Chapter 2
M y teeth sink into the balled-up wad of linen, a low groan slipping free from behind them. Sin snarls at Aeverie in my periphery, and I swat at his arm, the movement half limp and pathetic. His hand on my thigh grips tighter, the pressure offering a sliver of comfort as the high priestess mends the last of my wounds with Source. This one, a deep gash in my side.
The priestess had cleaned the tear while I was unconscious, likely inflicted from a rock during my fall into the ravine, and a thick slab of honey helped to stem the bleeding and ward off infection. But now, as she sutures the flesh closed with elven magic, I almost wish I was back in the ravine again, watching as the inferno snarled down at me with hungry, bated breath, because that fate would have surely hurt less.
Another singe to my ruined flesh, and this time I’m certain she must be pressing a branding iron there. I hiss through my teeth, and Sin echoes me with a growl, his green, feline eyes trained on her. “ Careful, priestess . ”
Aeverie ignores him and continues to weave her magic throughout my wound. My leg jerks as something sharp pricks my thigh, and Sin’s hand pulls away immediately. It’s then I notice the claws that have sprung from his last knuckle joints, his upper body almost vibrating as his jaw clenches and unclenches. All tell-tale signs he’s fighting the need to shift, and to shred Aeverie to pieces when he does.
I wonder if the now empty void where Adelphia’s magic once flowed has made it harder for Sin to rein in his transcendent instincts—the goddess of the arcane’s magic no longer there to dampen his bestial urges.
Sin lowers to his knees next to the bed, the same one I woke up in several days prior—or has it been almost a week now? He insisted I come back to the temple after we escorted Eldridge to our borrowed house yesterday, but I refused.
I needed a day. One day away from the temple, away from the elves who willingly offered Sin and me up as a sacrifice, not knowing if I’d be able to withstand the surge of Adelphia’s power as I siphoned it from Sin. It was the Black Art’s blood that fed the land, and it was my fury that gave way to a nova explosion.
He leans forward, his long hair splaying across my collarbones as he tucks his nose into the side of my neck and presses one hand to the back of my head. “I’m sorry,” he murmurs, his claws now retracted.
It isn’t the first time he’s partially shifted in anger. Our dining table now displays five gouges when I made the mistake of standing up too fast at breakfast and had winced as pain lanced through my side. My sheets need to be stitched also—Sin having accidentally shredded a portion of them when Theon mentioned Alistair by name this morning. I can’t fully blame Alistair for abandoning me to the ravine when the fire began closing in on us, but Sin sure as hell can, and does.
I turn my head towards him, our noses nuzzling, and he sucks in a deep breath, the hand on my head now twisting into my hair. A few beats pass, the healing chambers quiet minus our breathing, my own much steadier now that I’m tucked against Sin.
My love. My Mate. My Bonded-to-be.
Some far away part of my brain registers the sudden cooling sensation along my side, and the gentle brushing of Aeverie’s knuckles against the skin there. A moment later, she announces the work is complete.
Sin lifts his head from mine, and I sit upright in the bed, watching as Aeverie begins closing the small containers of dried herbs on the table next to her. “Are you not going to inspect my handiwork?” she asks, noting my attention on her.
At that, I drop my eyes and examine the wound on my side first. Well, where there was a wound. The skin there is now colored to a rosy hue, but it is smooth, the priestess having weaved the tendons back together with mastery. Holding my arms out in front of me, I admire them next, and then my legs, pinkish-red blotches the only physical evidence of the lesions at all.
“Are you expecting my gratitude for mending the injuries you caused?” I ask.
I think her gaze flits to me, but her milky sclerae makes it difficult to tell, the whites of her eyes suffocating the tiny, almost nonexistent slits of her pupils. “These injuries came from earth and debris, not from the ritual. Not even I could recover Adelphia’s magic from your bloodstream… your recovery from that was between you and your goddess, blood mage.”
I scoff. “Thank you for clarifying, Madam Priestess.” I don’t edit the hostility from my tone.
