Chapter 18 #2
“This is a traditional fae uniform,” she deadpans.
“I like it,” Tristen coughs. “Vampires should adopt a similar fashion.” He’s provoking me. Testing if what he thinks is happening between Selene and me truly is the word I won’t utter yet.
“Leathers like these can not be fitted to form to beasts,” Selene jabs. “One must have sophistication, not feral instincts.”
“Every beast can be pacified.” Tristen smirks.
I elbow Tristen.
“Now I know why my brother picked you, Titus. Tristen and I would have gotten along.”
“And that’s a bad thing?” I grunt. Jealousy sits on the tip of my tongue.
“Yes. When you get along with someone, you become relaxed. You let your guard down. We need all our senses on high alert. There is a storm coming. It has inched over our horizon. The time to prepare is growing slim. When it comes upon us, I fear it will change everything.” Her last words fade into a smoky whisper, like frost on a windowpane, blurring the view.
I try to breathe some hope into the narrative. “We’ll survive.”
Why does she look away?
Her grasp shifts toward her dagger’s hilt. “Not every storm is about survival, Titus. Some storms are a lesson in endurance, as I fear this one may be. Come along.” Selene strides past us.
I reach out and grab her hand. Searing heat floods me. Her eyes widen, then narrow.
She feels it, too.
Flames erupt. The fragrance of magic pollutes the air. My fire magic springs free, covering her hand in flames. Selene’s inhale is so alarmed, it stabs my gut.
She tugs her hand back, trying to break my hold.
Tristen rushes forward.
“It’s okay!” I insist. “It just wants to feel you.” I can’t hide the grin on my lips as my flames hug her hand.
Selene tries to pull her hand free again. This time, I let her, but my magic stays cocooned in the palm of her hands just as dust clings to cracks. It doesn’t want to be swept out; it wants to remain tucked away in this embrace.
Happiness engulfs me, ripples down my spine as land quakes to move. Whatever these feelings are, they have migrated, inching us closer. In doing so, they’re causing harm to everyone.
Selene’s panic vanishes once she realizes my flames mean no harm. The fire transfixes her eyes. For one moment, that gets lost between her inhale and exhale, she smiles, a smirk so stunning that my knees tremble.
“You can control the temperature,” she states in awe.
She’s impressed. Why does her approval feel so damn gratifying?
I nod. “It comes in handy if I need to conceal myself in flames.”
“That’s enough, Titus.” Tristen smacks my forearm.
I don’t want to let go. But I do. My flames leap from her hand and land in mine. I force them into hiding again.
Selene examines her palm, rotating it, as if she seeks the maker’s mark on a valuable plate.
I wish I had marked her.
Tristen’s eyes burn into me hotter than any flame my fire could produce.
I know. That was odd. My fire has never investigated others as it did Selene.
I clear my throat and shove my hands behind my back. “The training field is filled with soldiers who report everything back to the king. How can I train there?”
“You think Galen would allow me to train near his men?” she scoffs.
“Of course not, because that would show them how big a threat I am. I’m not the demure queen they believe me to be.
You can drape me in silk to hide my scars.
You can slide rings on my fingers to obscure the calluses from holding a weapon, but every mask can be removed. ”
I’d never define you as demure, more like a lethal attraction.
Selene continues, “Galen made me private training fields to the east of Daria Hills.”
“Daria Hills?” My breath hitches. “That’s outside the castle walls.”
“I am well aware of the location.” She pulls at her belt strap, tucking it into place. “We use the king’s passage to leave the castle walls.” She opens the door and enters the hallway.
“A queen wielding a blade shouldn’t remain concealed,” I blurt out as I cross through the doorway.
She turns, eyes scanning me from boot to chin. “Why is that, Titus?” A step closer has my nostrils flaring. Her scent isn’t sweet, but rather spicy, like a chili just ripped off the vine. I know it’s going to burn, but my magic is fire, so I’m not scared.
“I would respect a queen with a sword.”
She tilts her head, eyes roaming over my wide shoulders, down to my leather chest plate. It’s not the one I wear into battle. This one is softer, lighter, and more casual. She shocks me when she reaches up and presses her palm to my chest.
Tristen’s jaw grinds, then he scans the hallway. We’re alone. He glares at me and shakes his head. It’s not out of vexation, but sympathy. My situation just reached treacherous depths.
“Galen doesn’t want my respect, Titus.” She glides her palm to my heart.
Thump! Oh no, we’re slipping into overdrive. My fangs press into my bottom lip, ready to sink into her.
“He wants my submission.” Oomph! She pushes me against the wall before proceeding down the hallway.
Tristen enters my sight, his eyes taking on an uncharacteristic seriousness.
I drop my chin. I know.
His chest expands. I don’t think you do!
I shrug. I agree. I’m royally fucked.