Chapter 34
Iarch an eyebrow. “Is this the seduction you bragged about?”
His smile disarms me. For a moment, it’s so heartbreakingly beautiful it catches me off guard, and I forget what he is. “It’s really on your mind, isn’t it, love? But no, I need to heal you so no one realizes you crossed Cador before he went missing.”
I peel the soft black shirt over my head, revealing the ripped cartoon T-shirt underneath. Mist curls from the warm stream, twisting over the stone floor and thickening the air.
He frowns at the gaping wound in my shoulder left earlier by the bullet. “How did that happen?”
“Must have been Cador’s magic.”
“You wretched little liar.” Venom drips from the words. “Let me see your arm first.”
“Why do you have healing magic when your power is fear?” I ask.
“My power grows in the space between life and death.”
I stare back into his gleaming silver eyes, shot through with metallic blue. There’s something mesmerizing in the way he speaks, and it makes my heart race.
If I have to kill him, I’ll need to forget this.
He holds out a hand. “Your arm.”
I offer him my upturned wrist—and the moment I see the angry red gash, I remember its searing pain.
His fingertips hover over my skin, close enough for me to feel their warmth.
“Hold still,” he says quietly.
His hand closes around my wrist, and even from that light contact, I can feel the power radiating from his body.
His fingertips brush over the wound in my arm, and I close my eyes at the sensation. It’s almost ecstatic, like a cool pool of water I want to dive into.
I’m struggling to think of anything except the feel of his hand around my wrist and the lazy caress of his fingers over my arm. With each languid stroke, an ache ignites in my core. As his fingertips trace over my skin, the pain slips away, leaving behind only warmth.
I lick my lips. “What does that mean, between life and death?”
Silver eyes flick up to meet mine, and my heart skips a beat at his beauty.
“They call it amoromancy, as if it’s about love.” He traces his fingers over my skin. “It isn’t. But the world has forgotten the true sublime nature of Fey magic.”
“So, what is the real nature of your magic?”
“Fear is born from a dread of death. People lie to themselves, and my magic strips those lies away.” A wicked smile curls his lips. “They don’t realize how deeply death terrifies them until its blade is at their throat.”
I arch an eyebrow. “The healing magic comes from life, I take it?”
He leans in close, and my gaze dips to his full lips. “And desire. My magic reveals the truth about that as well. That’s how I heal—myself and others.”
A sensual need dances through my core, and I try to block out the way his magic makes my body flush. His mouth curves slightly, as if he notices.
I feel like the air itself has turned sultry.
I force my thoughts to cool down as I try to think clinically. “If the primal powers are gone from the world,” I whisper, “then why do you have one of them?”
“Because I remember what it means to be Fey.”
His voice is little more than a velvety murmur, brushing over my skin like a lover’s caress.
That’s his magic. It means nothing.
“And if you manage to become king, how will you wield such power?”
He cocks his head. “However I see fit, of course.”
“No one keeps a crown without shedding blood.” My breath is rapid. “The victor of the Veiled Court trials will likely slaughter the rest of their rivals before coronation day. Just like Mabon said.”
He doesn’t answer. He’s focusing on my arm again, his dark eyelashes veiling his eyes.
I lean in closer, my face inches from his now. “Have you heard the rumors that Prince Talan is missing?”
Rion’s fingers tighten nearly imperceptibly on my wrist. Slowly, his gaze lifts, unreadable. A sharp silence hangs in the air.
“What rumors?” His voice is low, controlled, but I can hear a note of tension cutting under the surface.
Our faces are nearly close enough to kiss now. “It’s just something I heard. I have no idea where the rumor started.”
His gaze sweeps down again to my arm, and he traces his fingertips over the bullet wound in my shoulder. Euphoria slides through me with each touch.
“Prince Talan didn’t want the throne,” he says quietly. “Gave it to the low-born, poorly educated peasants. Like you, love.”
He moves over the last bit of cut skin on the inside of my elbow, and heat pulses along my arm. Pleasure ripples over my body from every point of contact. When he finally pulls away, my body hums with anticipation.
