Finally, she lifts her gaze to mine, and something in my chest constricts at the fire I see there. “Yes,” she says. “I’ll help you overthrow your prince.”

“Thank—”

“But,” she interrupts, “only if Izzy agrees. I won’t do this without her full consent.”

Relief floods through me, followed immediately by guilt at how much her conditional acceptance means. I incline my head, frost falling from my hair. “Of course. I would expect nothing less.”

“And if she says no?”

“Then we’ll find another way.”

“Okay. Good.”

Her words should bring only triumph. I’ve won her agreement, if only conditionally—the first crucial step in my plans. Instead, the relief flooding through me is tinged with a guilt so sharp it steals my breath.

“Lara,” I breathe, and for a heartbeat I consider telling her everything. About the crown. About her true heritage. About what the spell will require.

But then she shivers, and I realize how cold the maze has grown. Ice coats every surface, our breath clouding between us. Even her Icecaix blood can’t completely protect her from this level of cold.

I step back, letting my hands fall away from her. The loss of contact feels like tearing open a wound.

“We should return to the manor,” I say, my voice rougher than intended. “You’re freezing.”

“I’m fine.” But her arms wrap around herself, and I have to clench my fists against the urge to pull her close again, to warm her with my body even as my magic continues to leak cold into the air around us.

The ice maze shimmers around us, its walls catching and reflecting the light like the facets of a diamond. Like the fractured pieces of my own heart, trying to find a way to reconcile duty with desire.

Every surface shows us reflected back infinitely—the duke and his captive, the monster and his prey, the liar and the deceived.

I’ve gotten what I came for. Lara’s agreement to help.

The first step toward saving my world.

So why does victory taste so bitter on my tongue? Why does each beat of my heart feel like it’s pumping poison through my veins?

“Come,” I say, gesturing for her to precede me back through the maze. “Before you freeze entirely.”

She gives me a look I can’t quite interpret before starting down the path. I follow a step behind, watching how the remaining golden sparks from her magic dance in her wake, melting tiny spots in the frost I’ve left everywhere.

Fire and ice.

Life and death.

Truth and lies.

How many more paradoxes can I hold within myself before they tear me apart?

Ultimately, I decide, it doesn’t matter.

Let them rip me to shreds—as long as I can find a way to save her from the destiny heading toward us in a collision course I charted the moment I bought her.