Chapter 24
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
FOX
They flew until the sun started to set. Chalia found a lake set between two small peaks on the very edge of the mountains. The peaks were dusted with snow, but the grass around the lake was a deep emerald green. The trees here were shorter, their leaves sharp and pointed like needles.
Sofia slipped from Chalia’s back, and Fox followed, eyes drawn to the lake’s surface, the colors afire with the setting sun.
It was beautiful. His eyes slipped over to Sofia, but before he could open his mouth, she was on him.
She kicked at his legs, jamming her fist into his side, and with a grunt, he fell to his knees.
A second later, she knocked him over, bringing him to the ground.
She straddled him, his own dagger held firm to his throat.
Well, at least she’d cleaned it of Belni’s blood.
“Miss me, my captor?”
“Whose side are you on?” she hissed, pressing the dagger until he felt the sting of broken skin.
He swallowed, and her eyes watched his throat, pupils blown wide. He smiled.
“Stop smiling,” she snapped.
“You know whose side I’m on.”
“You let that soldier get away,” she said. “You’re after the dragons on behalf of the chief commander, and you didn’t even let the resistance know.”
His smile dropped, and he looked at her, trying to understand. “I thought that since you were here, she’d told you.”
“She?”
“Eha, the dragon Harlow has imprisoned. I told her to tell you.”
Sofia’s grip on the dagger loosened, and a flicker of regret crossed her face.
“I…didn’t know you were the one to tell her.”
“So, you saw her. Is she free?” His eyes scanned the sky above them, as if the white dragon might come sailing from the thin clouds that had hovered over the lake. When his eyes wandered back to Sofia, her face was pale, lips pinched in pain.
“No, she’s still with him.”
“You saw her—that means you were in Harlow’s base.”
“He captured me briefly. It was fine.”
Fox narrowed his eyes. She studied the grass behind his head with sudden interest.
The ground was hard beneath him as he canted his hips, throwing her sideways. The dagger was warm from her hand as he twisted it, pulling it from her grip. A second later, their positions were reversed, and he was looking down at her, the dagger held loosely in his left hand.
He hated the look of genuine fear that flickered in her eyes before she shuttered her expression.
He reached out, ignoring the flinch as he brushed a curl from her face, studying her.
“Did he hurt you?”
“I told you, it was fine.”
He traced the barest hint of a bruise forming across her chin, the muscles in his jaw jumping.
“That didn’t answer my question.”
“We fought. I’m still alive. So is he.”
Her voice was tight. There was something she was holding back. His chest ached with the knowledge, but as with everything with her, he knew he couldn’t take it unwillingly.
He pushed himself from her, taking a step back so she could follow suit. She ignored his offered hand, standing and brushing off her clothes.
“I missed you.” He whispered the words, as if speaking them too loudly might break something.
“Don’t,” she said, eyes narrowing. “I still don’t trust you.”
“What can I do, then? Name it. I’ll do anything,” he said, the words earnest in a way that made his stomach twist. Because he would. He would do anything for a taste of her that he didn’t deserve.
She was right. She couldn’t trust him. Not because he would betray her, but because he had done nothing for her.
How could he claim to be on her side, helping and fighting for her, when so far everything he’d tried had failed?
And now he couldn’t even rejoin the king’s men to gather information.
As far as she was concerned, he was useless to her.
“Drop your dagger and get on your knees.”
The words echoed in his chest, familiar, and he thought back to the first time they’d met.
He’d said the same to her, with every intention of arresting her and bringing her back to the city to her death.
His stomach dropped. The words weren’t cold, but her face was blank, and he couldn’t read her expression.
She didn’t repeat herself. She waited with uncharacteristic patience.
His gaze didn’t leave hers. He threw the dagger to the side and fell to his knees, the ground beneath them cool and damp through his pants, and for the first time, he noticed a fine mist filling the air. Chalia had flown away when they’d started fighting, but she’d left behind a piece of her magic.
