Chapter 13 #2
"Tell me you don't want this." His teeth graze my earlobe. "Tell me, and I'll leave."
My pulse races. I should push him away. I should remember what I decided, my resolve to stay away to keep a clear head. But Goddess help me as so many memories of ecstasy rush forward as if a floodgate has been opened.
He comes around, hands trailing over my body.
He stands in front of me, his gaze burning with want, and cups my face between his palms. His lips find mine, soft at first, then hungry.
His mouth moves against mine with demanding precision, tongue tracing the seam of my lips.
His fingers tangle in my hair, pulling just enough to tilt my head back as he deepens the kiss.
His body presses against mine, hard and insistent, as his tongue slips inside and strokes heat into my veins.
But the taste... it's all wrong. Like ashes and emptiness where there should be honey. Where memories promised fire, I find nothing but cold realization. My heart doesn't race. My soul doesn't soar. The desire that flickered to life moments ago through my memories snuffs out completely.
I go still under his assault of passion, my lips unmoving, my hands at my sides.
Tahr pulls back, his breath quick but his eyes suddenly sharp. The hunger in his gaze morphs into something frigid.
"Why are you acting this way?" His voice is sharp.
"It is no act." I step sideways, out of the cage of his arms. "I just don't want this. I told you already."
His face hardens, anger flashing across his perfect features. Not hurt—never hurt with Tahr—just cold, calculating rage that makes his amber eyes glint like polished metal.
"It's him," he says, voice tight with contempt. "The Sky Order boy. You've really let him into your head."
I almost tell him there's only one of them who could have gotten into my head and it's not Vaylen.
The words burn in my throat like fire seeking escape.
The truth is that Vaylen commandeered a completely different part of me, but the timing between us has always been wrong, a cruel joke of the universe.
Summoning calm, I stop the words from spilling out, and instead, I try to guard my thoughts, though now I'm not sure there's any use—not when Tahr was the one who taught me how.
Instead, I swallow the truth and study his perfect features. That intense gaze of his that once made my pulse race now makes my skin crawl.
"What exactly do you want from me, Tahr?" I cross my arms, creating a barrier between us. The air in my lungs grows heavy as I wonder if what was between us, those feelings that made me dismiss Vaylen… Were they ever my own?
—Zephyros.
—Yes?
—Keep guard for me at all times. Protect my mind from intrusion should I falter.
—As you wish, he says, a nod of approval in his tone.
"Leave, Tahr." My voice doesn't shake. Small victories.
His eyebrows lift. "Rhea—"
"I'm tired. It's been a long day. We all need rest, don't you think?"
His eyes narrow to slits, his jaw tightening before relaxation smooths his features into that practiced mask of indifference.
"Very well." He steps back, hands raised in mock surrender. "You need rest. Perhaps tomorrow you'll be more... reasonable."
The word drips with condescension. He pads to the door, quiet as a feline, pausing with his hand on the latch. "In time, things will be as they should be between us. This little... distraction... will pass."
The door clicks shut behind him, and suddenly my lungs remember how to work again. I gulp air like I've been underwater, resuming my pacing with frantic energy.
My thoughts scatter like leaves in a windstorm.
Images flash—Tahr's smile, his hands on me, whispered promises—but they feel wrong.
Foreign. Like memories planted rather than lived.
My mind feels muddled, as though someone's stirred my thoughts with a stick.
I clutch my temples, a groan escaping through clenched teeth.
—Breathe with me, little one, Zephyros commands. Focus on my voice. Only my voice.
I follow his steady rhythm, in and out, until the chaos in my head begins to settle.
"Wyrm's rot!" I whisper into the empty room. "What is happening to me?"
—I think it's clear, Zephyros says cautiously.
—He's Heratrix's rider, I argue, pacing faster. If she trusts him, shouldn't that be enough? She wouldn't choose someone unworthy.
—And yet something is deeply amiss, Zephyros counters, his mental voice rumbling with concern. Why would someone tamper with my memories if not to hide something crucial? And I'm not alone in this.
I pause mid-stride. —What do you mean?
—I have been conferring with the other dragons. None of them remember precise details about Heratrix's disappearance. Only generalities, just like me. There is unease spreading among them.
—Maybe it was Vestra who took those memories before she disappeared, I say.
—Maybe.