“A boat is departing this morning,” she continues, ignoring my remark. “It is cloaked, and with our connection to Source restored, the glamour is entirely indistinguishable. They will survey the coast, see if any of Torin’s men are still on the isle, or if they’ve all retreated to the waterways after the havoc they created. We must know how many sharks are in the water before we dive in.”
“Tell them to moor up near Suncove and observe. The Langstons employ soldiers there to oversee the trade channels. It may provide insight on whether my fath—on whether the kingdom —was aware of Langston’s involvement,” Sin demands.
My hands ball into fists at the mention of Dusaro. He may not have led an attack on the Vale himself, one that resulted in numerous elven and transcendent deaths, but that doesn’t mean he wasn’t involved. His signature also wasn’t on the letter we received by pigeon, signed by Torin and penned on Langston letterhead, but Dusaro still may have been privy to the arrangements being made. Ones that nearly resulted in the death of his only son.
“Very well,” Aeverie agrees. “Time is a critical factor, so swiftness will be required. The crew is readying now. I will relay the message and then they will be off. Rest while you both can. We’re going to need your strength.”
Sin rises from his knees then leans forward, pressing both hands flat on the bed as he levels his stare with Aeverie’s. He cants his head to the side, and I note the slight quiver of his upper lip before he reins in his almost-snarl. “I cannot be at full strength when you stole what is mine, Priestess. ” He spits the title.
Aeverie begins slipping the small containers of herbs into the pockets of her robes. “Deity power does not belong to mortal men, wanderer, ” she hisses back. “Gods and goddesses have tried to lay claim to various magics for as long as history has been written, but you cannot possess what belongs to the earth, and it is foolish to believe otherwise.”
“She. Chose. Me,” Sin bites out, his upper arms trembling on the bed. I reach out and wrap my hand around the swell of his bicep, but it does little to soften his stance.
“It was never Adelphia’s to give,” she snaps. “You may have wielded her power for a moment, not even a blink in my lifetime, but it never once belonged to you. The goddess' power is secured in the dagger and heavily enchanted to ward off the miserable wraith should she try to take it back. So long as a fraction of her magic remains tethered to the earth, she will be unable to signal for another Rite.
“She cannot fracture her essence again to bestow more power to another chosen. As long as a part of her remains locked in that dagger, she is helpless to meddle in mortal affairs. The way it should have always been.”
Sin removes his hands from the bed and stands tall again, his fingers curled inward and his brown knuckles blanching. “You continued to say how we didn’t stand a chance against the kingdom without restoring the elven magic. That we all needed to be at our peak potential, and yet, you stole the magic that gave us the highest advantage. You spit from both sides of your mouth, Priestess, and both of them are ladled with shit.”
Aeverie stuffs the final jar of herbs into her pocket and cinches the satin ties of her robes. “Such arrogance,” she muddies the word, “to think that magic that comes from the collective is our greatest asset. Nothing compares to Sou?—”
“Stop with the Source bullshit, Aeverie!” Sin exclaims. “We held up our end of the deal—we restored the channel, all while you waited with a dagger clutched in your fist to shove into our backs the second they were turned.”
Aeverie rounds the foot of the bed, stopping only a few feet away from Sin. A dangerous distance. For all of us. “You are young, Singard Kilbreth, but you will soon learn that sacrifice is necessary in times of war.”
Fury eclipses his face, his cheeks a deeper red than the sacred blood moon itself. In a voice much too calm for his expression, Sin murmurs, “I was prepared to give my life for this, but the second you bartered with Wren’s was the same one you gained a target on your back.” Sin takes a step closer to the priestess, and her shoulders rise and pull back slightly, but she otherwise remains a statue, staring up at the Black Art with her smoke-in-glass eyes. “We may be forced to ally now, but when this war is over, it will be you that learns what I deem necessary in times of war, Priestess.”
“Sin,” I bite out, moving to his side and watching Aeverie for any twinge of movement. At this point, I’d rather rub iron dust into my eye sockets than place any trust in the high priestess. I loop my arm around his and tug, but Sin doesn’t budge. “This is not a conversation to have while we are all emotionally charged. Let us separate. Send the ship,” I say, speaking directly to Aeverie, though her attention remains fixed on Sin. “We’ll convene when we have more information. Anything before that is just asking for more death, and if you haven’t taken notice, that’s not something either of our sides can afford right now.”
