17. The Wound She Left #5
Behind her, Malec's movements became erratic.
Desperate. His grip tightened painfully, fingers digging into her hard enough she knew there would be bruises shaped like his hands.
His breathing turned ragged, harsh gasps that had little to do with ecstasy and everything to do with exhaustion, fury and the physical release of a body that hadn't known touch in months.
Then he shuddered violently.
A guttural sound tore from his throat, raw and animal. Just the involuntary response of flesh finally letting go.
He stilled, body locked rigid against her.
For one terrible moment, there was only the sound of his panting, tense and uneven, each breath scraping out of him like it hurt.
Then she heard it—soft, broken, pathetic:
"Allora."
The name came out as a whimper. A mourning sound like grief given voice. The sound of a male trying and failing to hold himself together.
Then Kirelle felt it.
A single warm drop hit her bare back. Then another.
Tears.
Silent and stubborn, falling from a conqueror who never cried, sliding down her spine.
Kirelle felt his body shake. Felt him struggle against himself, holding back sounds that might have been sobs if he'd let them escape.
But he didn't.
He pulled away abruptly, the absence almost as violent as the act itself. She heard him yanking his pants up, heard the rough scrape of fabric, the fierce intake of breath.
When she dared to look back, he had his back to her, one hand pressed hard against his eyes, shoulders rigid with the effort of holding himself together. Wiping his eyes roughly.
"Get the fuck out." His voice was raw, scraped clean. "And never speak to me again."
Kirelle grabbed her dress with shaking hands, not bothering to lace it properly. She clutched it against her chest and fled, stumbling through the tent flap and into the bitter cold.
The night air hit her like a slap. She kept walking, kept moving, tears streaming down her face though she couldn't say if they were from shame or relief or the terrible understanding that had finally, finally settled into her bones.
She had gotten exactly what she wanted.
And it had destroyed her.
Behind her, in the tent, Malec stood alone in the wreckage, surrounded by overturned furniture and scattered maps and the ghost of a name he couldn't stop whispering into the dark.
Allora woke slowly.
A week and a half had passed since Leira left, but rest hadn't healed her. The daybed's cushions, though soft, did nothing against the ache lodged in her bones. Every joint felt swollen, every breath shallow. Her skin clung with heat, her belly stretched taut beneath the thin blankets.
Light bled faintly through the silk curtains, pale and heavy, casting the room in muted shadow. Her limbs resisted movement, sore and trembling, as though she'd been running all night without leaving the bed.
And in truth, she had.
A sharp kick jolted her. She gasped, clutching her stomach.
"Easy," she whispered, smoothing her hand over the taut curve. "I'm listening."
The child, her child, was restless. Quieter before, but now always moving, as if it sensed the storm drawing near.
Kalemon had warned her. No more walks, stress, lifting or dealing with Leira.
But Kalemon wasn't here at the moment. She'd gone outside somewhere, Allora assumed she was gathering herbs or maybe breaking into the empty manors around them looking for books and maps they could use to get them home after she gave birth.
Allora knew that it would be any day now, she could feel her body was shifting in ways it hadn’t before. The countdown had begun.
The door creaked open without warning, the intrusion smooth as silk sliding through a ribcage.
Allora turned her head, exhausted already. "Really? Do you ever knock?"
Leira entered like a storm draped in velvet. Black dress, pinned hair gleaming, a blood-red scarf trailing from her arms like old wine stains. A queen in mourning, but never the one who mourned.
"Knocking is a courtesy for guests," Leira said with a smile that dripped poison. "Mistresses of the estate require no such formality."
Allora groaned, throwing her head back into the pillows. "Gods, I don't have the energy for you today."
Leira ignored her. She moved with that predator's grace, her eyes glinting like polished steel. "Radiant," she said lightly. "Like a tired moon about to burst."
"Get out."
"I would," Leira hummed, running her fingers over the edge of her scarf. "But you'll want to hear this."
Allora didn't look at her, didn't trust herself to. Leira leaned closer, her words soft as a knife slipping between ribs. "Malec is closing in."
The room stilled. Allora's hand flew to her stomach before she could stop herself, and Leira saw it. Saw everything — and her smile turned slow and knowing.
The words landed heavy and final in Allora's chest. She could feel it now, the noose tightening, the walls pressing inward. Her hand pressed to her belly, fingers shaking.
"He will kill me."
Leira stepped back, but this time she did not deliver some cryptic exit line. She looked down at Allora almost empathetic, her red scarf slipping farther down her arm.
The moment stretched with the weight of thought behind it.
When she finally spoke, her voice was quiet but not cold. "Then speak to him before that part of him awakens."
Allora laughed, unhinged and bitter. "He's already gone, Leira. There's nothing left of the bastard who spared me."
Leira turned slightly to keep some of her weariness from showing, and for once her expression was not coy or clever, it was purely tired.
"You think I don't know that? Think I haven't watched it happen with my own eyes?" She stepped closer to the bed. Allora's grip tightened on the sheets. "Every day, he becomes more hollow, animalistic—more mad. There is no softness in him anymore, only the space you left behind."
Allora's lip trembled. "So you're delivering me to him like some peace offering?"
Leira’s face hardened, though a quiet tremor stirred beneath the surface. “I am delivering him the last thing tethering him to reason.”
Allora's voice turned to ice. "You mean me."
Leira held her gaze. "I mean you."
A long breath stretched between them, taut as wire.
"You never cared what happened to me," Allora said. "Only that I kept your son from shattering."
There was no rage in Leira’s reply, no smile either. Only a note that felt dangerously close to truth. “At first, I suppose that was true, yes.”
She stepped closer, stopping just short of touching Allora’s hand. “But that changed.”
Allora blinked, confusion breaking through her anger.