Chapter 22
Chapter
Twenty-Two
FINLEY
“This would go a lot easier if I had my crafting supplies,” Brenton said with a grunt.
“This is fine.” I cradled the small rock I’d named Pebblesworth, admiring the crooked eyes I’d drawn on using colored markers I found in my pack, put there by Everly, according to the small note she’d added—which apparently wasn’t as good as the googly eyes Brenton kept in his inner pocket of magic, but it gave Pebblesworth character.
The tide had come in at some point during the night, leaving the sand Brenton and I sat on cool after it’d receded.
A faint salty breeze curled through my hair, carrying with it the cries from several birds overhead.
Morning light stretched across the island, soft enough to make me forget, at least for a moment, why my chest still felt heavy.
Or maybe it was Brenton who soothed the torment.
That male. That perfect, maddeningly wonderful male.
The one who’d given me forty-nine lollipops just to see me smile.
Who let me steal the sheets at night without complaint, although he did a good job of keeping me warm with his strong body wrapped around me.
Whose mouth and hands had unraveled me over and over again, until I forgot why we were even on this island.
He was perfect. And he was mine.
Callan had left shortly after breakfast to retrieve Alastor from Vistos, so Brenton suggested this to keep me from spiraling. Arts and crafts.
“It’d be better if I had my hot glue gun.” His gripe held little weight compared to the twinkle brightening his eyes.
I wrinkled my nose. “What’s a hot glue gun? It sounds like a weapon. Did Teddy give you this human contraption?”
Brenton leaned closer, lowering his voice as if sharing a scandalous secret. Which only meant whatever he was about to say was absurd. I couldn’t wait to hear it.
“A weapon of mass crafting,” he whispered, his tone conspiratorial. “Imagine this, Lolli. Melted glue at your command. Anything becomes decorative. Beads, feathers, grass.”
“That sounds terrifying,” I deadpanned although my lips curved into a smile. “Is this the kind of battle you’ve been training for all these years?”
He turned his rock over, rubbing his thumb over the eyes he’d drawn. “One can never be too prepared.” He paused, flipping his rock over again. His mouth tightened, and then he gave it a dissatisfied shake of his head and flung it into the ocean.
I gaped at the small splash it made before turning to him.
“Why did you do that?” I asked.
“He was a disgrace.” He kept his attention on the ocean before he turned his grin toward my rock. “The only reason I’m allowing Pebblesworth to live is because you already named him.”
I sucked in a breath, clutching Pebblesworth tighter to my chest. “Okay, one, Pebblesworth is a female. And two, if you even consider coming after her, I’ll—”
My threat died on my lips when he lunged.
Grinning like the troublemaking fae he was, he pinned my wrist with one hand and tugged Pebblesworth free with the other. I twisted, but his weight held me firm.
Fine. If brute force wouldn’t work, technique would.
I braced my heel in the sand, shifted my hips, and hooked my leg around his in a sweep. Surprise flashed across his features a beat before I rolled us with momentum and training, carrying me to the top. His back hit the sand with a thud, and I freed Pebblesworth from his hand.
He barked out a laugh, breathless but still determined. “Cheater.”
“I prefer to be called skilled,” I said, straddling him in triumph. “Do try to keep up, warrior.”
His grin widened, white teeth against the splatter of pink sand across his jaw. “Oh, I’m keeping up all right.”
He surged again, forcing me to fight for balance, both of us caught somewhere between laughing and catching our breath. His hands clasped my hips, and I leaned down until our noses almost touched.
The air between us grew thin. Still playful but sharpened by something more primal. My chest rose against his. His grip tightened as his tongue flicked across his lips.
I brushed my lips over his. Just a small taste. His breath hitched before he pulled himself up, one hand cradling my back, the other braced behind my head. His kiss was urgent, demanding. Heat flared between us, the grit of sand forgotten, as his lips moved over mine. Coaxing, claiming, devouring.
For blissful beats, there was nothing beyond him. His hands. His mouth. The very earth seemed to still while blood rushed in my ears.
Then Brenton froze, his hands still holding me as he quietly drew back.
“Callan’s back,” he muttered.
I turned to watch the distant boat slowly bob toward us.
He muttered something under his breath, then swept me up in one easy motion. Pebblesworth almost tumbled from my hand as he strode us into the water.
“Brenton—” But it was too late.
The ocean swallowed us both in a shocking rush of cold, stealing my laughter as well as my breath.
