Chapter 33 #2
"Do you have any idea," he said against her ear, his voice rough, "what it's like watching them all touch you?"
She could feel his heartbeat against her chest, fast and hard. His skin was hot where it pressed against hers, the leather straps across his chest creating interesting texture. The paint on his skin had started to smear, and she could feel it transferring to her.
"It's just dancing," she managed.
"Nothing about this is just dancing." His hand moved up her back, fingers tracing her spine. "Look around."
She did. The celebration had shifted. Drak were paired off, pressed together, hands and mouths exploring. The dancing had become more intense and it made her face heat despite the drink.
"They celebrate being alive," Eliam said, his mouth close to her throat. "And you're practically naked, painted like a warrior, smelling like smoke and sweat and—"
Someone grabbed her arm, pulling her away from Eliam. A Drak warrior, laughing, saying something about the Forest Lord not monopolizing the shadow walker. Eliam's grip tightened for a moment, and she felt shadows gather, but then she was spinning away into another set of hands.
The celebration swirled around her. More partners, more heat, more skin. The drums were getting to her, making her body move without conscious thought. The drink made everything feel urgent and necessary.
Then Arion's light cut through the smoke.
He didn't grab her roughly like Eliam had. His hand found hers, fingers interlacing, and he drew her to him smoothly. His other hand settled at the small of her back, warm through the minimal fabric.
"You're flushed," he observed, though his own skin was gleaming with sweat in the firelight.
"It's hot," she said unnecessarily.
"Yes." His thumb stroked across her lower back, finding bare skin between the leather strips. "The drink affects humans more strongly."
"Mor'va mentioned that. After I drank it."
"Thoughtful of her." His tone was dry, but his eyes were focused on her with an intensity that had nothing to do with humor.
He moved with her to the drums, smoother than Eliam, more controlled.
But his hands were just as possessive, keeping her close, his touch sending sparks across her hypersensitive skin.
The paint on his chest was smearing where she pressed against him, creating patterns of light and shadow between them.
"You're covered in other people's paint," he observed, his hand tracing a smear across her shoulder.
"Everyone keeps touching—"
"I know." His grip tightened. "I've been watching."
The admission made heat bloom across her chest. Both of them watching her, wanting her, held back by the crowd and custom from claiming her.
His hand moved to her face, thumb brushing across her cheek. "You have no idea what you look like right now."
"Eliam said something similar."
His expression darkened at the mention of Eliam. "Of course he did."
A Drak tried to cut in, reaching for her, but Arion's light flared bright enough to make them step back. His usual control was slipping, affected by drink and drums and the press of bodies around them.
"Mine," he said, quiet enough that only she heard it.
The word sent heat through her that had nothing to do with the fires. His hand splayed across her back, pulling her flush against him. She could feel his heartbeat, as fast as Eliam's had been. Could feel the way his breathing had quickened.
"Arion—"
"Don't," he said roughly. "Just... dance with me."
They moved together, bodies aligned, the drums directing their movement. His hands were everywhere—her back, her hips, her arms. Not inappropriate, but possessive, claiming. The warmth in her chest was pulsing frantically, reaching for him.
Then shadows wrapped around her waist, pulling her backward.
She collided with Eliam's chest, his arm banding around her middle.
"My turn," he said to Arion, challenge clear in his voice.
"You already had your turn," Arion replied, his light sharpening.
"I wasn't finished."
"Too bad."
They stood there, Eliam holding her against him, Arion still close enough that she could feel his heat. The tension between them was electric, dangerous. Around them, the celebration continued, but several Drak had noticed the building confrontation and were watching with interest.
"Let her go," Arion said, his voice low, controlled but barely.
"No." Eliam's arm tightened around her.
"I’m not a possession you can fight over," Briar said, though her voice came out breathier than intended.
"No?" Eliam's mouth was against her ear. "Then why aren't you pulling away?"
She wasn't. She was standing there, caught between them, her body responding to both their proximity. The warmth in her chest was pulling in two directions at once, desperate and frantic.
"Because," she said, and the truth came out drink-loosened and necessary, "because I need to tell you both something Ferria told me. About what you really are."