“Choose your words carefully, Singard Kilbreth. ” His name slithers through her lips like a viper. I expect her to continue, but she moves towards the door instead, her shoulder brushing Sin as she strides past, her lack of breadth an unspoken warning.
“Aeverie,” he growls, his defined jaw angled over his shoulder.
Her light footsteps pause, but she doesn’t turn.
“Choose the magics that lock your quarters carefully,” he echoes, his warning unmistakable.
I work to slow my breathing, but my heart pounds thunderously behind my ribs. Still, I breathe through my nose, listening for any sudden movement from the priestess, my magic heating discreetly in my palms. A moment later, she continues through the threshold, the door clicking shut behind her.
I’m in his face a second later. “What in the gods’ names are you thinking?”
He looks at me incredulously. “She stuck a knife into our backs, and it’ll be over my dead body before she does it again.”
“Yes—exactly that! I’ve witnessed her nearly choke-out five soldiers in this vale without even lifting a finger. You cannot taunt her like that. It’s foolish, and it will result in your death if you continue, and I refuse to allow that.”
Sin turns his back to me, pacing to the opposite side of the room. He places both hands on the wall and leans forward, his head dangling between his raised shoulders as he stares at the ground. I hesitate, warring with the need to comfort him and the desire to smack some sense into his head.
The need to comfort him wins out, and I press a hand to his back when I approach. He stiffens under my touch, which makes me straighten instinctively. “Talk to me,” I whisper.
A deep sigh, and his tongue darts out to drag across his bottom lip. “You think me so incapable now that I’m without the blessing?” he asks quietly.
“Of course I don’t think that. All I am saying is that the elves are powerful. Aeverie is powerful, and we cannot underestimate her.”
“Aeverie is a fucking traitor,” he snarls, rolling his head to look at me.
“It doesn’t matter because the elves follow her, Singard. We need her on our side, which means you need to control your anger if we’re to?—”
I startle as his hand slams into the wall. “YOU ALMOST DIED, WREN! You do know that, yes?”
I swallow thickly and nod. “Yes,” I answer, my voice coming out meeker than I wish.
“I was prepared to give my life if that’s what it took to keep you safe,” he starts, “and I will always stand between you and death. But when I woke and found that you had not… When I saw you like that, so injured, so… so frail , I vowed to give up my life in every realm, if only for you to wake up in this one. That image of you will haunt me forever, and if I somehow live more lives after this one, it will follow me into them too.”
I dip under his arm and flatten my back to the wall, my chest now brushing his. “Look at me,” I demand. I grab his jaw when he doesn’t, forcing him to see me. “I am right here,” I whisper. “I’m right here, Sin, and I’m not going anywhere. I’m sorry you had to experience that. I’m so sorry, because I know how you felt, because it was anguish when you collapsed in front of me. The thought of a life without you in it was inconceivable to me. It wasn’t my heart I needed to keep beating—it was yours.”
He swallows, his throat bobbing as he leans forward and presses his forehead to mine. His hands drop to my waist, and they wind around me, crushing my body against him as our chests swell with trembled breath. After a few moments, I lean onto my toes and kiss him.
His mouth tastes like salt and wine, the flavor clinging to his lips from his chalice that’s not been empty once in the past few nights. I don’t blame him. It’s been a hellish few days. Fuck , it’s been a hellish life. But one I would endure over and over if it always ended with me cradled in Sin’s arms, his tongue parting my lips as he kisses his apology.
One that isn’t owed. He has every right to despise Aeverie. We all do. Not just for her deceit, but for what she stole from the Black Art.
My hands go to his chest, gripping the fabric of his shirt and tugging him closer still. His kiss turns hungry. Desperate. And then his mouth is on my neck, his nose skimming the line of my jaw as he gently kisses his way down my column. His lips pause just above my clavicle, and I don’t suppress the moan as his tongue darts out and licks the sensitive flesh there.
