Chapter 32
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
Standing in the messy living room of a house one street down from the square, I watch through the window as Alistair sneaks through the crowd on the other side and makes his way towards a wagon filled with hay.
Lavendera has snapped out of her crazy state and is now making her way towards the street where Draven and I are hiding.
The soldiers from the Silver Clan trail her from a distance.
Draven is standing behind me, watching our targets through the window as well.
His chest is so close to my back that I swear I can feel the tension crackling like lightning in the air between us.
He leans forward a little and tilts his head in order to keep Alistair in view when the fire wielder slips in behind a group before returning to the street in a place between Lavendera and her five guards.
When Draven twists his body like that, it makes his breath caress the side of my neck.
Every time it happens, my spine tingles and my skin prickles.
I squeeze my hand into a fist, trying to block out the sensation.
Having his body this physically close when his heart is so far away is making me want to scream.
Out on the street, Alistair reaches the wagon filled with hay right after Lavendera has passed it. He pauses. With his face hidden underneath a hood, he watches Lavendera and counts down the distance. Once she has reached the spot we planned for, Alistair throws a fireball at the pile of hay.
“Death to the Icehearts!” he screams, and then bolts down the street.
The hay catches fire with a whoosh, sending a huge column of flames surging up into the air.
Behind the wagon, the soldiers lurch into motion.
Rushing forward, they dart around the burning wagon to locate the person responsible and protect Lavendera.
But Alistair has already slipped inside a house across the street.
He will jump out the window on the other side and then run back out through North Gate and out to the thorn forest where the others are waiting.
On the street, people scream as the massive pillar of flames stretches towards the blue summer sky.
I let out a huff of amusement. “Alistair still hasn’t learned the definition of a small fire, I see.”
A laugh rips from Draven’s chest.
And there is a violent tug on the mate bond.
I whip around to stare at him in stunned surprise. He snaps his mouth shut and casts a panicked look down at his own chest. Conflicting emotions battle in his eyes like a churning storm.
“You felt that,” I say. It’s not a question. “That’s—”
The door is kicked open.
I suck in a sharp breath between my teeth as I’m yanked back and whirled around. My heart skips a beat as I find myself pressed against Draven’s chest with his arm wrapped protectively around my back right before a sharp thud rings out above me. I snap my gaze up.
A sword has slammed into Draven’s shoulder, his armor stopping the blow.
Time seems to slow to a crawl as I stare at the sharp blade that now rests on Draven’s shoulder, wielded by the soldier behind his back who had aimed the sword at my neck.
Draven’s arm is still wrapped around my waist as he holds me tightly while shielding me with his own body.
My heart beats hard against my ribs as I stare up into Draven’s face.
Fear and desperation flit across his features for a second as he stares back at me with wide eyes.
Then the soldier yanks his blade up to strike again.
A blast of wind slams into the soldier. He flies backwards and crashes into the wall behind him so hard that the table beside him rattles on the uneven floorboards while another gust of wind slams the door shut.
Draven shoves me out of his arms and shoots me a disgusted look. “Told you that you would screw it up.”
Fury roars through me, so intense that my vision flashes red for a second.
Fury at the world. Fury at the whole universe.
At the cruel gods and goddesses who let me have a small taste of happiness and love before ripping it all away and turning it into a constant mental torture that is worse than anything I’ve ever experienced.
Shoving past Draven, I stalk up to the Silver Clan soldier and slam my boot into his jaw before he has a chance to regain his wits and struggle to his feet. His head snaps to the side from the hard kick. I call up my magic and slam a bone white wildfire of fear straight into his chest.
Pleasure immediately floods my body.
Closing my eyes for a moment, I drag in a small shuddering breath of relief as that sparkling warmth drowns out the agony in my heart.
I increase the fear in the soldier’s chest and relish in the feeling of pleasure that continues surging through my body. Beneath me on the floor, the soldier trembles and whimpers in fear.
A vicious smile curves my lips as I stare down at him cowering at my feet. This is where he belongs. This is where they all belong.
