Chapter 7
Chapter Seven
Sylvi
The world was a blur of sound and sensation, a tide that pulled me under and let me resurface in fractured pieces.
My body trembled uncontrollably as a deep, bone-aching chill clung to every cell inside me.
My side burned, the wound searing like a brand, but I barely felt the warmth of my blood anymore, though something strong held me against a wall of solid heat.
Arms. A chest. The steady rhythm of a heartbeat pounded beneath my cheek, grounding me even as my head lolled weakly to the side.
“Jack…”
I barely whispered his name, but I must have said it aloud because his grip on me tightened. His lips brushed against my temple. “We’re almost there, eslkan. Stay with me.”
I tried to focus, tried to keep my eyes open, but my lashes felt heavy, my vision unfocused. The city lights smeared into golden smudges as we rushed past shadowed alleys and empty storefronts. The scent of pine and blood clung to him, thick and cloying, drowning out everything else.
I managed to lift my gaze, and what I saw sent a slow shiver of something deeper than fear crawling down my spine. His face was a mask of hard stone, beautiful yet utterly frightening.
Blood streaked across his skin in rivulets, smeared along his jaw, caked into the silken strands of his silver hair. But it wasn’t just the gore; it was his expression, the still, vacant stare of a male who had decided death was the only answer tonight.
Something still raged inside him, a beast unfed, its hunger coiling in the tense set of his jaw, in the way his fingers flexed slightly around me, as if the danger wasn’t truly over.
I wanted to tell him I was all right, that he didn’t need to be this furious.
But I could almost taste his rage, feel it vibrating in the tautness of his muscles as he carried me, and I knew this wasn’t something I could pull him back from with words alone.
Darkness closed in again, a whisper of memories slipping through my mind. A flash of ice, the wet, disturbing rip of flesh being torn from bodies, the sound of bones splintering.
The distant sound of voices stirred me, but I couldn’t make sense of them. I wasn’t sure when the streets had become marbled corridors, the crisp air turning into the warmth of torchlight and hearths.
“Get the head healer. Now,” Jack snapped.
Heavy boots scuffed against marble as someone rushed away.
I moaned softly as he shifted me in his arms. Jack cursed under his breath, his hold tightening. “Stay with me, Syl. Just a little longer.”
But the world tilted again, slipping into a blur of movement and voices, the warmth of firelight licking at my skin, the scent of pine, and now, leather, wrapping around me.
Jack barked another order for water and fresh linen cloths before the darkness dragged me down completely.
A dull, throbbing ache pulsed from my side, radiating outward like the slow spread of a bruise.
My head pounded in tandem, piercing stabs lancing through my skull.
My mouth felt dry, my limbs heavy, and when I tried to move, a sharp pull at my ribs reminded me of the severity of the beating I’d taken in that alley.
Memories flickered in pieces. The attack. The blood. Jack’s voice. The frigid air cracking around us, as if winter itself had risen in wrath.
The feel of Jack’s strong arms, his iron grip, my body weightless against him, the echo of shouted commands as he carried me through the palace gates. I had slipped into darkness before I could even comprehend what was happening, though I’d managed to hear him call for the palace healer.
Now, blinking against the dim glow of the room, I forced my sluggish mind to focus.
I was cocooned in a massive canopy bed, the velvet drapery tied back at the four posts, its carved wood smooth and polished.
The plush mattress beneath me was softer than anything I’d ever slept on, and the heavy furs draped over me felt thick and deliriously warm.
I inhaled deeply, the crisp scent of pine and leather filling my lungs, mingling with the faintest trace of eldbrann and lingering smoke. And something else…something undeniable, like the electric cold of winter’s first snow.
Goddess above, I knew that scent.
The realization almost jolted me completely upwards, but the pain on my side pulled me back down. I was not only in Jack’s bedroom, but I was wrapped in his blankets, lying in the very bed he slept in—the most intimate, personal space anyone could possess.
Winter’s Grace.
The palace staff would be talking by morning. And Jack’s mother…she would assume I had done exactly what she had sent me to do—become her son’s willing distraction and satisfy his sexual curiosity. All to keep him entertained until his unseelie bride arrived.
I pushed myself up against the pillows, wincing as pain licked through my abdomen. A fresh bandage had been wrapped around my midsection, securing what I could only assume were stitches. Gritting through the pain, I took in the totality of my surroundings.
