Chapter 15
A sharp whistle yanks me from winning the tournament. I jerk up in search of the culprit, foolishly hoping the reason why the rare occurrence, my dreams, aren’t full of death and cries, is an attack of an invader, a mighty adversary, or something else totally justifiable.
To my utter shock and astonishment, the reason is far more entertaining than I could ever imagine.
I gape at the sleeping black feline, heating my thighs. His furry legs dangle in the air, wiggling each time the abrupt spasms hit his tiny body.
He snores like an adult Bridge Troll.
I bite on my knuckles, stifling the giggle threatening to escape my lips. And reinforce my shield, so as not to wake up that… pet.
His small furry chest rises, and with the falling, the obnoxious sound fills the night. A small, pink tongue protruding from his tiny feline lips makes it even more hilarious.
The almighty Aidon, heir of Mark Draconis. The future Lord of the Simon clan, Blood Bonded to me. I will never let him get away with it.
Finally, some leverage.
Satisfied, I scoop up his tiny frame, set him gently aside, and cover him with my blanket. He stirs with a strange sound but doesn’t wake. I rise, steadying myself in silence, one foot after the other.
Welcoming the reprieve of the cold kissing my shoulders, I stroll through the camp, directing myself to the guarding post. I smile, seeing Nulok embracing his orb, while Bane is lying on his back, wings folded. He remains alert to every danger, even in rest. The other bedrolls are empty.
The night is at its darkest.
Even the wicked rest now, only to wake at dawn and bring their torment once again. This is the moment when the campfire almost runs out of wood, politely extinguishing its life, to be replaced by the sunrise.
I spot Jestin’s lean frame, leaning against a tree, his gaze focused on the black horizon. He doesn’t move as I sit beside him.
“Where’s Riven?” I cringe when my voice disturbs the ceasefire of the night.
He shifts to make more room, placing me between his thighs as my head finds refuge against his chest.
Home.
“Am I not enough to entertain you?” he teases, his breath like warm caresses on my cold skin, my neck turns itself towards his lips, begging for more.
“Is it an offer?”
He tucks a lock of my hair behind my ear and leans, blowing tiniest raspberries in that special spot on my pulse.
I pant, squeezing his thighs.
Jestin chuckles. “You can’t sleep?”
“Mmm, certainly not now.”
His skilful fingers begin working magic on my shoulders. “Are you seducing me, Sels?” He mocks with fake horror, “I don’t know if I can let you, after you broke my heart by your infamous act of disappearing.”
“Stop messing around! I didn’t break your heart.” I turn to punch him playfully, and stay like that, waiting for a smile to break, but it doesn’t; his face remains serious.
I gawk at him.
“You seriously didn’t know?” He raises his brow.
Have I broken his heart?
“Jestin…” I breathe out, straightening up, but he stops me.
“Naah,” he turns to me so that I fully face him and presses his thumb to my lips, parting them.
“So lustful,” he mutters, but retreats his finger.
The absence of his touch makes my body mourn instantly.
His usual ‘I-know-something-you-don’t,’ half smile reappears on his face. “Easy, love, I was only joking. Naturally, if you decide to seduce me, I am more than happy to serve my Queen.”
“Can’t you cut the sex references?” I say under my breath. I have no idea where I stand with that male.
Usually I don’t mind. The hot and bothered is one of my favourite settings, but he is using his handsome allure right now, and my game is not that good… He means too much to me to keep using him for relief.
I want to respect our bond.
“You don’t want serious from me, you only want my cock.” His smile promises to deliver.
I shiver, needing to dive into his familiar arms.
He reaches for me again, stroking the back of my neck, then tugs me close until our lips nearly meet, stealing my breath before I can decide if I even want to give it.
Ok, well, I want to. I clench my thighs in anticipation as he hovers so close that if I lean even slightly, our lips will collide.
“You don’t want serious from me,” he repeats, souring my mood. I search his face to understand what he means, and the expression I find splinters my soul.
I don’t fucking understand him; his motivations, his feelings. And they say females are hard to handle.
He treats life like a game. I won’t be a pawn anymore. I need him to brainstorm with me, to toss ideas back and forth on how to manipulate the nobles and push reforms in our favour, but he has never let me in, and probably never will.
And after THAT day, I don’t understand him.
He flicks my chin. “Come on, out with it, love.”
“Why have you offered me shelter instead of turning me down? After what I’ve done to your father?” The words rush out of me and I brace myself for rejection.
“Why would I turn you down?” he asks softly, each word measured, as if testing which are safe to speak.
I raise my eyebrow. Why is he making it difficult? He has a perfectly acceptable reason presented in the question already.
Jestin tilts my chin up. “Do you remember when you and Dante first began courting?”
I nod.