“Good boy,” she said.
Fox felt his breath hitch at the words. Something akin to desire shuddered through him. He shouldn’t have felt it, not kneeling before her, weaponless. Her gaze turned dark and hungry at whatever she saw in his face.
Sofia stepped forward, and he lifted his chin. He expected her to grab the dagger. He expected anger. Instead, she stared at him.
She pulled her lower lip into her mouth, teeth biting down, and he watched, pulse skipping.
Her cheeks were flushed, and whether from their fight or the cold, he didn’t know.
It didn’t matter. His cock hardened as she stared at him, and his cheeks went pink.
Did she know what she did to him without even trying?
She reached, fingers gripping his chin. Her thumb ran across his lower lip, and his mouth opened in a silent gasp.
He watched her pupils dilate, eyes going a little wide.
He leaned forward the smallest amount, taking her thumb in his mouth, swirling his tongue along the calluses before releasing it.
“Fox,” she said, the words thready.
“Yes, my captor?”
She fell on her knees in front of him. Their lips met like a clash, hard and insistent, and he felt her moan sing through his blood.
Her hair was just as soft as he remembered as he gripped its tangles, pulling her into him tighter as he bit and nipped at her parted lips.
She let him in, her tongue sweet against his, and he groaned. Every nerve in his body was alight.
“Fuck,” he said as she broke away long enough to take a gasp of air.
He took the moment to push her back until she was lying on the ground beneath him.
Her hands combed through his hair and tugged, bringing his lips back down to hers, which he gladly met.
He’d thought he’d remembered everything about the taste of her and the feel of her lips from their kiss, but now as he melted into her, he realized how wrong he was.
His memories were but an empty shadow of what it felt like to truly kiss her.
She was sweeter, hotter, softer, more urgent than he could ever have remembered.
Everywhere their bodies touched felt hot, and he pushed his hips into hers, his cock aching at the pressure.
She pressed her own hips forward, bringing them closer together.
He thought he might come then and there, her tongue twisting around his own, and the heat of her pressed so perfectly against him.
He dragged his hands down over her body, feeling the curve of her until he hooked his fingers beneath her shirt and tugged it up.
His hands wrapped around her hips, angling her as he rutted against her.
His skin was aflame against her soft body as he pulled her close again.
The gasp that fell from her lips wasn’t one of passion but of pain, and he froze, blood turning to ice in his veins.
His eyes, which had been sweeping over her body, drinking in her writhing form, shot to her face, reading her expression.
“Sofia,” he said, voice strained. “Did I hurt you?”
“I’m fine.”
“I’m going to banish those words from your vocabulary if you try to use them with me again.”
She swallowed, licking her lips. They were still puffy and red from his ministrations.
“My back,” she said, not meeting his eyes.
“Harlow?” he asked with barely contained rage.
Her voice was nearly a whisper. “Your father’s handiwork, still.”
Any heat left in his body drained from him, and he sat back on his heels, trying his best to control his breathing. He didn’t know if he wanted to scream or cry, though if he could tear his father’s ghost from the underworld and kill him again, he would.
“Let me see,” he said, words low. His chest felt tight, his breaths too shallow.
“I’m f…I’m okay,” she said, stuttering over her usual lie.
He narrowed his eyes. “Take off your shirt.”
“You certainly know how to make a woman swoon,” she said dryly.
He didn’t respond, but she must have seen something in his eyes because she moved at last, turning away from him before lifting her shirt.
He was silent as she bared her back to him.
Even in the dim light of dusk, he could see the tangled mess of scars painted there, fresh pink lashings on top of the old silver ones.
His nails bit into his palm as he stared.
She shivered as the wind swept across the lake.
He wanted to wrap her up and hide her away from everything, but he refused to look away.
These were scars he’d played a role in. These were his to bear as much as hers.
He saw a few still had stitches in place, and he ran his finger along them, ignoring the goosebumps he left in his wake.
There were two where the skin had pulled open slightly, but the stitches were intact.
