45. Chapter Forty-Five
Chapter Forty-Five
I remember you, Zylah , Holt said again as he kissed her, another wave crashing over them.
Zylah could barely breathe at the sound of his voice in her head. At the use of their bond. That he was holding her, touching her. I couldn’t hear your heart, your breath. You weren’t —she began, fear stealing the last of the thought away as she ran her hands over his heart, up his neck and to his face, thumbs sweeping over his skin to commit every part of him to memory, to check he was real and she wasn’t just hallucinating.
I wasn’t. He brushed hair from her face, his hand lingering on her cheek. But you anchored me here. To you. You lit the way back for me, Zylah. “You burnt through Aurelia’s corruption. Brought me back to you,” he said thickly.
Another tremble wracked her body at his words, at the sound of his voice, and then they were moving through the aether, away from the unrelenting waves. Malok’s bellowing voice told Zylah Holt had returned within the court, but she made no effort to move from his arms, couldn’t even if she tried.
“Under any other circumstances, I might ask what you were both doing in my court uninvited,” Malok barked in their direction. “But,” he said, his voice softening just a fraction, “this is the second time you have defended my court at great risk to your lives.”
“Third,” Zylah muttered, but if the High Lord heard her, he didn’t acknowledge it.
“You have my thanks,” he told them. “The court is at your disposal.” A pause, and then, “My children? My…” Malok cleared his throat. “Niossa?”
“All well. All safe,” Holt told him. And then they were moving again, Zylah’s body curled against his where he held her in his arms as they evanesced, exhaustion weighting her bones. A fire roared to life when they reappeared, and she marvelled at the strength of his magic after he’d almost died. Had died.
You gave it to me , he told her, pressing a kiss into her hair and lowering her to her feet. “You need to stay awake, Zylah. To get warm.” He worked at her clothes with careful fingers, a blanket draping over her shoulders by the time he’d removed her bralette. Zylah could do nothing but shiver, the world still dark, focusing on the sound of him moving: his steady breaths, the rhythm of his heart. So many feelings poured from him, their bond alight with it, all his concern, his fear, his love. Even his desire as she stood bare before him, but he continued his task, wrapping her in another blanket, towel drying her hair and settling her before the fire whilst he removed his clothes next.
Panic flared from her when Holt stepped away for a moment, but then he was moving the blankets aside to slip beneath them, pulling her to his chest and bundling them both up together, his frozen skin a stark reminder of everything he’d just endured. I’m here , he reassured her.
“Can’t we have a hot bath?” Zylah murmured, teeth chattering as she welcomed his embrace.
Holt chuckled into her hair, his hands sliding down her arms to warm her skin, massaging her fingers one by one, the burns that had marred her hand healed over. “Terrible idea,” he told her softly.
His skin was still icy cold, his hair still wet where he’d towelled it quickly, yet he seemed content with just holding her, touching her, easing his hands over her flesh to help her thaw out. The fire hissed and crackled, close enough that it warmed Zylah’s face but not enough to stop her from trembling, her brain still catching up with everything that had happened.
“You died,” she choked out, angling her face up to his and wishing she could see him. He brushed his fingers against her temple, healing magic pouring into her and drawing a sigh from her lips. The shadows parted a little, just enough to leave her with the narrow field of view, enough to see his forest green eyes gazing down at her, the flecks of gold in them. Her heart broke again at the sight of him, like she was seeing him for the very first time, like that day she’d been running from Arnir’s men, exhausted and afraid.
Another tear rolled down her cheek, Holt swiping it away as he kissed her softly. “My body, maybe. But not my mind,” he said over her lips. “Not my soul.” Another kiss. “I heard you,” he told her, resting his forehead against hers, his hands running over her arms again to rub her frozen skin. “Felt you.” His voice harshened, but his hands kept moving, touching, rubbing, reassuring. “All of it.”
The lightning. Zylah trailed her hand over his chest, panic flaring through her again, fingers tracing over the scar from the vanquicite sword. “I didn’t know.” She searched for burns, for any sign of what she’d done to him, but only the starburst scar remained over his heart; the scar from Marcus, from arm to neck. “I tried everything,” she rasped, her voice breaking at the suffering she’d caused him.
