Chapter 22
Elorie
Wilder watches me from across the training ring, but I don’t meet his gaze. I can’t even look him in the eyes after what King Malachi said to me.
His mate.
I should have known.
“Is it too much to ask for you to wear proper clothes?” I try to sound dismissive but fail.
“Worried I’m going to distract you?” Wilder leans against the wall, picking at one of his nails with a dagger.
At least his ego is enough of a deterrent that I don’t dare drop my gaze to his chest.
“Don’t flatter yourself.” I storm over to the weapons and grab my favorite daggers.
“You’re fiery this morning.” Greer’s eyebrow hitches. “I feel like I missed something last night after I left.”
Her gaze darts between me and Wilder, and he chuckles.
I cut him a glare before turning my back on him. “You didn’t miss anything worth talking about.”
Greer doesn’t look like she believes me, and I don’t blame her.
I don’t even believe myself, and I’m not willing to face that in the light of the morning.
After Wilder walked me to my room last night, he surprised me by actually being a gentleman and walking away.
It was one more thing that jumbled me up about him.
But now, knowing what I know about his mate, I can’t think straight.
Especially after that stolen kiss from the king.
“Where did you end up last night? I thought you and Callum were coming back,” I ask Greer, trying to think of anything other than the king’s kiss or Wilder’s deceptions.
“We planned to, but the Guard never rests. Even when we have days off.” Greer chooses a pair of daggers while I get into position. “Besides, Callum and I ran into Hazel, and he said he needed to have words with her.”
“What did he say?” My chest tightens at the thought of Callum confronting Hazel about what happened.
She shrugs. “Didn’t stick around to find out. I know better than to linger when Hazel is around. I went with the rest of the Guard to deal with the two males who were fighting, and he stayed back to talk to her.”
“Do you think he’s okay?”
When I close my eyes, I still feel her fingers. Those empty voids that slither like snakes and still haven’t fully left me alone.
“Why wouldn’t he be?” Greer angles her head. “Callum can handle himself around Hazel. She won’t hurt him.”
Greer’s confidence does little to settle my nerves, but I have to believe that if something happened to Callum, Greer would have heard about it through the Guard, and she doesn’t sound the least bit worried.
“You leave in a few days for the blessing in Tempest. So we need to push a little harder these next couple of sessions.” Greer scans me up and down. “The blessing isn’t as brutal as the Rite itself, but you’re in no shape for either if we can’t at least get a flicker of your magic to appear.”
“Gods help us all then,” Wilder murmurs, being as helpful as ever from the edge of the training ring.
My fingers tighten on the daggers, but I refuse to look at him. “Please tell me you have a better plan for waking my magic than walking around doing whatever it is he thinks he’s doing.”
I point a dagger at Wilder, continuing to keep my attention on Greer. But from the corner of my eye, I don’t miss Wilder lifting off the wall and taking a step closer.
“Just providing you inspiration, Starfire.”
“You couldn’t inspire the sun to shine.” I roll my eyes. “Go away.”
“Make me.”
My jaw tightens, and Greer’s eyes flicker with amusement.
She takes a step back, sheathing her daggers. “I’ve got a better idea. Why don’t the two of you work out your differences today?”
“You want me to fight him?” I’ve avoided it since the first day I trained.
We’ve stood side by side, throwing daggers, but the thought of going toe to toe with Wilder Riven is as dangerous as battling a krolumess in the Calliasyne Sea. Or so the stories make it sound. Not that I think Wilder will kill me. But being that close to him is dangerous in other ways.
“Scared?” He taunts me through the threads in our mind, and I finally turn to look at him.
Wilder steps forward, not bothering to unsheathe a weapon. He gets so close I can smell him. Sweet like the rain kissing a field of wildflowers after a storm. My gaze drops to the ground, and I hold my breath as he walks slow circles around me.
“Scared of you? No.” I meet his gaze when he pauses in front of me. “More like worried you’ll inspire me to shove a dagger through your heart, ending both our lives.”
“I’d like to see you try.” He smirks.
I throw myself at him with all my body weight, not holding back. My dagger manages to nick his throat before he pulls out his own blade and parries my attack, stopping me from cutting open his neck.
Wilder grins, and my stomach flutters as I shove myself off him. His golden eyes watch me circle.
One hand spins a dagger while he pulls a second one from his belt. A bead of sweat trickles down the side of his face to his neck, sliding down his chest. It steals my attention for a fraction of a second, and he moves, lunging for me.
I spin, blocking his strike, but he knocks me out at the knees, sending me down with him landing on top of me. One of his legs is pressed between mine, and it sets every part of me on fire.
