Chapter 36
Chapter
Thirty-Six
I stared at Zander through the haze of burning heat, my body feeling like it was wrapped in fire. My skin tingled, restless and desperate for something to ease the pressure. The memory of his mouth on mine lingered, cooling the ache for a fleeting second before it flared even stronger.
“I’m sorry,” I rasped. My voice felt thin and broken. “I didn’t mean to pull you into this.”
Zander’s brow furrowed, and for a moment, I thought he might brush it off. But instead, his face hardened. “Was it the Order?”
“Yes,” I admitted. “But not one of my father’s men.” I swallowed against the lump in my throat. “It was The Order of the Blade.”
He exhaled heavily and ran a hand through his hair. “That’s worse.”
“Yeah,” I said, feeling the fire lick at my ribs.
His gaze flicked back to me, sweeping over my face like he was weighing something in his mind. “Prospects aren’t allowed… relations,” he said carefully. “Not until they reach cadet status.”
I barked a laugh that was equal parts bitter and pained. “Like they could lock me out. Kaelith won’t allow that.” I tried to smirk, but it faltered. “I die when she says so.”
His lips twitched despite the tension in his face. “She said that?”
“Yeah.”
“That’s actually a good sign.”
“A good sign?” I arched a brow, pressing a shaky hand to my burning chest. “I’m practically boiling from the inside out, and you’re telling me this is good ?”
“It means she’s claimed you,” he said simply. “That means your bond is getting stronger.” His gaze softened. “It means she believes in you.”
I let my head fall back against the pillow. “That’s comforting,” I muttered, the fire crawling higher in my veins.
“What do we do?” I asked after a moment. My voice barely held together, as if speaking aloud would splinter me apart.
“I have an idea,” Zander said.
I tilted my head and gave him a dry smile. “At this point, I’ll take anything that doesn’t involve dying.”
His expression sobered, and he moved closer, his fingers brushing the hair away from my sweat-dampened face. His hand lingered for just a second longer than necessary, and I could feel the restraint coiling in his muscles—the same tension burning beneath my own skin.
“I’ll take care of you,” he promised quietly.
His fingers trailed down my jaw, and I swore the fire flickered—not lessened, but somehow more focused.
“Whatever your idea is…” I whispered. “I trust you.”
Zander crossed the room without a word, opening a door that led to the next chamber. I heard the distant rush of water, and for a moment, I thought I’d imagined it. But a few moments later, he returned, his face set in grim determination.
“If the dose is small enough,” he said carefully, “we may be able to purge it with heat.” His fingers flexed at his sides like he was forcing himself to stay still. “I’m running us a bath.”
His words hit me like a blow, and I blinked at him. Us? Before I could find a response, he reached for my hand, and I let him guide me through the doorway.
The room was warm, the air thick with steam that clung to my skin. A massive copper tub dominated the space—easily large enough to fit both of us with room to spare. The darkened water inside shimmered slightly, and the scent of herbs and something richer—familiar—filled my senses.
“Vanilla,” I murmured, inhaling the comforting scent. It brought back faint memories of my childhood—of warm kitchens and stolen moments of peace. For a second, the ache in my body eased.
Zander’s eyes flickered toward me, and the black that rimmed his irises deepened. His fingers twitched at his side, and then they moved to the buckles of my flight armor.
My pulse skittered in my chest. “I can do it,” I said quickly, but my hands shook so badly I couldn’t grasp the straps.
“You’re burning up,” he murmured. “Let me help.” His voice was low, quiet. Careful.
I forced myself to nod, too weak to argue.
His fingers worked the buckles with practiced ease, loosening the leather plates and pulling them free.
The first piece of my armor hit the floor with a dull thud .
His fingertips grazed my arms, leaving a trail of fire in their wake—but not from the poison.
This was something else. Something worse.
When he reached the clasp at my throat, he hesitated. I lifted my gaze and met his eyes. Dark Fire flickered in their depths, barely restrained. His knuckles brushed my collarbone, and I sucked in a breath, my skin drawn tight from heat and tension.
“I won’t hurt you,” he said quietly. His voice was rough, like he was struggling to stay in control.
“I believe you,” I whispered back.
His fingers undid the final clasp, and my undershirt stuck to my skin as the rest of my leather armor fell away. His gaze lingered on me—not with lust, but something softer, something deeper—and for a heartbeat, I forgot about the fire in my blood.
Zander reached for the hem of my shirt, and I lifted my arms without hesitation. The fabric slid up my torso, brushing my overheated skin, and when it finally came free over my head, I was standing bare before him.
His gaze roamed over me like he was trying to memorize every inch of me. I should have felt embarrassed, vulnerable even, but I didn’t. Instead, heat pooled low in my stomach, and my skin prickled in anticipation.
His breathing hitched, and his gaze faltered for a moment. But then I saw it—the unmistakable bulge pressing against his silk pants. A wicked smile tugged at my lips. I reached out, sliding my hand along the sharp angle of his cheekbone, feeling the roughness of stubble beneath my fingertips.
His eyes fluttered closed, and he swore under his breath. “Get in the tub, Ashlyn,” he said, his voice low and strained. “Or I will have you in my bed for the remainder of the night.”
I should’ve moved—turned away, broken the tension. But I didn’t. Instead, I let my fingers drift lower, down the hard line of his jaw, to his throat where his pulse hammered beneath my touch.
I wanted him. Not just because of the poison coursing through my veins—though it amplified every feeling, twisting hunger and desire into something unbearable—but because he was Zander. The man who had defied my expectations of what a royal should be.
“I might be okay with that,” I murmured, my voice softer than I intended.
His eyes snapped open, dark and intense, and the heat that burned in their depths stole my breath. He stepped closer—so close his chest brushed against mine—and for a moment I thought he was going to close the distance. To end this torment.
