Chapter 46
There’s a window in Nephele’s bedchamber, covered by a solid shutter to keep out the cold. I open it, make certain no one is below, and toss out the bloody water from the makeshift scrying dish my sister gave me.
I’ve watched the waters for the Prince of the East and Colden most of the day.
The prince is shrouded in shadow, almost like he’s hiding from me, and the king is in a dirty cell somewhere, the location impossible for me to recognize.
Though I sense his frustration and anger, he isn’t in pain or misery.
That’s the best information I can provide Nephele and Alexus for now.
I gaze over the castle’s darkening yet busy courtyard.
More people live in this village than I ever imagined—several hundred—something I questioned Nephele about earlier when she brought me a bowl of stew and bread from the kitchen.
Not all are Witch Walkers. Many came from the Icelands far north of here, seeking the protection of the king and the company of a bustling village.
Tonight, they’re readying for the departure of their Witch Collector and his retinue that will hopefully rescue their king.
At noon, Alexus spoke to the villagers about Neri, how to watch for his wolves and sense his chilly presence.
No one can know what the northern god is up to or what he’ll do now that he’s free of Alexus’s prison.
We just have to hope he doesn’t cause problems, and that he leaves the people of Winterhold in peace.
But with Colden gone and Alexus away, I can’t help but wonder if Neri will try to rule—even without the shell of his human form.
He said the only crown in the Northlands belongs to him, and now I suppose he has the chance to claim it.
My eyes catch on Alexus as he leaves what remains of the stables. After speaking to the people about Neri, Alexus and Rhonin rode north to visit the families of those he’d asked to make the Summerland journey, and now, when night settles over the land, they’ve finally returned.
I’ve thought of him since morning, my mind at war about what to do.
His cloak and hair billow in the snowy wind, his every stride sure and strong but heavy with the invisible burden I know he carries.
He glances at my window, and though I think better of it, I don’t move away.
My anger has been tempered. I don’t want to argue.
But I also don’t want to hurt anymore.
With a nod in my direction, he disappears into the main hall.
Nephele and I decided that we will be in the band of Witch Walkers, along with any others who leave Winterhold come morning.
A decision I made on my own, however, was to protect my heart by stifling this growing presence between Alexus and me that thrives like its own entity.
I’ll keep the rune for now, at least until I know more about what it entails, or the bond becomes troublesome to endure, but I cannot put my heart in such precarious hands as those of Alexus Thibault.
Like he said in the cave, what lives between us only exists because we survived so much together.
I just need to tell him how I feel.
I’m waiting by his door when he turns down the hall.
I’m dressed for bed, my sleeping gown covered by a blue velvet robe.
He’s carrying his traveling cloak, a striking figure in a black tunic and dark leather trousers.
When he lifts his eyes, the sight of me halts his steps, but after a moment, he continues, if a little more hesitantly.
He pauses at the entrance to his chamber, stripping a pair of gloves from his hands. Without a word, he opens his door, swinging it wide, and gestures for me to enter.
I step inside, sweeping a glance over the room as his scent envelops me. The maidservants have stoked the fire for the night, and nests of candles—placed atop elegant silver stands—burn in each corner.
I rehearsed my words for hours, yet when I face Alexus, I don’t know what to say. He tosses his cloak onto a chair and steps toward me, until he’s suddenly inches away.
I breathe him in, and all the air in my lungs evaporates. Being near him like this is all it takes to send a rush of knowing through me.
I’ve lied to myself all day.
“I’m sorry,” he says. “I know you’ve endured enough since meeting me. I didn’t mean to bring you more suffering, but I had to tell you the truth about me and Colden.”
I shake my head and stare at my fidgeting fingers. “I know,” is all I say.
“And I wasn’t trying to push you away this morning in the library,” he adds. “I only wanted you to know that I don’t expect you to go any further than this.”
“I know that, too.”
He takes my hand, and after a weighted moment, presses a kiss to my palm. With a question in his eyes, he stares at me, his mouth lingering and so warm as he slowly presses kisses down my wrist.
My body comes alive when he touches me, but when his lips are on my skin, I feel as though the universe moves through me. It’s divine. Better than calling down the moon.
