Chapter 17
Soren stood outside the tent, her heart pounding in her chest. Her fingertips tingled and her head felt light. Next to her, Vane stood, his features impassive.
“This isn’t right,” she whispered. “You know it isn’t.”
He glanced sidelong at her. “This is survival.”
“For me, yes.”
“That’s all that matters.”
She didn’t push as to why he seemed to care about her survival. In the end, he was right. For her, choosing to do this or not was ultimately life or death. If she defied orders, she was sure she would be silenced, no matter how useful she was.
Taking a deep breath, she stepped inside the tent. As promised, three people, one woman and two men, sat, chained to wooden chairs. Two of them appeared to have been beaten brutally, and the other couldn’t have been older than Soren herself.
Vane stared at them for a moment before declaring, “All three of you confessed to aiding Misean forces, as well as conspiring to kill several high-ranking Arenean generals. Your violence will be met with such. If you have any last words, say them now.”
They all remained silent, their eyes on Soren as she took a step forward.
The youngest had blue Misean eyes, though they were slanted up at the edges, signaling one of their parents was from Aren.
Soren could only imagine life as a bastard during the war, forced to betray one of their families at every turn.
She knew all three rebels could see her slave anklet and her features clear as day. She only hoped they didn’t hate her for not being as brave as them.
“Now, Soren,” Vane said, standing just behind her. “Live.”
Kill to live. Kill or die.
She shut her eyes and reached for that well of darkness inside her, a tear tracking down her cheek.
But as soon as she let some of it leak out, she reared back.
It was so cold, a kind of deep night that never ended.
That was what she was dooming these people to.
She tried to take it back and shove it into the prison again, but it was too late.
The darkness was already overwhelming her, taking hold and clawing its way out of the cells she kept it in.
She opened her eyes, and as she did, an unnatural darkness settled over the tent, blowing out the gas lamps. Shadows swirled around the chained ankles of the rebels, and the youngest drew in a sharp breath. One of the others gasped, “Gods help us.”
“I’m sorry,” Soren whispered, though she felt nothing.
The temperature plummeted abruptly, and one of the rebels took a quivering breath before all three of them went limp in their chairs, eyes wide in empty terror as they died.
The darkness retreated, sated for now as it slunk back inside her. She faced Vane, her mind blank and her hands numb and tingling.
“Now what?” she said, her voice flat.
He looked vaguely pained, and she did not know why. She had done what he asked.
“You’re going to hate me for this before you thank me,” he muttered before stepping forward and crushing her body to his chest.
She didn’t realize how cold she was until she was pressed up against the blazing heat of his skin.
It started to melt the numbness overtaking her body and mind.
Her psyche had frozen emotion out of necessity, but now that the task was done and heat was flooding her once more, she let out a choked gasp as it all came crashing back down and she realized what she had done.
“There it is,” he muttered.
“I killed them,” she rasped. “Just like that.”
Vane nodded, his chin brushing the top of her head. “Just like that.”
“I hate you,” she choked out, still held in his tight embrace.
“You should get some rest,” he said, lips moving against the top of her head.
He didn’t let go of her immediately, but when he did, he moved slowly.
For a fraction of a second, their faces were close enough to touch, and Vane’s hands tightened on her back.
Time grew sluggish, the moments sticky between them as she stared into his eyes.
But then, he looked away, giving her just enough clarity to step back.
“I suppose this doesn’t earn me a break in the morning?” she said wearily, knowing the answer already.
He flexed his left hand, running his gloved thumb over his pointer finger. The movement almost seemed like a reflex.
“No. We need to make sure you’re ready. There isn’t time for breaks.”
She sighed. “Right. My ‘survival.’” She brushed past him and added, “Next time, just say the truth. I need to live for the king, and I’m only allowed to do so because of my usefulness.”
“We all have a place in this war, Soren,” was the last thing he said before she left.
Princess Cion was thankfully asleep again by the time Soren returned to the tent. As she laid down, exhaustion overcame her before she could even think to worry about the coming dreams.
“This was a bad idea.”