He goes rigid at the sound, followed by a deep growl that rattles in his chest, and I wonder if the spot he licked is where he intends to place his Mark. When he will claim me as his own, his Bonded.
His Mate.
I shudder as his teeth graze that spot, gentle enough to not break skin but sharp enough to elicit a twinge of pain. Pain that goes straight to my now aching center, and I sag forward, my legs threatening to give out from the dizziness still swimming through me.
Sin leans down, then pops back up with one hand under my knees and the other supporting my back. My laugh is breathless when I demand to know what he’s doing.
“You're still recovering, and you’ll recover faster and more efficiently if you rest.”
“But I don’t want to rest.” I frown, hating that I must sound juvenile, but Sin’s knowing grin waves away my insecurity.
He carries me through the threshold and toward the stairs leading out of the open-air temple. “If you don’t rest, you’ll never recover enough to be able to withstand our Bonding.” His eyes drop to mine from under his long lashes, assessing my reaction.
I study him, noting the slight rise to his already pronounced cheekbones. “Why do you look so smug when you say that?” I ask, threading exaggerated wariness into the question.
His lips part for him to drag his tongue across his teeth, and it takes all of my self-control to not hop out of his arms and take him on the floor of this sacred temple. Sin is the only god I care to worship these days. “You’ve spent half your life living with transcendents—surely you know the… ins and outs of the Hunt.”
I narrow my eyes at his choice of words, and at the devastating look on his face when he says them. “You’d be incorrect. None of my family are Bonded, except Morrinne, but she doesn’t speak of Garrick much. Perhaps they will be soon though, given the miserable lot of us seem to be pairing up into human-transcendent relationships,” I say, thinking of Cosmina’s recent affections towards Blythe, and Zorina’s developing relationship with Cornelius, “but I’ve never witnessed one.”
We reach the stairs, and he jogs down them with unmatched grace, being careful not to bounce me as if I am made of glass and will shatter at one rough step. “I’ve heard some prefer an audience to their Hunts, preferring to consummate their vows before their pack,” he says, and I can’t quite read his tone.
Warmth simmers in my cheeks like the breaking of a new dawn. “Well, I have no intention of watching my sisters fornicate…” I trail off, thinking about the days that Eldridge and Theon might partake in their own Hunts, and turn my head to hide the blush creeping up my neck at the thought of ever possibly bearing witness to that.
Wait.
I snap my head back as a new thought flits through my mind. “Are you suggesting that we would have an audience? If we Bond?”
Sin stops mid stride, actually stops , as he turns his fevered stare towards me. A muscle feathers along his jaw, and I watch in wonder as his pupils change shape, narrowing to vertical slits. Something sharp pricks at the backs of my thighs, and I’m certain his claws have extended.
“No one will ever feast their eyes upon you if they wish to live another day. You are mine, little witch, today and every day, and when we Bond, you will wear my Mark so that everyone knows it was my beast that conquered you.”
My stomach flutters at his words, sending a painful throb to my chest and another between my thighs. I lick my lips, watching as he works to rein in his instincts. He’s suppressed this side of himself for so long, it’s no wonder he is struggling to not slip into his other form at every tug of his temper. With the goddess’ magic no longer present to dampen his innate transcendence, Sin is like a shifter fresh out of maturity: moody, irritable, and dangerous. And something about it, about him in this state, so raw and ragged and primal, has been more of an aphrodisiac for me than blood ever has.
“Well goddess help anyone that tries,” I tease, approving of his possessiveness. At one time, I chastised him for his jealousy, his need to claim and take and own, but that was before I chose to pledge my loyalty to him. It needed to be my choice, and I felt it the moment I said the words aloud to him. The fragmented pieces of my heart snapping into place, the torn fibers mending together when I confessed my love to Sin.
His bestial gaze is downright predatory when he parts his lips, the tips of his jagged canines displaying his inner war. “There is no goddess that could salvage what I will do to anyone that touches you, looks at you , or even thinks about you in that way. You have long been my obsession, little witch, but I can hardly endure another day without you as my wife.”