Chapter 23 #2
I wanted to throw my power directly at him. Burn him where he stood. End him once and for all.
My magic reared beneath my will like a panicked horse. If he died… then I died. And Aedric—
Aedric.
Emotion crashed back into me so hard I nearly staggered.
Terror. Fear. Grief.
They slammed through me all at once, feeding the fire already raging beneath my skin. Flames licked wildly across my hands and wrists, sputtering over my skin as the magic inside me continued building and building, too large now, too furious to contain. My blood felt like molten metal inside me.
“Out,” Rìan barked over his shoulder, never taking his eyes off me. “Now.”
“Rìan—” Segolayne started.
“Now.”
She dashed to the door.
Then we were alone.
My breaths were ragged now, almost gasps. Heat clawed through my veins so ferociously I thought it might consume me from the inside out. I tried to force the magic down. Tried to shove it back into whatever dark place it had erupted from. But it wouldn’t obey me.
Rìan took one slow step closer.
Panic surged through me. I threw the magic to one side instinctively. Flame exploded into another towering mirror, glass shattering across the room.
He stood directly before me, towering over me, his eyes locked onto mine while fire writhed across my skin.
“Breathe,” he commanded.
I couldn’t.
My chest felt too tight. Too hot. Like my lungs themselves were burning alive.
“Breathe.”
His nostrils flared slightly as he drew in one slow, deliberate breath before releasing it. I forced myself to copy him. The exhale that left me carried smoke with it.
“Again,” he said. “Breathe.”
So I did.
Again.
Again.
Again.
I clung desperately to the rhythm of my breaths, focusing on the cool path of air moving through my burning body instead of the memories threatening to consume me. Slowly, piece by piece, I pushed away the image of my father collapsing into the snow. Aedric's blank stare.
With each breath, the magic weakened.
All I could hear was the crash of the waves and my own heavy breathing.
Still he didn't look away. Didn't step back.
He was so close I could make out the silver flecks scattered through the rich brown of his eyes, tiny stars against the dark.
I clung to his gaze until the last of my fire flickered and died.
My strength drained away, yet somehow I remained standing, as though the bond alone held me upright. His gaze drifted around the room, taking in the wreckage. It settled on the bow still lying abandoned on the terrace before returning to me.
One dark brow arched. “All this because you can't shoot a bow?”
“I know how to shoot a bow.” My throat burned as though I'd swallowed flame.
His expression didn’t move. “Shoot it, then.”
“No.”
“No?”
“Teach me something else.”
He examined me with unnerving intensity. He was enormous up close. I had to tip my head back just to meet his gaze. He could snap me in half with his bare hands if he wanted to—never mind what he could do with that terrifying, abyssal power of his.
But he didn't look at me like he wanted to tear me apart. He looked almost... puzzled.
“You’re upset.”
Hatred was the only thing keeping me rooted where I stood, the only thing stopping me from stepping back.
“Very observant.” I shot back.
He gave a small nod, some faint tension easing from his shoulders, though nothing else about him softened.
“Pick it up,” he ordered.
“No.”
A slow breath left him through his nose, like patience was becoming a finite resource.
“For someone your size, with your lack of physical strength, a bow is a logical weapon for you to master.”
“I said no.”
This time anger flashed openly across his face.
“It wasn’t a request.”
“I don’t care what it was. I’m not touching that bow.”
“This isn’t a holiday retreat where you pick and choose your lessons.” His voice sharpened. “You’re here to learn how to defend yourself.”
“Until this bond is broken and your life stops being tied to mine?”
A muscle ticked in his jaw. “Until you stop being a walking threat to my existence.”
“Daggers,” I said coldly, crossing my arms.
He looked me over for a long moment.
“Daggers.” I insisted through clenched teeth.
“Very well,” he said finally. He turned toward the wall of weapons and selected two blunted daggers. My stomach tightened instantly.
“What are you doing?” I demanded as he strode back toward the mat.
Without so much as a gesture, the shards of glass scattered across the floor skittered harmlessly aside. He rolled up the sleeves of his black shirt, exposing his lean, muscular forearms.
“I’m not fighting you.” I took an involuntary step back.
“I doubt Segolayne will be eager to resume your lessons after that slash you gave her. Firstborn magic doesn’t heal.”
Guilt twisted in my stomach. It had happened again. I'd lost control.
I took another step back.
“If you don’t get over here right now, your reading lessons with Levinica are over. For good.”
No. Not that.
He already knew the threat would land. He knew exactly where to stick the knife, and the bastard drove it straight in.
Furious, I stalked toward the mat. As I crossed the room, the remaining bits of glass slid neatly out of my path so they wouldn’t slice into my bare feet.
The precision of it unsettled me almost as much as the sheer force of his power—that terrifying, effortless control over every little thing around him.
I planted my feet in the stance Segolayne had drilled into me.
He tossed me one of the daggers. I missed it entirely. The weapon slipped through my fingers and hit the mat with an embarrassing thud.
“This bodes well.”
Heat flooded my face. Grinding my teeth, I snatched the dagger from the floor.
“What if my magic rises again?” I asked. Only part of me was worried—the rest of me hoped it did. Hoped it would scorch those arrogant, darkly arched brows straight off his face.
He shrugged, unconcerned. “It won’t hurt me.”
“How do you know?”
“Because our lives are tethered,” he said, disgust flickering briefly across his features. “And because I’m your mate.”
“Aedric is my mate.”
He gave a quiet, mocking snort. “Good luck with that.”
My grip tightened so hard around the dagger my knuckles ached.
“I hope I smite you into the ground.”
“You’re welcome to try.”
With a furious sound, I lunged. I slashed for his ribs—but he stepped aside so effortlessly it looked almost lazy. My blade carved through empty air.
“Painfully slow,” he said.
I spun and struck again, aiming higher this time, but he caught my wrist before the blade could reach him. His grip was steel. He twisted lightly, not enough to hurt, but enough for me to drop the dagger onto the mat. He released me with a shove that made me stumble backward with a curse.
“Predictable.”
Rage flashed white-hot through me.
He surveyed me calmly, coldly, his face devoid of emotion. He nodded to the blade, lying between us, a dark curl of his hair falling across his forehead.