You have nothing to apologise for , he told her, tilting her face up to his, a hand brushing the hair from her eyes. You brought me back to you. In every way.
Zylah knew better than to believe that meant it had erased everything Aurelia and the others had done, that the memory of it didn’t still linger.
I wouldn’t forget a moment of it , he said in her thoughts, his hands moving to her thighs, kneading, massaging every inch of her. Because you were there in every moment.
Even when you couldn’t remember? she asked him, though she knew it was selfish of her.
Part of me always knew what you were to me. It’s how I held on . He pressed a hand over hers where it lingered on his heart. Aurelia used the combination of her control and the vanquicite to break me in that cell. She’d already put me under her influence outside the mine when I wouldn’t use my magic again. “I was so close to breaking free of it, but then Raif used the vanquicite sword.”
Zylah tried not to let the memory that had been etched into her mind play out before her, intent on seeing nothing but him.
“She’d planned it all,” Holt went on. “To use me for her father. To use everything at her disposal to mould me the way she wanted. To strip away anything that didn’t fit.” But I felt you, he said in her thoughts, Held on to you, even when we were apart. A moment of hesitation and then he added, When I first saw you in the throne room, it hurt just to look at you. But part of me still knew. Still understood.
She felt the worry and regret tied up in his words. Not that it happened, not that he suffered, but that the truth was painful for her to hear. That he was causing her pain by giving her the truth.
“And you were right,” he said, another soothing caress dancing over her skin as he returned his hands to her legs to continue his task. “You weren’t healing because I wasn’t.”
“Because you couldn’t.”
Holt nodded. “When you told me our magic was tied to each other’s…” His hands stilled, but Zylah waited, her fingertips trailing his scars beneath the blanket as warmth slowly seeped back into her body. “Something inside me was thrashing,” he said roughly, studying her face. “Beating against my chest to break free.”
“Our bond,” Zylah murmured.
Another nod. “I meant it when I said the pain reminded me I was alive. I held onto it with everything I had. Held on to you. Even if Aurelia had broken something in me, torn apart everything I was. She couldn’t rip you from me, not entirely.”
Every time she had felt his pain, back in Ranon’s maze. Had been certain she’d heard him call her name. It had been real. All of it.
Zylah was crying again, but Holt brushed away her tears, held her tightly. I’m sorry you had to go through that , he told her, regret echoing his words in her thoughts and down their bond. To… feel that. To think that I might walk away every time you tried to reach out to me. That I’d give you up to be free of the pain.
I was hurting you. I didn’t… couldn’t reach you , she managed.
But you did. You were. His head tilted, one corner of his mouth twitching. I suppose you thought you were hiding your feelings, but they hit me square in the chest every time we were together.
“I was hurting you even when I was trying not to,” Zylah rasped, her throat painfully tight.
“It was the best kind of pain,” he murmured over her lips, claiming her mouth in a soft, slow kiss that eased a little of her apprehension. “Everything you told me, every look you gave me. Aurelia broke me. But you”—his eyes swept over her face, bright and glassy in the firelight—“You put me back together again, Zylah.”
She ran her hand along the rough stubble of his jaw, fingers brushing over the tip of his pointed ear and curling in his hair. Everything he’d survived. Everything he’d endured. The way he’d fought for her throughout all of it. “Back in the maze…” she began, searching his eyes. “There were moments I thought I felt you… heard you. That day with the water serpent, I think you saved my life. And when I returned to the camp for the first time with Kej and Daizin, I felt you,” she said, bringing her hand to her own heart. “I wanted to go to you immediately. But they convinced me to stay.” She closed her eyes at the admission, regret curling in her gut. “I could barely sleep; I left at first light to go to you.” Even though she’d still been weak. Even though it was foolish. She’d have risked everything for him, done it all over and over again. Her eyes opened to find Holt studying her face. “And then I saw you in that cell,” she whispered, “and you looked at me like I was a stranger. I thought I’d lost you all over again.”