“They’re looking good,” he said, voice low, as if he didn’t want to break the silence of the night. “Better than I’d expect at this point. Could Chalia heal them? Eha has that magic.”
“She tried early on. She doesn’t know how to use that magic yet,” she said.
He grabbed the hem of her shirt where it sat on her neck, pulling it down and covering her back, gently turning her to look at him with a hand on her shoulder.
“I’m—” he stopped, mouth snapping closed before he started again. “I know I don’t have a right to be sorry, but I am. I’ve made a lot of mistakes in my life, but this—”
“You weren’t the one holding the whip,” she said, not quite meeting his eyes.
“That doesn’t matter, and you know it,” he said. “I hesitated. I didn’t stop him immediately because I was afraid. I’ve always been afraid.”
His hand twitched, fist clenching and unclenching. She grasped his hand, holding it in her own, gentle fingers prying his fist open.
“I can’t tell you to stop being afraid,” she said. “I’m afraid constantly. Courage is acting despite the fear. It’s pushing through it even when it feels like it might kill you.”
“What if I don’t know how? I’ve only ever failed.”
She smiled. It was small and bitter. “I know a lot about failure. But Javi would remind me that acting and failing is better than not acting at all.”
He reached out without thinking, tracing a finger over her cheek, cupping her chin. He wanted to kiss her—he wanted…
“You have blood in your hair,” he said instead, fingers grazing a curl that left a trace of blood along her cheek.
“Shit,” she said, “I should wash it. Blood attracts nothing good out here.”
She looked over at the lake with a frown. The temperature was already dropping, and the lake would be freezing.
“Let me,” Fox said, and she looked back, an eyebrow raised. He only rolled his eyes, but helped her up. Fox found them a flat rock along the shore that allowed them to sit next to the water without getting wet. “Lean back against me.”
Sofia watched him for a moment, as if waiting to see if he’d laugh or say he was just kidding, but he looked back at her seriously.
She finally sat, and Fox arranged himself behind her, helping her lean back across his legs as he untied her braid and combed his fingers through her curls, brushing them out gently despite the snared hair and knots.
He picked out the few branches that had wormed their way in and carefully splashed the water across the strands that were stained with blood.
He kept his fingers gentle, pulling out a few knots as he found them, taking care not to splash her with the water or get too much of her hair wet.
The air cooled rapidly as the warm tones of sunset faded from the sky. They’d likely need to think of a fire soon.
“You know how to deal with curls,” she said, not a question.
“My mom’s hair is naturally curly. My father always wanted her to straighten it with a heated iron, but when she was just around the house, she’d leave it down. I watched her deal with it a lot when I was younger.”
She said nothing, and he nudged her to sit up, not letting her hair go. He made quick work of braiding it, fingers deft in their movements despite how many sun cycles it had been since he’d last braided his mother’s hair. And then he finished, laying the last strands gently against her back.
“Better?” he asked, his words soft. The night was so quiet. She looked back at him, her gaze searching.
“You didn’t have to do that.”
“I wanted to.”
Her gaze shifted, turning heated. Fox felt his cock react, left hanging from their earlier interaction.
“Sofia…” he started.
The lake exploded in icy droplets, Chalia’s form bursting from the mirrored surface in a sudden shattering as she darted into the air. She spun, water cascading down her body and soaking Fox and Sofia in its wake.
“Shit!” Sofia cried, but she was laughing. It was nearly dark now, and the pale dragon glowed against the sky. Fox could only watch in awe.
“I found the others just a few miles north of here,” she said excitedly, coming to land behind them.
Sofia stood, moving toward the dragon and leaving Fox behind. The air around him turned cold, and he shivered.
“We should head out. There’ll be a fire and food waiting for us, hopefully,” she said, jumping on Chalia before Fox could respond.
He stood, nodding, even as the knot of dread tied itself tightly in his stomach. The resistance was waiting.
And all he had to offer them was failure.