We broke the surface. I was sputtering while he grinned wide and shameless.
“You needed to cool off,” he said, his tone smug.
“Did I?” I circled him slowly in the waist-deep water, pretending to yield.
His smile softened, bashful, almost youthful. “Fine. I didn’t want Alastor smelling your arousal.” His gaze raked over me, his voice rough. “That scent is only for me.”
Heat pulled deep in my belly, fierce and undeniable, his claim striking something primal in me. The water did nothing to cool the fire he’d stoked.
Yet I needed to retaliate for him tossing me in the water.
When he drew his gaze to the incoming boat, I ducked low, hooked my arm under his, and kicked off the sand. Momentum dragged him under the next wave.
He came out laughing with his hair plastered to his face. “That was dirty.”
I spread my arms wide. “Skill, Squishy. As I said, try to keep up.”
He lunged again, and my laugh tumbled out as Callan’s boat ground against the shore. While Callan kept his attention on the task at hand, Alastor watched us with quiet curiosity.
Caught unaware, Brenton dunked me in the water. I growled when I broke the surface.
“Watch carefully, mage,” Brenton teased. “So you can learn how to fight properly in the ocean.”
I retaliated with a sharp splash that smacked Brenton’s broad chest. Water slicked over the cut of his muscles with the sunlight tracing the ridges of his bronzing shoulders and arms, courtesy of our days out in the sun.
For a breath, I forgot myself, and was instead caught on the reminder that he was built for battle yet still laughed like a youngling teasing me after a fun day at the beach.
Alastor chose that moment to step from the bow. His boots sank into the wet sand. Mouth twitching, his amusement cut through his sharp features. “Or I might decide to offer you as a sacrifice to the sea. Think about how much quieter it would be without your commentary.”
Brenton only laughed, dragging a wet hand down his face before clapping Alastor’s shoulder.
“Dark as ever,” Brenton said, and I chuckled as Brenton pulled me to him the second I was close enough. “I’d be careful with the threats you toss around, though. My mate is fond of treating me like a damsel in distress and would not hesitate to protect me.”
Alastor’s eyes darkened, the hint of humor draining from his features. For a heartbeat, something older and heavier bled through his calm, a grief that drifted like a shadow behind his gaze. The corner of his mouth ticked up in what might have been amusement, but it didn’t reach his eyes.
“Mate, huh?” he asked, voice smooth. “I am pleased to hear it.”
Shadows stirred at his boots, curling around Brenton’s feet before spreading outward, seeming restless even as Alastor remained perfectly poised. He was a man carved of control while his shadows betrayed his emotions.
We started to camp, the three of us with Callan steady at my other side.
His silence wasn’t the same simmering anger of Kassidy’s but heavy, understandable given the loss he carried.
Brenton pressed a quick kiss to my cheek before quickening his stride to settle his hand on Alastor’s shoulder as he drew him aside.
Their voices dropped, and while I gave them their privacy, I caught the way Brenton’s tone gentled. Something snagged in my chest, like the brush of cold fingers against my skin. The air thickened, heavy with a wrongness I couldn’t name.
For several beats, Alastor remained rigid with his shadows twitching at his heel while he rubbed the bridge of his nose. Then his posture shifted, the hard lines softening while the storm behind his eyes ebbed. Whatever Brenton said pulled the faintest curve back to Alastor’s mouth.
The short walk inland brought us to the small incline, where Brenton and I had camped on the previous night. Callan dropped his pack to the ground, but his gaze stayed on Alastor.
“Why do you still have them?” he asked, chin pointing toward the shadows that lurked at Alastor’s boots. “Magic doesn’t exist outside of Vistos.”
I blinked, startled. The thought hadn’t even occurred to me.
My own magic felt as if it’d been locked tight or smothered.
At first, I had welcomed the quiet, the safety of not fearing what it might do.
But already, a hollow ache had begun to stir in its absence, as if I were missing an organ I hadn’t realized I relied on.
Yet Alastor’s shadows moved freely, curling and twisting in defiance of the rules.
Brenton crouched by the firepit, brushing ash from his fingertips before lighting it.
His expression grew contemplative, but beneath was the ache for what he’d temporarily lost. His magic was bound to him as surely as his breath, and being stripped of it left an absence so sharp I felt it in the heavy set of his shoulders.
Yet when he glanced up at Alastor, there was no malice.
Only thoughtfulness and a flicker of longing for something he’d never had to go without.
But he did so now, for me.