“Thought I wasn’t a distraction.” Wilder smirks.
I pull my lower lip between my teeth, and his stare drifts to my mouth. Under the weight of his stare, I find myself licking my lips. Pulling his attention so he doesn’t notice my movement until my knee shoots upward between his legs, knocking the air from his lungs.
Wilder presses up to his elbows, and I roll out from under him.
“Guess you’re not the only one who knows how to play dirty,” I tease.
His fingers dig into the dirt as he cocks his head to the side and looks up at me. Greer laughs from where she’s sitting atop the stone wall, watching us battle it out.
“Need a hand?” I ask so sweetly, it’s not sweet at all.
Wilder pops to standing, recovering much faster than a human would from that particular strike. The shade of his golden eyes has darkened when they set on me.
“You’re playing a dangerous game.” He starts to circle, but I don’t let him see my back as I continue to turn with him.
“Am I? I hadn’t noticed.” I move first, but he blocks before I drive my dagger up through his gut.
My smirk is met with one of his own, neither playful.
Wilder leans in so his mouth is near my ear as he whispers, “Are you feeling brave now that the king wants to bend you over his bed?”
Rage courses through me with the heat of a thousand suns. I push him back a step and aim for his throat, missing.
“Are you jealous knowing I’d rather it be him than you?” The lie is rancid on my tongue.
I hate that it’s a lie at all. I have no right to wish anything from a male who has a mate. My enemy, at that. But the thought of the king is somehow worse. It’s downright wrong. Every fiber in my body rejects it.
Wilder moves, and we begin a dance of blades and steps. I’m no longer thinking; I’m simply moving like an instrument in battle. His dagger slices through my leathers, and mine rips through his skin. But neither of us flinches, neither stops.
My mouth tastes like blood; my heart is beating so hard. My chest heaves. But I dip and duck and weave. I don’t let anything distract me. Not the call of birds at a distance or Wilder’s burning eyes. I move like I was taught.
Like I did on Alyssium when the rebels came, and it was my life or theirs.
Until Wilder moves with brute force and I slip away, spinning, nearly managing to plant my dagger in his arm before he catches my wrist with his hand and forces it overhead, pinning me to a tree while I hold a dagger at his throat.
“Just when I thought this training was getting pointless.” Wilder stands over me, blocking out the sun.
The breeze.
All I see is him.
And even if Fae hearts beat at a fraction of the speed of that of a human, I swear his races.
“If training me is so pointless, why do you bother showing up at all?”
“One of us has to make sure you’re ready.”
“Wouldn’t you rather I fail?”
His hum vibrates the air between us. The leather straps hugging my ribs are suddenly a little tighter. I should not think about the bead of sweat dripping down the side of his face, or how full his lips are when he’s standing this close to me.
He was crafted from the seventh stratum of Sarrow simply to ruin my life, and yet, I’m the one who resurrected him.
“I’d rather many things over you failing, Elorie, including returning to the prison.” Something in his tone is fierce and unwavering.
“Even if I choose him?” I swallow hard, and his gaze moves to my throat. “Assuming my magic wakes.”
“There’s nothing to assume.” His eyes meet mine, and I want to ask him what he’s talking about, but I can’t breathe with him this close.
Blood charges through my veins, and the prickle of his magic surrounds me. Flecks of lightning that stick to my skin and set my bones on fire.
Heat courses through my veins. My vision tunnels.
The daggers in my hands are no longer a separate entity; they are a part of me.
Like the seeds of a dandelion floating in the breeze.
The whisper on the wind. As if my aura stretches out and I’m one with all that’s around.
The stone beneath my feet and the bark rubbing my skin.
Darkness and light.
Night and day.
Opposites and somehow the same.
Wilder steps closer, and my skin burns. Iron steals my breath, and my tongue tingles.
He reaches up, brushing a thumb over my cheek, just below my freckles. “There you are, Starfire. Now try not to miss next time.”
Wilder shoves off me, finally releasing my wrist. It’s not a cold day, but the moment he steps back, the breeze makes me shiver. His aura collapses back inward, and I realize it had been extended, casting a bubble around us. One that leaves me feeling empty when it’s gone.
He looks me up and down before turning away, finally unblocking my view of Greer. But she’s not looking me in the eyes. Her gaze is on my hands, and her brows are lifted.
I follow her stare to my daggers, and that’s when I realize they’re glowing.
Not glowing.
They’re nearly iridescent. Like they were crafted from the heart of a star, decorated in constellations.
My heart thrums, and I feel it—my magic.