—Whatever the case, I think you should trust what you felt when Tahr kissed you. Your body knows what your mind might have been prevented from seeing.
I press my palm against the cool window glass, watching my breath fog the pane. —What now?
—Perhaps you should get that rest you mentioned. You will have a clearer head come morning.
I shed my clothes, dropping them in a careless pile on the floor of the bathing chamber. The tub sunk into the marble floor is a stone oval that I fill with steaming water.
Sinking into the heat, I let the water swallow my aching muscles. The scent of lavender rises with the steam as I clean my skin with soap, trying to erase the memory of Tahr's touch, the sickening way my body responded before rejecting him.
After scrubbing until my skin's pink and raw, I rise from the water. No leisurely soak tonight. My mind's too restless for relaxation. I dry quickly, dragging my fingers through wet tangles of black hair.
In the bedchamber, I find some clean undergarments, ignoring the silken nightgowns provided for me.
"Dragon's breath," I mutter, falling onto the plush mattress. "Do I have to attend Craven's stupid ball tomorrow?" The thought of him parading us around makes me nauseous.
Despite the chaos in my head, exhaustion drags me under almost instantly. I fall into blackness, grateful for the oblivion.
I'm not sure how long I sleep before something brushes against my consciousness. It's featherlight, barely there, like fingers touching my mind with whispered intent. My eyes fly open in the darkness, heart racing, though nothing in the room has changed.
—Zephyros?
His answer comes immediately. —I felt it too.
—What was that? I demand, sitting bolt upright in bed.
He hesitates, the pause stretching between us like a taut wire. —I'm not certain yet... wait.
I hold my breath, fingers curled into the sheets. Something cold slithers down my spine, that same sensation I get before a storm breaks or an enemy attacks. My body knows danger before my mind catches up.
—It is Tahr, Zephyros finally says, voice tight with restraint. He is probing to see if you sleep.
My heart hammers. —Does he know I'm awake?
—No. I was quietly shielding your consciousness from him. He will think you remain in deep slumber, and he has no idea I am helping you.
—What is he… ? I trail off as suspicion blooms into certainty. He's planning something.
I swing my legs over the bed, mind racing through possibilities. Whatever Tahr's doing in the dead of night, it can't be good. My body acts before my thoughts fully form. I yank on my leathers and boots. My dagger slides into its sheath inside my boot—a comfort I never sleep without.
—Is this wise? Zephyros asks.
—When have I stopped to ask myself that?
I ease the door open, wincing at the faint creak. The corridor stretches empty, moonlight casting elongated shadows across the stone floor. I slip into darkness, pressing against the wall.
The guest wing forms a dead end with only one exit.
I position myself in shadows where the hallway bends.
I don't have to wait long. He appears at the end of the corridor, fully dressed in tight black leather, his long white hair tied back in a severe braid.
My breath catches in my throat as he glides past, close enough that I could reach out and touch him.
—He'll sense me, I panic, pressing deeper into the shadows. My thoughts feel like they're screaming into the night.
—No, Zephyros assures me. I have made your mind a tightly locked sepulcher. Not even a whisper escapes.
—You're certain?
—Yes. It is now up to you and your skills not to get discovered. Stealth, little one.
Against anyone else, I'd feel confident. I'm agile on my feet, but Tahr is shrewd, terrifyingly so. His senses are unnaturally sharp, his mind always three moves ahead.
I force myself to count heartbeats as he passes, fighting the urge to shrink away when his gaze sweeps across the shadows where I hide.
He pauses, head tilting slightly like a hound catching a faint scent.
My body grows taut, ready to jump. For one excruciating moment, I'm certain he's spotted me.
Then he continues down the hall, turning left without a backward glance.
Exhaling silently, I follow through moonlit corridors, staying fifteen paces behind.
Each footstep deliberate, each breath controlled.
The palace unfolds like a labyrinth of wealth and pretension, gilded picture frames holding portraits of Stonefall ancestors with their same pinched expressions, tapestries depicting dragons in flight, marble pedestals supporting priceless artifacts.
Tahr never hesitates at intersections. Left at the statue of King Ormund the Fierce.
Right past the Hall of Banners where battle standards hang limp in the still night air.
He moves through the castle like he's walked these halls a thousand times.
Because he has… in his mind, in those time-worn scrolls we pored over together during the long months beneath the mountain.