“I was lost. But you found me.” Another kiss, another little bit of Zylah’s fears chipped away. “Aurelia and Ranon are immune to the vanquicite, and though she’s been letting Ranon syphon off some of her power, she was using spells he’d taught her. Sometimes he was with her when she practised, sometimes he wasn’t. Then you arrived.” An echo of his memory surged down their bond, his confusion mixed with his hope and pain, the familiarity he hadn’t understood, the longing. “And suddenly you were in my head, just as Aurelia had been. And Thallan…”
“That’s why you asked if I was like him,” Zylah murmured.
“And because there were moments when I thought…” Pain, but a different kind this time, slid down the bond. And it made her heart break for him all over again.
“I…” she rasped, biting her lip to stop more tears from spilling over. She wanted to tell him how terrified she’d been of hurting him, words lodging in her throat. “You thought I’d rejected the bond,” Zylah said, watching the way he squared his jaw, the hurt in his eyes. “Because she took me from you.”
He brushed hair from her eyes, tucked it behind her ear. “I felt your fear,” he murmured, and she realised she’d let her thoughts slip through to him. “Every time we were together, your fear was just as acute as your affection.” His hand slid to the space at the bottom of her neck, working her tired muscles. “I’m sorry. For all of it.”
You have nothing to apologise for, she told him, echoing his words from earlier.
“Raif…” Holt tensed, fingers stilling for a moment. In the maze… you told me he didn’t hurt you.
Zylah frowned, the fire popping and spitting behind her. She’d told Holt how Raif had forced his blood on her, healed her with it. “He didn’t hurt me. He was trying to help when Rhaznia trapped me.” She glanced over Holt’s shoulder, noting for the first time the large bed in the room beyond, the open doorway to the balcony, the ocean beyond it. “But he chose to keep me down there in the dark. So I cut him with my dagger and I ran.” And she didn’t regret leaving him behind.
Holt was quiet, and she turned her attention back to his face to see his eyes fixed on the crackling flames. Relief rolled from him, his fingers stroking her skin as much for his benefit, Zylah suspected, as for hers. “I should have killed him,” he murmured, the words wrapped up in sadness just as much as regret. Raif had been like a brother to him for so long; Zylah knew nothing about any of this was easy for him to digest.
“How can one family harbour so much darkness inside them?” she asked.
“Because it’s addictive,” he told her quietly, something guarded in his tone.
“But it wasn’t for you.” Though even as she said it, she knew it was a lie.
Shame rippled down their bond. “I fought it,” he said, his voice strained as he watched the fire. “But every time Ranon commanded me, part of me wanted to bottle the pieces of it that felt good.”
She felt more of his relief at the admission, soothing him with soft kisses along the sharp line of his jaw, her fingers curling in his hair and massaging his scalp, remembering how he’d felt after he’d killed Marcus outside the mine. How his elation had spiralled and woven with everything else, how the same had just happened to her out in the court. “You fought it,” she told him.
“I don’t know how much longer I’d have been able to,” he admitted, his eyes sliding back to her face, awe lighting up his features and pulling away some of the darkness that had fallen over him. “But you pulled apart Ranon’s command when you shattered Aurelia’s magic.”
“You’re sure?” Zylah asked, not daring to hope. Not yet.
“See for yourself.” His hands worked over the knots in her shoulders, down her back, her body. She sank into his familiar touch, her fear overtaken by her longing.
“I can’t.” Zylah could barely concentrate, her blood heating at his soft caress. “My threads… they’re… occupied.” She waved a hand between them with a shy smile. The threads pulsed and weaved around them, spiralling, twining, protecting, nourishing, and she wondered if he could see them just as she could.
Affirmation flared down their bond. “And your sight?”
Zylah shook her head. “Just my eyes. A very narrow field of view.” She held her hands up to her temples to demonstrate, and Holt’s expression hardened again.
He brought his hands over hers, the unmistakable sound of his heartbeat picking up between them as his own worries took over. “You almost burnt yourself to nothing to bring me back,” he said, gently lowering her hands over his chest so he could continue his task.
“I would have,” she admitted. “For you, I would have.” She traced the scar Marcus had given him, the starburst scar over his heart, until his heartbeat steadied and his panic subsided.
