Chapter 20
Kael
The wolf scratched the bars of its cage again, the storm aching to destroy everything around me.
Seeing the desolation in Vall?ne drew that primal rage out of me.
Those creatures we fought, born of a theory that had begun forming in my head, were the perfect targets for my wrath.
And when one seized Evie in its disgusting, oozing vines, I lost it. And I struck her again.
I could have killed her, just as I could have killed her twelve days ago, but something inexplicable happened.
I felt it ringing through the air, an echo of my power coursing through her and bouncing back to me.
It was like staring into a mirror that stared back, showing me every part of myself, naked and raw.
Most seers, augurs, clairvoyants, and seerlings siphoned echoes or premonitions and shaped them into visions. They did not conjure the arcane; they interpreted it. They read the residue of what had been, of what might be, and of what pulsed through others.
But Evie was different. She took the storm, mirrored it, and threw it back. Not in defiance, but in resonance.
I’d begun to suspect Evie might not be a seerling at all. Perhaps she was something else, something the academy’s archives held no record of. Something new. And she likely had no understanding of what had happened.
When my own lightning struck me, everything went quiet. I wanted more of it. I ached for it. I wanted to see what would happen if I struck her again while her power was loose.
When Naila arrived, relief settled on me like a shroud. At least she was alive. But hearing of Mauriel’s death chipped away at my heart, or at least what was left of it.
I’d been fourteen when Henrich had taken me to the academy.
Before that, the tribe had been my home.
I had left out of necessity because the storm inside me endangered them all.
Yet even now, years later, part of me still belonged to them, to that raw, unvarnished life where the air smelled of pine smoke and salt, and laughter carried farther than fear.
Each time I returned to Vall?ne, the ache grew sharper.
The wood elves were rough-edged but loyal, their hands scarred from hunts, their eyes steady in a way the courtiers’ never were.
I envied that steadiness. They looked at me with the kind of love that could withstand time.
To them, I was still Forlorenkel, the wolf-child, the lightning bearer, the one who had to leave for the good of the tribe.
And I wanted to believe that meant something.
But standing amid their ruin now, I felt only the emptiness of failure.
I’d still visited the tribe when they’d come to Vall?ne every spring, but the plague had broken that rhythm. The walls of the cities had swallowed us all. When Befest opened its gates again, I’d returned, and I would never forget the last words Mauriel had ever said to me.
Your eyes don’t shine anymore.
I hadn’t thought they ever did, unless the storm was about to break.
Stepping into Stenhalla again felt almost like coming home.
The scent of wet wood, the distant rush of the falls, the murmur of familiar voices—it was enough to stir something buried deep.
I saw my cousins again, some I hadn’t seen in a decade.
Naila wasted no time putting me to work—my sister, ever the commander—and I helped carry beams to fortify the walls around the caves.
My muscles remembered the labor, the rhythm of sweat and breath, and for a fleeting moment I felt human again, as though the Court and all its golden chains were far behind me.
All the while, Evie was getting my life story told by Arvyn.
The man loved to talk, and perhaps that was for the best. If she was to know me, let her hear it from someone who saw me as I had been, before the plague, before the Court, before the storm, when I’d still been just a boy chasing storms through the mountains, believing they would never catch me.
During dinner, Naila spoke of the attack.
The wood elves never ascended beyond the tree line, yet they knew it had come from the summit, just as Evie suspected.
They’d spotted black veins crawling down the cliffs of the valley.
One morning, a herd of deer had stumbled into the village, panicked, diseased, carrying the darkness with them.
They collapsed along Vall?ne’s paths, and the blight took root there, spreading through the night until the whole village had been consumed.
I caught the worry in Evie’s eyes. She must have wondered if the same would have happened to the farming village had more of the goats been infected. If it still might, should we wait too long.
When dinner was done, Naila led her to the baths deep within the cave. She would tend Evie’s burns again with helmossa, she said. I went instead to the lake. I plunged into its dark, cold water, hoping to drown the rage before it drowned me.
I wondered if Naila had noticed the lightning scar on Evie’s skin. I wondered if that was why she looked at me, her eyes shadowed with something close to concern.
The chamber they’d prepared for us lay in a secluded alcove near the baths, the air still and faintly perfumed by moss and steam.
Slabs of wood lined the ground, covered in pelts and pillows to form a bed.
A heap of furs lay on a rug beside it, and that was where I would sleep. Evie could take the bed.
She entered through a curtain of linen, her hair loose, wearing a pale shift borrowed from Naila. Candlelight gathered around her, painting her skin in shades of honeyed moonlight. She smelled faintly of roses and lilacs. The sight of her stole the breath from me.
The wound upon her forehead had closed, the burn at her neck faded thanks to my sister’s care. All that remained was my mark, pale roots peeking above the fabric.
She looked as if she wished to ask if I was alright, yet didn’t dare. I gave her a curt nod. Concern softened into confusion when she saw the bed. She turned toward me, a faint furrow between her brows.
“You take the bed,” I said, pointing toward the rug. “I’ll sleep on the floor.”
The pain in my chest, the one that had flared since I’d seen Vall?ne’s ruin, begged for stillness. For peace. I rolled my shoulders and cracked my neck, the ache of restraint heavy in my bones, and stripped off my shirt, the fabric whispering over my skin.
Evie was looking at me. I felt her gaze like a touch.
“Why don’t you come to bed with me?” she asked in a small voice.
I froze. Looked over my shoulder. She had slipped beneath the pelts and sat against the wall of stone, leaving room beside her.