“Please, stop,” he gasps out, staring up at me with terrified eyes. “I’ll do whatever you want.”
I shove a massive burst of power down the magic connection, blowing his fear into an inferno.
Another broken whimper rips from his lips, and he cowers down further.
“Please, I’m begging you,” he blurts out, his voice shaking and his entire body trembling before my boots.
It gives me a sick sense of satisfaction to know that this man would never have begged and whimpered like this of his own free will.
Nothing would make an elite soldier of his caliber break down like this.
Nothing natural. But what is natural, and what is free will, when I can literally change the way he feels?
A desperate whine slips from his lips.
I pour more magic into him, increasing his fear until I can feel that his mind is about to break.
And then I push some more.
I can see the moment his mind breaks from fear. It’s in his eyes. Like a light suddenly going out, leaving only an empty shell. An empty, obedient shell.
After lowering his fear back down to make sure that he can still function enough to carry out my orders, I reluctantly cut off the flow of my magic.
That warm sparkling sense of pleasure immediately vanishes, and the cold black waves of pain and the searing flames of fury rush back into my soul. The contrast is so sharp that I forget what we’re doing for a second.
Then the plan flows back into my mind.
Alistair sets the fire and runs off. The soldiers chase him and search the houses. We ambush one of the soldiers when he steps inside. I break him with my magic.
My mind churns to catch up while also screaming at me to create another emotion so that I can feel that warm pleasure again.
What was the next part of the plan again?
Get Lavendera where we want her.
Right.
“You’re going to go out there and tell Lavendera that she needs to hide inside the thorn forest until you find the person responsible for the fire,” I order the soldier who is now sitting limply on the floor before me.
“Tell her to follow the old road and wait for you just inside the tree line. And act normal. Then you come back here. Understood?”
He just stares up at me as if I’m the Queen of Hell herself who has come to claim his soul.
I kick him in the thigh to snap him out of it. “Understood?”
“Y-yes,” he stammers.
“Good.” I jerk my chin. “Get to it.”
Boots scuff against the floor as he scrambles up from the ground. He casts another terrified look at me, followed by one at Draven, and then hurries out the door. Draven and I walk up to the edges of the window so that we can peer out without being seen from the outside.
Out on the street, one of the other soldiers from the Silver Clan darts out of the building that Alistair escaped through earlier.
But he has apparently not figured out that our little pyromaniac jumped out of a window at the back, because he just runs to the next building and kicks that door down before darting inside to search for a fae man who is long gone by now.
Lavendera is standing a little farther up the street, frozen in the place she was in when Alistair set the fire.
Her pink and purple eyes are surprisingly clear and focused as she stares at the door that Alistair ran in through.
If she saw that that was where he went, she hasn’t shared it with her guards.
The soldier that I broke runs up to Lavendera.
Since people are still screaming and running around a short distance away while trying to put out the fire in the wagon, I can’t hear what the guard says.
But he points in the direction of North Gate and then makes a motion for her to hurry.
She frowns at him but then starts in that direction.
My heart leaps into my throat when she takes off at a run instead of walking.
The others can technically handle the next part on their own. But I want to be there. I want to be the one who kills her. But to do that, we need to somehow get there before her.
Silver armor appears in front of me as the soldier runs back in through the door. His eyes, still a strange mix of terror and emptiness, are wide when he skids into the room.
I slam another wildfire of fear into his chest.
Pleasure washes over me again.
Closing my eyes, I draw in a deep breath as it drowns out all the hurt and pain and rage and that awful, awful regret that is poisoning me from the inside.
It’s cut off abruptly as the soldier’s heart gives out.
Grinding my teeth in annoyance, I open my eyes and glare at him as his body topples to the floor in a heap of limbs. His face is white with fear and his glassy eyes stare unseeing up at me, terrified even in death.
I feel nothing but satisfaction.
“You killed him?” Draven says.
“I couldn’t risk him telling the others,” I snap back, feeling suddenly both guilty and defensive.
And I also needed to feel that burst of pleasure again, my treacherous mind adds silently in my head.