But he didn’t.
“Get in the tub,” he said again, the words hardly more than a growl. “Now.”
His hand rose to my hip, fingers digging in just enough to remind me who was in control. He was fighting for his restraint—barely hanging on—and that realization made the fire in my blood burn even hotter.
I turned slowly and climbed into the bath.
The heated water swallowed me, soothing my skin like a balm.
But the ache inside me only grew stronger.
I glanced back at Zander as he unfastened the ties on his silk pants.
His gaze never left mine as the fabric pooled around his ankles and he stepped into the water.
Gods help me , I thought as he settled behind me, his chest pressing against my back, his legs bracketing mine.
His hand slid around my waist, anchoring me against him. I closed my eyes and let myself sink into his warmth, knowing this fire wasn’t going to burn out anytime soon.
Zander’s fingers traced slow, deliberate circles against my waist, but it wasn’t enough. The fire beneath my skin pulsed stronger, the ache deepening until I couldn’t think past it.
“Why were you in the hallway?” he asked quietly, his voice low in my ear.
I sucked in a sharp breath. “I was... I planned to break into the dungeon.”
His fingers stilled. “What?”
“I wanted to see the fae prisoner.”
He turned me slightly, just enough that I could see the concern darkening his lavender eyes. “Why?”
“Because…” I licked my lips, fighting to stay focused, but my body pressed closer to his, seeking relief I knew I wouldn’t get until the Lucorin burned out of my system—or until something far more dangerous happened. “Because I think... I think he’s my father.”
His hand slid to my arm, fingers tightening just enough to anchor me. “Are you sure it’s a man?”
“Cordelle thought so,” I managed. “But...it could be a woman.”
His expression darkened. “Why do you think this man—or woman—is your parent?”
“Kaelith told me I’m a true halfling. She wouldn’t have been able to bond with me otherwise.”
“That explains why you’re so powerful,” he muttered, almost to himself. “And from a lost bloodline…” He shook his head slightly.
“I suppose that makes sense, but...why are you so powerful?” I moved the water with my arm, then tilted my head back to look at him. “Cordelle said Dark Fire is a lost magic, too.”
Zander’s lips pressed into a grim line. “Some magics are recessive,” he said slowly. “They can pop back up later in a bloodline. That’s the case with Dark Fire. There have been other instances in the last six hundred years where powerful magics have reappeared.”
I tried to focus on his words, but my mind drifted. My skin felt too tight, like I was trapped in a body that couldn’t contain the heat building inside me.
“Why did the assassin dose me with Lucorin?” I asked, my voice cracking with frustration. “If it’s meant for dragons...why?”
Zander’s hand moved to the small of my back, steadying me. “Because,” he said, his voice low and rough, “the side effect is you’ll answer any question posed to you. It acts as a truth serum.”
My stomach twisted, and I swallowed hard. “It’s not working. The bath, I mean.” I whispered, the fire beneath my skin searing hotter, demanding more than just answers. “I need you.”
I turned in his arms before I could second-guess myself, my body molding to his. My hand slid up his chest, feeling the thrum of his heartbeat beneath my palm. The tension in his muscles made him feel like solid stone, and his breathing hitched as I shifted closer.
“Ashe...” His voice was strangled, but his hand didn’t move from my waist.
“Please,” I whispered, my fingers tracing the line of his jaw. “I need this.”
His eyes—darkened with flecks of black swirling in their lavender depths—locked on mine, and for a heartbeat, I thought he’d say no. That he’d pull away and leave me tangled in this impossible fire.
But then his hand slid up my spine, fingers tangling in my hair, and his mouth claimed mine.
The heat of his kiss ignited something even stronger—something deeper—and I pressed closer, desperate to lose myself in the storm we’d unleashed.
Zander’s lips pressed deftly against mine, fierce and unrelenting, like he was unraveling every ounce of control he’d spent the night clinging to.
His fingers drawing me closer, and I gave in, pressing against him as the fire inside me roared louder.
His mouth was warm and demanding, and I kissed him back with everything I had.
But then he stopped.
“Not here, Ashe,” he rasped, voice ragged and low. He pressed his forehead to mine, breath hot against my skin. “Not like this.”
Before I could argue, he stood, the water cascading down his sculpted chest in rivulets, tracing the ridges of muscle like the gods had chiseled him from stone.
His fight-scarred skin gleamed, droplets clinging to him as if even the water didn’t want to leave.
His arousal was impossible to miss, and heat coiled low in my stomach as my eyes drifted down the solid lines of his body.
He stepped out of the tub and reached for me, his hand warm and sure as he helped me to my feet. I wobbled slightly, still lightheaded from the poison—or maybe from him—but Zander steadied me, his fingers tightening around mine.
Grabbing a towel, he wrapped it around my body with a gentleness that unraveled me further. He dragged the soft fabric slowly down my arms, across my stomach, and down my legs, fingers lingering far longer than they needed to. I trembled beneath his touch, aching for more.
Then he stepped back, drying himself off with quick, efficient movements. How I envied that towel.
Before I could voice my frustration, he scooped me into his arms, his bare chest pressing against mine as he carried me from the washroom. His muscles flexed beneath my fingers, and the scent of him—Dark Fire and rain—wrapped around me like a comfort I hadn’t realized I needed.
He lay me down on the bed, his body settling beside mine. For a heartbeat, I thought he might pull away, but instead, his hand cupped my face, his thumb brushing my cheek.
“I hope you forgive me,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. “But I can’t stay away from you. Not tonight.”
I didn’t give him a chance to say anything more. I reached for him, pulling his lips to mine, and this time, when his mouth claimed mine, I knew—this time, I was getting what I wanted. Him. For this night only.