Acknowledgement and acceptance rippled over her skin, twined with his reverence, his tenderness, his longing, just as carnal and wild as her own. Zylah had long since warmed up, but Holt hadn’t relented, hands sweeping up and down her skin, caressing her, soothing her, loving her.
This is new. He traced a scar over her calf, fingers featherlight against the marred skin.
Are you going to inspect every part of me? she asked as he moved to her other calf, pressing kisses into her neck, along the curve of her shoulder, her body coming alight beneath his touch. Holt’s chuckle rumbled from his chest and into her back, her belly, lower.
“Yes,” he mumbled against her skin, reaching for her feet and pulling her to her back in the blankets, another gasp escaping her as he massaged each of her toes.
A different kind of shiver rolled through her body as his large hands gripped her ankles, sliding up her calves and wrapping around her knees. He pressed a kiss to her inner thigh, to her stomach, a shiver of anticipation rolling through Zylah’s body, and then Holt lifted her in his arms, carrying her through a doorway and into a bathroom.
“Wicked Fae,” she huffed against his lips, her hands tangled in his hair.
“Let me take care of you,” he pleaded, his fierce desperation dancing along her skin an exact mirror of her own. “The thought of you in the maze, alone…” His throat bobbed as he took a step down, and then another.
“I wasn’t alone,” she told him, a hiss leaving her and her back arching in his arms as he lowered them into a warm bath big enough for six. Anger and remorse had flared from him at her words, but he snuffed it out just as quickly as it had come. He’d thought she’d meant Raif, and he couldn’t have been further from the truth.
“I wasn’t alone because you were with me,” Zylah said, spinning in his arms to straddle his lap, to lay her hand over his heart again. “I was holding on to you, too,” she confessed against his lips, the confession turning into another kiss.
His apprehension eased away beneath her palm and a different kind of tension pulled taut between them, her blood roaring with the need to be close to him, heat pulsing between her legs at the hard press of his erection between their bodies.
Zylah pulled back before the kiss could turn into something more, the unmistakable crackle of their desire twining between them. She reached over his shoulder for a fresh bar of soap, her body flush against his for a moment, another shiver dancing over her skin before she pulled back to lather it over his chest.
She needed him, needed to feel him inside her, his hands on her flesh. But she wanted to take care of him too. Needed to. He’d have pulled the warm water from a spring, done all of this for her, for them to have this moment together before they returned to the camp. And Zylah wanted him to know how much that meant to her, how much she wanted to have this moment with him too.
“Everything you’ve done,” he said reverently, sliding her closer as she moved the soap to his arms, easing his muscles just as he had done for her. “Everything you’ve become.” He lifted the soap from her fingers, running it over her clavicle and along her shoulder, under her arm and down the swell of her breast. “The strength of your magic,” he continued, swiping the soap across her stomach and to her other side, his thumb brushing over her breast as he continued his ascent, a carnal need taking over her with every stroke of his hand. “The strength of your heart.” He splayed his fingers over her chest as she rinsed the soap from his body, trembling beneath his touch. “Is beyond measure. And I will spend the rest of my life making sure you understand that. Showing you.” He cupped water into his empty hand, rinsing the soap off her skin. “Worshipping you,” he added, lowering his mouth to one of her breasts and sucking her peaked nipple between his lips for just a moment before he pulled away. “Loving you.” He slid her closer, his cock hard and thick between them, rocking her slowly against him just like he had in the cave, devouring her with a hot, claiming kiss.
Zylah’s hands wrapped around his neck, a moan tumbling from her lips, need pulsing through every inch of her. “Holt,” she whispered against his mouth, more of the wild desperation coursing through her veins, passing down their bond and twining with his. All it would take was one tilt of her hips and he’d be inside her; a grunt of approval rumbled from his chest as if he’d heard the thought, and then his hands were sliding down her body, fingers curling around her thighs.
Holt pulled back from their kiss, his breathing ragged, eyes half lidded and heavy with desire and need as he took her in. “I’m yours,” he told her, and with a cant of her hips he drove into her, all the way to the hilt.