But I can’t bear it.
I jerk away, my heart pounding out a frantic rhythm. I bite my lip and lie for reasons I cannot completely discern, even as tears well in my eyes.
“I do not want this,” I sign. I want him, but I don’t want to risk my heart more pain and loss. “Wherever we go from here, it must be as friends and fellow fighters. Nothing more.”
He stands before me frozen, but his eyes glisten, making my heart hurt.
“Neither of us asked for this,” he says, his stare intent.
“Neither of us expected to find ourselves fighting desire at every turn. Yet I’ve battled my want of you since that night in your village.
” He leans closer, so close I smell the lavender soap on his skin.
He touches his mouth to my ear, his voice a rugged whisper.
“You can call me friend a thousand times, Raina, but I know you feel this.”
This. This heat. This yearning. This longing.
Destroying me from the inside.
He pulls away and grazes the backs of his fingers along my cheek, drifts the ghost of a touch down my neck and across my shoulder. An involuntary shiver chases through my bones, and my nipples tighten.
“Tell me again that I am no more than a friend.” He trails his touch down the front of my robe, stopping over my restless heart. “Tell me that I am just the Witch Collector, and I’ll walk you back to your room and never mention what I feel for you ever again.”
My hands are fisted at my sides. I unfurl my fingers, intent on forming more lies and denials, but I can do nothing less than touch him.
I clutch the front of his tunic, running a thumb over that iron key. I breathe hard, uncertain what comes next.
Alexus settles his hands at my waist and draws me against him, making me dizzy with want. “What are you scared of?” His voice is so soft. “What is it you fear when it comes to me?”
I look up at him, and a thousand answers chase through my mind. The truth boils down to one thing, a truth I can’t hold inside anymore.
“That I will never let myself know what it is to be yours. That I will walk away and deny myself the chance to explore my feelings for you. All because of fear. And because I am terrified of losing anyone else.”
Alexus gives me the sweetest look, his expression tender. He slips his hand beneath my hair, across the back of my neck, tilting my head up, his thumb caressing my cheek. “That’s what you want?” He leans in, his breath warm against my mouth. “To know what it is to be mine?”
I close my eyes and clench my teeth, nodding, finding steadiness in his hold and against the solidity of his body as he flutters kisses across my jaw.
He takes my chin in his hand. “Will you let me show you?”
Any restraint I thought I possessed when it comes to this man vanishes. In answer, I nod and press my body against his.
“Protection?” he whispers. “I’ve taken nothing. I assumed there wouldn’t be reason.”
I nod once more. I drink a tonic of birthbane every full moon, as do many villagers of a certain age, people of all stripes. The last thing I need in my life right now is a child.
With a look of relief, Alexus brings his mouth down and touches his lips to mine.
At first, his kiss is gentle and attentive, but soon it becomes wholly penetrating, his tongue stroking mine with fluid grace and startling precision.
He takes his time, mapping out every curve like he’s committing this moment—and me—to memory.
There’s a pause, a split second when I feel him smile, and I sense overwhelming joy radiating from his being. I smile, too, and shift my hips against him as I run my hands up his back, craving his naked skin on mine.
He groans and deepens the kiss, sliding his hands into my hair, holding me in place. His grip is gentle but firm as he claims me with his lips, his skillful tongue granting assurance of what’s to come.
Gods, I feel so much in this kiss. It’s exhilarating and makes my knees weak, but at the same time, there’s so much affection and care in this man, in the way he kisses and touches, so much promise that the woman who will leave this room will not be the same woman who entered.
His need for me presses firm against my stomach, thick and rigid. Unable to wait another second, I trace my hands beneath his tunic and break our kiss long enough to pull the garment and key over his head, discarding them on the rugs.
The starburst that marred his chest days ago has already faded. Even if it remained, his scarred, ancient body would still be the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen—so sculpted and powerful. I couldn’t look away if the sun fell from the sky.
I dance my fingertips along every bronzed curve, cut, and rune, exploring not only with my hands but also with my mouth.
His nipples harden when I flick my tongue over them, but when I kiss the skin beneath the new rune on his chest, he moans and rakes his fingers roughly through my hair, holding on as though he might float away if I stop.