Both men went still. The drums continued, the celebration swirled around them, but in their small bubble of space, everything stopped.
"What did she tell you?" Arion asked, stepping closer.
Eliam turned her in his arms so she could see both of them. Their faces in the firelight, so different but suddenly she could see it—the same bone structure, the same way of moving, the same intensity in their eyes despite the different colors.
The warmth in her chest pulsed once, hard, recognizing what she was about to reveal.
"You're the same person," she said. "Split in two."
The words settled between them, the heavy weight of an impossible truth. The drums continued their rhythm, the celebration swirled around them, but neither man moved.
"That's… impossible," Eliam said finally, his voice low. “Ferria was lying.”
"The ritual," Briar continued, the drink making the words tumble out faster than she intended. "The night you made the bargain with my mother. He was trying to strip your power, but you interrupted it. The ritual didn't just fail… it backfired. It fractured you."
Arion's light flickered erratically. "Fractured?"
"Split your very being into two separate bodies." She looked between them, seeing their faces in the firelight.
"You're drunk," Eliam said, but his grip on her had gone rigid.
"The drink made it easier to tell you, but I'm not lying.
" She pressed her hand against her chest where the warmth pulsed.
"This recognizes you both equally. Reaches for you both the same way.
I thought I was broken, wanting two different men, but you're not different. You're the same person in two bodies."
Arion stepped back, his expression stricken. "I have memories. A past. I remember—"
"Do you?" Briar challenged. "Do you really remember your childhood? Your parents? Or do you just remember… existing, already grown, already knowing magic but not how you learned it?"
His silence was answer enough.
"This is insane," Eliam said, but she could see him thinking, processing. "We're cousins. We've always been—"
"Have you? When did you first meet? What was your relationship before that night?"
More silence. Around them, a particularly enthusiastic group of dancers nearly crashed into them, but Eliam's shadows lashed out, creating a barrier.
"The pull," Arion said quietly. "I've always felt pulled toward you." He was looking at Eliam now. "I thought it was just rivalry. Competition. But it's more than that."
"The way you mirror each other," Briar continued, placing one hand on Eliam’s face and the other on Arion’s. "The way your magic resonates on the same frequency. Shadow and light, two sides of the same power."
Eliam's hands had dropped from her waist. He was staring at Arion with an expression she'd never seen before—not quite horror, not quite recognition, but something between.
"When I'm near you," Eliam said slowly, "I feel… less like I'm missing something."
"Yes," Arion agreed. "Like a hollow space gets smaller."
"Ferria said Malus needs all three of us," Briar continued. "Both pieces of you and me as the catalyst. To force reunification. To restore you to what you were before the split."
"Reunification," Eliam repeated. "Becoming whole again."
"Becoming one person again," Arion corrected, and there was a hint of fear in his voice. "Which means one of us ceases to exist."
They stood there, the three of them, while the celebration raged around them. The firelight painted everything in orange and gold, and the drums seemed to sync with the frantic pulsing of the warmth in her chest.
"This is why," Arion said suddenly. "Why I was so drawn to you from the beginning." He was looking at Briar. "Not just attraction. Recognition. You carry a power that knew what I was, even when I didn't."
"The warmth has been trying to pull you together," Briar said. "Every time you're both near me, it goes wild. It wants you whole."
"But we don't know what that means," Eliam said, his voice sharp. "What happens to our consciousness? Our memories? Do we merge or does one dominate?"
"I don't know," Briar admitted. "Ferria didn't say. Maybe she didn't know."
The words hung there, the weight of everything unsaid pressing down on them. Eliam's face was a mask of controlled fury at the situation, at Malus, at the impossible choice. Arion looked shaken to his core, his light flickering erratically.
A wave of dancers crashed into them, drunk and laughing, jostling them together. Briar stumbled, and both men reached for her at the same time. Their hands met on her waist, overlapping, and the warmth in her chest erupted.
Golden light spilled from beneath her skin, visible even in the firelight. Where their hands touched each other and her, the connection flared to life—not just physical but something deeper. They all gasped at the same moment, feeling it.