The chamber was spacious, every inch steeped in quiet luxury.
The coffered ceiling stretched high, dark beams framing intricate carvings of winter creatures frozen in the wood.
The walls were adorned with silver and blue brocade wallpaper, its rich texture illuminated by the flickering embers of the smoldering fire in the hearth.
It was elegant but undeniably masculine. A room not only fit for a prince, but for the king of the Frostbound Court himself.
And the heir to that crown sat beside me, sprawled in a large chair, his long legs stretched before him, arms crossed over his broad chest.
Even in rest, he looked lethal, a coiled leopard lying in wait, a predator not to be disturbed. His silver hair, still damp from a bath, fell in messy strands over his brow.
His white linen shirt, though loose, did little to hide the powerful muscles beneath, the definition of his forearms shifting slightly as his chest rose and fell with each breath.
Gods help me.
When had the wiry boy I had trained with turned into this? A powerful, formidable male, all raw strength and deadly grace.
A lump lodged itself in my throat as I allowed myself this rare moment—the chance to look at him unburdened. His brow wasn’t furrowed in frustration. His lips weren’t drawn into a thin, grim line. His jaw wasn’t clenched, his body not vibrating with restrained anger or exhaustion.
He looked…peaceful, and I hadn’t seen this version of him in too long.
And yet, it seemed like an illusion. Despite his relaxed countenance, I couldn’t wipe the memory of what he had done in the alley, the images surfacing like a ghost—his anger a raging sea of blood and violence, drowning everything in its dark, monstrous depths.
I had seen Jack fight before, but I had never seen him kill like that.
And still, here he was, resting beside me, a contradiction of brutality and tenderness. The same hands that had torn people apart had carried me to his bed.
I shifted slightly, wincing as the tug of new stitches along my side reminded me just how much damage I’d sustained. The movement must have stirred him, because in the next breath, his eyes snapped open, piercing through the dim light. He was on his feet before I could gather my bearings.
“Syl,” he breathed, his voice rough, frayed at the edges. In an instant, he was beside me, kneeling at the edge of the bed. His hands hovered over me, hesitant, as if he feared touching me might break me. “You’re awake.”
I managed a small, exhausted smirk. “Brilliant observation, My Prince.”
He huffed a breath, half amused, half exasperated. “Don’t.” His voice dipped lower, raw and edged with something I couldn’t quite place. “Don’t act like you weren’t just bleeding out in my arms mere hours ago.”
Memories trickled again in fractured pieces, especially the sickening sounds of crunching bone.
The way he had shredded my assailants apart…
the head of that monster falling next to me, his face still frozen in horror…
I shuddered. I hadn’t seen the totality of the carnage he’d left behind, but I’d heard it before falling unconscious.
My chest tightened, and I breathed in shakily. “Thank you.”
Jack’s expression darkened. His jaw flexed, and his hands fisted at his sides. “I should have gotten there sooner.”
My pulse thumped hard at my throat. There was something dangerous in his eyes. Not his usual calculated stillness, or the cunning he wielded like a blade; no, this was something deeper, some slumbering power he was struggling to suppress.
“Jack…” I reached for him instinctively, my fingers brushing over his hand. He flinched at the contact but didn’t pull away. Instead, he exhaled heavily and let me curl my fingers around his. His skin was warm, and the strength in his grasp was gentle, controlled.
“When I saw what they intended to do to you…” His voice grew quiet but brimmed with something primal.
“The way you were bleeding and the way they were tearing at your clothes…” He closed his eyes, forcing down whatever war still raged inside him.
My insides tumbled when he looked at me again.
His gaze was carved from steel, but the fire of his anger still blazed in his eyes.
I wanted to say something to ease the tension, to make him unclench his jaw, to stop him from looking like he wanted to murder them all over again.
I simply squeezed his fingers and said, “You got there, and that’s what matters.
You saved my ass from complete humiliation.
Can you imagine what people would’ve said?
The newly minted captain of the guard, killed by three dimwits in an alley? I’d be the laughingstock of the city.”
He frowned. “I know what you’re doing. It’s not working.”
“Isn’t it, though?” I smirked, then shifted on the mattress, only for an entirely different problem to present itself.
Náldrún curse me.
“What is it?” he asked, noting my discomfort.