A few paces away, the man stood. She had returned to the field in a blind panic nearly an hour ago now, blood in her eyes and sobs catching in her throat. He had been there, just as he had promised, catching her and murmuring soft comforts.
He hadn’t demanded retribution as soon as he had seen the blood, even if she was entirely sure he had wanted to.
It was what any god would have done—become hell-bent on revenge—but he had been more concerned about her.
Bloodlust came second. The way that made her feel was dangerous, as dangerous as the fact that he had lived in her head all the days she was gone.
“We both know how dangerous this is,” he finally said, pulling back just slightly to look at her. “Are you going to keep returning and regretting it, or will you just walk away again?”
She sighed sharply and stepped back. “You make me sound cold.”
“You are anything but, goddess.”
“You wouldn’t think so if you knew who I really was.”
His worn leather boots crunched on the ground as he moved closer to her. She looked around at the field, the crop surviving surprisingly well in Aren’s climate. She wondered if the man knew it was because of him. Magic had a presence living things tended to flock to.
“I know enough,” he said firmly, lifting her chin to look up at him.
A single, silver-hued tear ran down her cheek before he brushed it away. She felt shaky, whispering her confession. “I wouldn’t be able to forgive myself if something happened to you.”
His small smile was infuriating. “So you did miss me.”
“Is that all you’re worried about?”
He dipped his head, and the next words were spoken brushed against her lips.
“No. What I worry about each day is whether I’ll find this field empty, or if I’ll find you here, bleeding from the inside out because of whatever that bastard is doing to you.
I know, little goddess. There is much you don’t tell me, but you don’t need to keep trying to protect me. ”
She didn’t know what to say. Half of her wanted to argue with him, to call him an idiot for not fearing what could happen to him if they were caught.
But another part of her, a softer part, won out.
She curled her fingers in the coarse fabric of his shirt and pulled him even closer.
His eyes flared, and he threaded his hand in the hair at the nape of her neck, tilting her head back, taking some control.
She liked that, especially from him, because she knew he would never use that control to hurt her, only to please her.
“I want to show you something,” he murmured just before he kissed her.
She sighed softly, melting against his touch as he dipped his head and sucked on the sensitive skin just above her collarbone.
“Fine,” she said, her eyes fluttering shut.
He pulled away, and a whimper slipped past her lips before she could stop it.
He chuckled darkly but took her hand, leading her through the field.
She tried to focus on her surroundings, but her eyes kept wandering to the strong muscles in his back and ass as he moved, to what his body might look like without the clothes, moving above hers—
“Patience, goddess,” he said, looking back at her with a smirk. “You’re burning up.”
She realized they were by a small creek bed now. Here, without the tall grasses of the crop obscuring her vision, she could more clearly see the towering peaks of the Ellys Mountains caging the valley.
“Swim?”
She swallowed. “Fine.”
He grinned again, and she cursed the fluttering in her chest.
“Don’t act as if you weren’t already trying to get me to take my clothes off.”
She swatted at him as he pulled his shirt off, displaying a torso taut with muscles that spoke of all the years of his work. Her focus shifted as she looked at him, and he took advantage, picking her up easily and pulling her into the icy mountain water.
She gasped at the cold but relaxed in his arms wrapping around her from behind. He nibbled on her earlobe, and she arched into him. Her breasts heaved, nipples hard and visible in the thin, wet fabric of her dress. He slid his hand up her torso, eliciting a moan from her as he cupped one.
“Tell me your name,” he rasped.
She moaned again as he played with her nipple but managed a broken, “No.”
“You’ll need mine, though, little goddess. Fair is only fair.”
“Why?”
Slowly, he turned her so she was facing him. She shuddered as he leaned in close and whispered, “Because I want it on your lips when you come for me. And when you make me come, I need to be able to say yours.”
She should turn away now, protect him and herself, but she was so lost in him, she feared it was far too late. She opened her mouth to finally tell him—
Soren opened her eyes. Her core was pounding, and her breasts felt heavy. The dream had felt so real. Seeing the man again only reminded her how much he resembled Vane.
Vane, who she hated for making her kill. Vane, who had held her afterwards, as if he knew she would need it. Vane, who she was suddenly imagining with his fingers between her legs.