Chapter 16 #4
I reached for the cloth, lathering it with soap and dragging it over his shoulders, tracing slow circles down his back. Next, I ran my hands through the long strands of his hair, working the oil into his scalp with a pressure I knew would drive him wild.
He groaned, low and deep. A sharp jolt went straight to my core.
“You know,” I said, digging my nails deeper into his scalp, earning another pleased groan, “I never thanked you for the balcony.”
“You never need to thank me, little flame.” He twisted his body in the water to face me, my hands sliding from his hair to rest on his arms. My heart raced at the intensity of his eyes.
“There is nothing I wouldn’t do for you. Nothing I wouldn’t tear down or build up to see you smile.”
Something warm unfurled in my chest. I smiled, my cheeks flushing from more than just the heat of the water.
“That’s the one.” His own answering smile transformed his face from beautiful to breathtaking. “That’s the one that makes me want to burn the world down just to keep it on your face.”
For a moment we just stared at each other, his words settling between us like a promise. Then he shifted, the water rippling as he turned back around, positioning himself once more with his back against my chest.
His hands found my legs, stroking the length of them with reverent touches that made my skin come alive.
But my mind was already racing ahead to the conversation I’d been avoiding. I resumed lathering soap through his hair while I gathered every scrap of courage I possessed.
“Dalkhan,” I began softly, already almost losing the nerve. “Tell me about what happened with the mortals.”
Every muscle in his powerful frame went rigid. The warmth of the bath was suddenly suffocating.
Heat rose beneath his skin, but before he could speak, I quickly added, “I mean, we’ve all heard the stories. But I want to hear it from you.”
Slowly, degree by agonising degree, his muscles eased, if only slightly.
For what felt like an eternity, he was silent. I continued washing his hair while my heart thundered. The only sounds were our breathing and the gentle lap of water against stone.
Then, in a voice that was softer and infinitely darker than I had ever heard from him, he began to tell me.
“We welcomed the mortals,” Dalkhan said, staring into the water. “We offered them land to live on. To build and grow.” His nostrils flared, the strong line of his jaw tightening. “But it was not enough.”
He rose from the tub, water dripping down the ridges of his body, glistening along the hardened planes of muscle. His movements were controlled, but barely veiled rage simmered beneath his skin.
I followed, my legs unsteady as I wrapped myself in soft linen.
Back in his chamber, Azmik lifted his head from the pillow, his golden eyes alert. He uncoiled, slithering across the rumpled sheets and down onto the floor. He wound up my legs in spiralling loops, settling around my waist.
Dalkhan dropped heavily onto the edge of his bed and braced his elbows against his thighs. His hands clenched so tightly his knuckles paled. The tension in his shoulders betrayed a grief I’d never witnessed before.
“They sought help from the Wielders.”
The words fell like stones into still water.
I furrowed my brows. “The Wielders?”
“They are now known as the Veilbinders, but centuries ago, they were called Wielders. Mortals like you, but ones who had the ability to wield black magic.” His lip curled with disgust.
Dread unfurled in my stomach like poison.
Dalkhan’s fingers twitched against his knee, each digit moving independently as if fighting some internal war.
“I knew of their existence long before they revealed themselves,” he muttered, almost to himself. “I saw them. I felt them, but they were nothing more than shadows on the edges of the world. So, I let them be.”
His voice darkened, rough with self-loathing. “A mistake that will follow me for eternity.”
Unable to resist the pull of his pain, I sat beside him, close enough that my thigh pressed against his. Azmik adjusted, draping across both our laps. I gently stroked Dalkhan’s forearm.
His hand covered mine, holding it against him. “We felt the change. The mortals began retreating further and further from us. I noticed it but did not question it.” His thumb brushed absently over my knuckles.
“Then, the day it happened…” His shoulders sagged under an invisible weight. “We tried.”
“Tried?”
“I led the Jinn into battle. I slaughtered every mortal in my path. Burned their homes to ash and turned rivers red with their blood. I left mountains of corpses in my wake.” He smiled, but the expression held no joy—only profound grief. “But it was not enough.”
A shiver raced down my spine. Azmik pressed in closer, offering what comfort he could.
“The Wielders had already begun their spell, and the world…” His voice dropped to no more than a breath. “The world shattered beneath us.”
Both of his hands shot up to his hair, pulling at the roots as if he could tear the memory from his mind.