“Your stomach,” he says simply.
With a deep breath, I tug up the hem of my T-shirt, and the humid air kisses my belly. He moves his right arm to my hip, while the left hand strokes my skin. Oh, gods…
As his seductive magic unfurls over me, I scramble to think about anything but kissing him. I think about the way he said, “I could use you. For now.”
Now my heart is pounding hard, and I try not to notice the way molten heat slides through my body at his touch, or the way he smells of spiced oak. Under my T-shirt, my nipples go hard. He’s dangerous in every possible way.
I’m suddenly intensely aware of his right hand on my waist, his thumb resting in the hollow of my hipbone. A slow, languid stroke of his thumb makes warmth swoop low through my body. My breath is rapid, and my thighs clench.
He knows exactly what he’s doing to me.
The heat in my belly smolders into need.
I look down at my stomach to find there’s just a tiny dot left, and I stand up abruptly, catching my breath.
I gaze down at my perfectly healed skin, stunned by his magic.
“And we’re finished,” I say.
If his healing magic is this powerful, of course his dread magic is, too.
And that’s where this ends, of course. Either I kill him in the end or he’ll take me apart with the same care he just used to put me together—mind first, then my body.
Nothing of the real Syn would remain. Of that I’m certain.
“You’ll need to wash the blood off before you go,” he says. “I’ll give you new clothes.” He crosses to his wardrobe. “It won’t hurt for people to see you leave here dressed in my things.”
I glance at the burbling stream, where mist coils into the air. I can ask him to shut his eyes while I bathe, but that would give him the satisfaction of calling me an uptight mortal again. I’m petty enough to strip in front of a man I hate before I admit he was right.
While he’s opening the door to his wardrobe, I pull off my leather trousers as fast as I can and peel out of my underwear and T-shirt. The humid air in his room kisses my skin, whispering over my bare breasts and nipples.
I slip into the water, and its warmth envelops me, flowing over my naked skin. The rising sunlight dapples the stream with flecks of gold. The ritual of the Mor.
I turn back to look at Rion.
Unexpectedly, I find that he’s still looking in his wardrobe for something fitting.
If he were any other man, I’d interpret this as a gentlemanly act.
Quickly, I rinse myself off—my own blood from my stomach and arms, and Cador’s from my face and hair and beneath my fingernails. By the time I look up again, I see that he’s set out a soft towel and a long shirt for me on the mossy rocks by the stream.
He crosses the room, picking up a book. “Don’t worry, love. I already know all about your mortal inhibitions.”
He drops onto his bed with the book and flips a page.
Frankly, I’m surprised the man reads.
But perhaps we’re both going to surprise each other this morning.
I rise from the spring, steam billowing around me. Water streams down my bare skin in little rivulets, tracing between my breasts and down my belly. Barefoot, I cross the mossy rocks to where he’s sitting and pluck the book from his hands.
“What are you reading?” I ask.
As I said, I am petty and refuse to let him be right.
I turn it to read the spine: a small, leather-bound book of poems by Prince Talan.
My stomach tightens. This can’t be a coincidence.
I don’t see any other books in here. Did he take this from Talan when he abducted him?
I look up from the book to find Rion staring at me, his expression darkening as his gaze sweeps up from my breasts to my face. For a moment, hunger burns in his eyes.
He doesn’t say a word.
Something about that feels like a victory. He’s gone totally still—his control tightly coiled, and his eyes burning with a dark heat.
Then his expression shutters, and the intensity fades from his eyes so quickly, I start to wonder if I imagined it all. He pulls the book from my hands and turns the page.
“See you at the trial,” he murmurs, sounding bored. “Duchess.”
I turn to snatch up a towel and quickly dry off, then pull on one of his expensive shirts. The soft wool caresses my skin. I slip on my shoes. At the door, I turn back to him to find his silver eyes are on me once again.
He doesn’t know it yet, but tomorrow morning, we will be fighting to the death over the grail.