My cock throbbed in my breeches, hardening at the idea of crawling in bed next to her.
She had no idea how much I wanted this.
But I had to cage the wolf. Because if I touched her, I could not be sure she’d survive it this time.
In the woods, I’d been consumed with the thought of showing her just how deeply she unmade me, her scent, her voice, her very presence pulling me apart.
But now, beneath that thin shift, I saw the edge of her scar again, a reminder of what I’d done.
She had repelled my storm once, but could she again?
She didn’t even know how she had done it.
I didn’t want to learn that she couldn’t.
It was too dangerous. I was too dangerous.
“Are you all right?” Her soft, crystalline voice reached me. “If you want to talk about it, I’m here.”
I said nothing. I had no wish to spill my thoughts before Evangelina Corvo. Not tonight. Not until our blight problem was resolved.
“Is something wrong?” she asked quietly.
I knew I couldn’t leave her in silence. I drew a long breath and turned toward the bed.
She has no idea how right she is.
Her eyes followed me as I sat beside her, her lips parting as though the air between us had thinned. Her face flushed, and her chest heaved, nipples hardening through the thin fabric, betraying the rising desire she felt for me.
And seeing her like that, I couldn’t stop myself from reaching out to her. My hand brushed her cheek in a slow caress, my thumb tracing her lower lip.
She stared at me, that small light of fear flickering in her gaze. Was she afraid of what I might do next?
That spark—fear or something near it—stirred the old instinct within me. The pain in my chest finally eased, replaced by something just as dangerous.
My thumb slipped into her mouth, and she closed her lips around it, suckling gently. My breath came quicker, lightning threading through my thoughts. Her teeth grazed underneath my thumb as I took it out of her mouth and control slipped. I seized her jaw, firm and sudden.
“Every time I’m near you, it takes all my strength not to touch you,” I said, my voice roughened by restraint.
I still held her when she shifted on the bed and came to her knees. She moved closer, hesitant, almost shy, and I let her go.
“Why wouldn’t you want to touch me?” she breathed. Her hand lifted to my jaw, her eyes searching mine before she kissed me.
I didn’t return it at first. I knew that if I did, there would be no turning back. Her lips were soft and uncertain against mine.
She broke the kiss, our foreheads meeting. Her hand trailed over my chest, drawing bumps on my skin.
“I will hurt you,” I growled, though the sound carried more plea than warning.
She traced a path down my chest, her fingers light as breath, every touch leaving fire in its wake. Her hand drifted down my abdomen and lower, a touch too deliberate to be innocent. I knew I should stop her before she crossed a line she might regret, but I couldn’t. Her touch held me captive.
Then she leaned closer, lips brushing my throat, her breath warm against my skin. “What if I like it?”
Her voice, sly and heated, snapped me back to myself like the crack of a whip.
I rose to my feet with a hiss before the lightning grew too loud in my veins.
But she caught at my breeches, tugging once, and the motion drew me close. Her face lifted toward me, toward the bulge that threatened to tear through my breeches.
What kind of game was she playing?
She undid the knots that held my breeches together and slid them down my thighs. She paused, taking in my size through my undergarments.
Then, as if she’d gathered the courage to do so, she slid them down in turn, freeing my cock. Her doe eyes lifted to meet mine, as though she waited for a response from me.
I knew what she was about to do, and I wouldn’t stop it. Because I didn’t want to hold back anymore.
“What are you waiting for?” The words emerged low and rough. I desperately wanted her to take my length into her mouth.
“Your permission, Magister…” she whispered, a ghost of a smile touching her lips.
I exhaled sharply, a sound more like surrender than command. “Granted.”
Her fingers tight around my base, she slid them up and down slowly, not breaking eye contact. She brought my tip so close to her lips, I ached for her mouth to wrap around me fully.
I stood still, fingers aching to catch her by the neck and push my cock through those beautiful lips. My hardness wanted nothing more than to feel her warmth.
But she wasn’t taking it, only stroking it gently, like she was teasing me, taunting me.
“It’s so big…” she murmured.
My head fell back with a grunt.
When I wasn’t looking, she pressed those lips to my tip, opened up, and slid my cock inside her mouth.
Time stopped, and for a moment, the world felt as though it had finally fallen into place.
Our eyes met again, and she held my gaze with those deep, dark brown eyes.
She was halfway when I hit the back of her throat. She moaned, mouth full, sound muffled by my flesh.
She still held my cock in one hand, her movements mirroring the rhythm of her mouth.
She glided up and down with a cadence that made coherent thought impossible, her tongue occasionally stroking my tip.
Pleasure built with each pass, her incredible skill evident as her mouth, warm and perfect, enveloped me completely.
Blood in my veins pulsed harder, pleasure rising like a tide, release already knocking.
My fingers laced through her hair, and I tugged hard, opening her wider. I thrust into her mouth. She wanted this, so I’d give it to her, harder than she’d wished for.
It felt as though this was all she wanted.
To bridge the distance between us, to give herself over completely.
Her muffled moans vibrated against my skin, showing me just how much she enjoyed pleasing me.
She closed her eyes, a tear rolling down her cheek, and something inside me broke loose.
The storm rose again, fierce and relentless.
I pushed further, rough gags breaking from her throat. She kept still, letting go, opening her throat nicely to me.
“That’s my good girl…” The words escaped, rough as a growl.
I wanted nothing but to give her my load, to release at the farthest point I could reach. I wouldn’t fight it anymore.
My little doe deserved it.