“It fucking wrecked me. I didn’t want to be near you, but you looked right at me and said, ‘Friends don’t get to disappear from each other’s lives. If you have a problem with me, we will talk it through.’”
He liked me? But he... he was always only friendly. Maybe not always…
“Why did it kill you? You were never interested?” I lean closer, eyes narrowing, watching for the flicker of guilt, fear, or anything.
“Tsk, Tsk. The problem of being a gentleman, too much space and you don’t recognise my affection.” He tilts his head, letting his fingers graze my arm, eyes dark with intent. “I will attend to my wrongdoings right now, My Lady.”
I shiver.
“You never touched me before, never told me. How can I be sure? Make it plain for me, say it so you can’t take it back, so I can’t either.
” I plead, pathetically craving reassurance.
Life will be so much better if he loves me.
I can already see it. If he loves me, I can survive anything.
He will be my lifebuoy. He will never let me drown.
Everything will be better. I fucking need him to love me so I’m no longer alone.
So I won’t be alone. So I will have an ally.
He raises a sardonic brow, his gaze locking onto mine as if daring me to doubt him.
“Sels, I loved you before I even knew what it meant. You weren’t interested back then, and I didn’t want to pressure you.
I didn’t want to lose you.” His fingers brush against mine, just barely, a silent claim that says more than words ever could.
My heart bursts with happiness, and I want to throw myself at him, to return every ounce of what he’s giving me, but my stupid mouth still fishes for confirmation, making sure he truly means it before I risk my heart. “You fucked me after Dante,” I blurt.
“Who am I to refuse you when you lie on my bed, begging me to comfort you?” His half-smile flickers, teasing yet unreadable. “I am only that strong.” A shadow crosses his face, the light in his eyes dimming. “Yet you ran away. The moment we connected, you ran away.”
“It was too much,” I say. I didn’t fucking know. I was only thinking about myself, about shielding my heart from rejection, never about how he felt. How could I have known that he loved me? “Why didn’t you tell me you loved me?” I could have told him too.
He raises an eyebrow, as if to say that I’m smarter than that.
I raise my hand to silence him. “Right, I understand. My head wasn’t in the right place.”
“Would that make you stay? Sels, I’d tear the clouds from the sky if you wanted me to, but you have to want it yourself. Say yes.”
“I don’t deserve it,” my voice comes out as a whisper.
“I want you thriving again,” he declares, his beautiful face shifts, sadness melting into anger.
If I thrived, it would feel like a reward for what I have done. But I don’t say it; allowing my body to take a defensive stance.
“You will never understand,” I accuse him and look away.
He tilts my chin back, forcing me to look at him. Yet his touch is gentle, even with his eyes coated by shadows.
“Don’t forget I know you. You loved politics, loved having opinions. You were always the first to decide in a crisis,” he presses. “And now you can’t choose between dresses.”
“All actions have consequences,” I say meekly. “I’ve changed.”
He releases my chin. “I shouldn’t have let go. It is my fault. I should have fought for you.”
“You should have.” I bark out the answer, surprised how rough it comes out.
“Is it too much now, us together?” Jestin asks, and I swear it is hope that lights his face.
I bite my lower lip, thinking. Am I ready for him? Can I settle? Shouldn’t I wait for my mate? I will find out about him at 250, I am at less than half of it. But Jestin… I cannot live in the world without him.
“You don’t want that,” he misunderstood my silence; his usual mask of amused indifference slips back onto his face.
Desperate to remove that mask, I lean in to kiss him, but the distance only widens when a half smile curves his lips.
Now there is a gaping crevasse between us, and I almost choke on it.
Panic whips through my heart and I desperately need to undo that stupid conversation and tell him yes, I am ready.
Yet, before me sits the Lord of Santorili, not the male who has just declared his love to me.
“Someone’s starving,” the Lord muses, brushing a light kiss over my lips. I shift closer, hoping to show my emotions with my tongue, with my body, since words fail me, but he holds my chin firmly in place.
I bite my lip.
“Nu-uh, you don’t get to do that,” he smirks, backing out, those familiar green eyes daring me from afar.
I am panicking because I’ve fucked this up; I should have said something. I need to say something.
“Jestin, you misunderstood me,” I blurt, but the words die on my lips as the sudden beating of wings shatters the night’s uneasy calm. Shadows twist in the moonlight, and a black figure hurtles towards us. I don’t bolt, my gut tells me it’s our companion.
Riven lands before us with a thundering boom, the mask of a general hiding any hint of emotion. Moonlight glints in his eyes. “Dante Ogison and his elemental army are a day’s march from us.”
Dread coils in my stomach, rooting me to the cold, dew-soaked ground. Every nerve screams in revolt, and even the night itself seems to pause, waiting for what comes next.