I had heard the stories in fragmented myths—in whispers passed through generations. But hearing it from him, from someone who had lived it and had lost everything, was something else entirely.
Dalkhan’s brows drew together, his eyes fixed on the floor as if he could see through it to the broken world below.
“I was betrayed that day in more ways than one.”
Even Azmik had gone perfectly still.
“The Wielders didn’t just bind a spell to create the Veil.” He paused, his hands slowly unfurling from their death grip on his hair. “They stole a remnant of my power to forge it… to seal it.”
Something inside me fractured, splintering beneath the enormity of his truth.
“I was riding Torak when it happened. I was thrown from him and crashed to the ground. I was frozen. Helpless. In agony as it was torn from me—my very essence wrenched from my core.”
His eyes lifted to mine, flashing with vulnerability.
“I heard the screams of my kind as they were pulled away, their last desperate efforts to hold on echoing across the fields.” Each word was a dagger twisted in an old wound. “And I… I could do nothing to stop it. Nothing but lie there and watch as everything was ripped away.”
I placed my palm flat against his chest, over the steady rhythm of his heart. He covered it with his own, trapping it in place.
Neither of us spoke. We sat in a silence heavy with shared pain.
“How?” I asked.
Dalkhan exhaled sharply, running a hand over his jaw. Anger coiled in him like a beast ready to strike.
For a second, I regretted asking.
“You don’t have to tell me,” I whispered.
“It’s not that.” He turned his hand, brushing his fingers against the inside of my wrist. “I’m being called upon. I am needed elsewhere.”
A selfish part of me burned with the urge to tell him to stay—to choose me over whatever duty called. From the way his eyes lingered on mine, it was clear he didn’t want to leave either.
As he rose from the bed, Azmik moved to my lap entirely.
Dalkhan reached for the ancient chains he always wore, slipping them over his head to settle heavily against his chest. He reached for his trousers.
I traced the planes of muscles across his back. His shoulders flexed as he tugged the garment up over his thighs, the dark leather moulding to him perfectly. As he worked the ties at his waist, I memorized the taut lines of his abdomen.
He was magnificent in his fury. Beautiful in his broken vulnerability.
Dalkhan caught my stare. A slow, wicked grin tugged at the corner of his mouth. His tongue darted out, dragging across his lower lip.
He moved toward me, pressing his body against mine until I was trapped between him and the bed.
Azmik, with perfect timing and perhaps some divine sense of discretion, dissolved into shadow and vanished.
“I have no intention of leaving,” he whispered against my ear, “before I taste you again.”
I was still coming down from the high of pleasure as we slipped through the shadows. He carried me through the darkness, and when I opened my eyes again, I was sinking into my own bed.
Dalkhan stood at the foot if it, his form already vanishing into smoke. Before he was gone completely, he lifted his hand—still glistening with the evidence of what we’d done—and dragged his tongue across his fingers. His eyes held me captive as he savoured the taste of me.
I was lost in the lingering sensation of him imprinted on my skin.
“I’m so turned on, you have no idea.”
I nearly fell off the bed, my heart almost launching out of my chest.
Theo was leaning against the doorframe, his arms crossed and an infuriating smirk on his face.
“Heavens, Theo!” I groaned, throwing an arm over my eyes. “Do you ever knock?”
He pushed off the frame and sauntered deeper into my room, ignoring my obvious distress.
“Do you think he would mind if I used that move?”
I laughed, a mix of exasperation and amusement. “You’re impossible.”
Theo smiled, clearly pleased with himself.
I reached for the nearest pillow and hurled it at his face, but he caught it effortlessly and tossed it back.
“Alright, alright,” he drawled. “I’ll take that as a no.”
I scowled. “Get out, Theo! I’m not even dressed.”
He didn’t move. Instead, he just leaned against the wall. The idiot even had the nerve to wink.
“You know, you should really get a lock for that door, El.” He grinned wickedly. “Or at least invite me next time. I promise I’ll be quiet.”
I made a sound somewhere between a growl and the cry of a dying animal, launching another pillow at him with considerably more force.
He ducked with ease, laughing as he slipped out of the room and disappeared down the hallway.
I groaned, flopping back onto the bed.
The silence that filled the room after Theo’s departure pressed against me from all sides. I curled my fingers into the sheets, bunching the fabric as I pressed it against my face, fighting to calm my racing thoughts.