Chapter 26
The seemingly endless summer drizzle broke at midday, leaving behind a hush so heavy it felt unnatural.
Gold flecks fractured through the canopy that stretched into the clouds above, dotting my skin in false warmth.
The Issaraeth spoke in low tones to the horses, and we slowed to a crawl before stopping altogether.
A flash of silver snapped my attention to the trees, heart leaping into my throat.
Ilae swooped down, clicking a greeting. My shoulders relaxed, air spilling out in a quiet rush.
No one is coming to attack us.
“Hello,” I cooed at the bird as he landed on a thick branch a short distance away. He ruffled his crystalline feathers, shedding water droplets beneath him.
The Issaraeth hopped down from the driver’s seat, swaying the wood beneath me. “I’m going to scout the area,” he told me, not even glancing over his shoulder as he drew his sword.
I couldn’t deny the gratitude that flickered through me—traitorous as it was—at the extra caution. Ever since the first attack, whenever we stopped, my mate scoured our surroundings before settling down to eat.
To him, motion was safety; to me, hiding had been my haven.
I wriggled upright, bracing against the rear of the wagon, and scanned our surroundings.
Lush ferns, their leaves still beaded with moisture, swayed in the breeze.
With it brought the heavenly scent of roses.
Wild brambles hugged the sides of the road, and the Issaraeth emerged from between two thorny bushes brimming with glittering blue blooms.
“All clear.” He rounded the rear and pulled the pins in the wood to lower the flap. In one smooth motion, he hopped into my space.
“Bread and jerky?” he asked, pulling one of the supply bags toward him.
“I’ll take some fruit first.” I’d hardly been able to eat this morning after sleeping in the same room as him again, though thankfully we’d been in two separate beds.
With a sigh, he settled with his back on his pack, shoulder resting against the opposite side of the cart. He bit into an apple as he stared at the way we’d come.
Birds sang around us, filling the otherwise still forest with layered melody. A breeze rustled through the leaves, lifting a few hairs that had fallen out of the messy knot atop my head.
Strange how mirrored the Issaraeth and I were in our appearances when everything else about us was carved in opposition. I studied him out of the corner of my eye, trying not to be overt in my attention. But of course he felt the weight of it.
All air fled my lungs as he tilted his head to look at me. “Care to share your thoughts, little fugitive?”
I scoffed. That nickname, sometimes dripping condescension, other times veiled amusement, always served to infuriate me. A constant reminder that I had run from him and he’d caught me anyway.
“You could simply read my mind,” I pointed out, digging my nails into the flesh of the orange and peeling.
“Ah, but that barrier is firmly in place, as always.” His lips closed around the apple, and he ripped a chunk away from its core.
I offered him a shy smile. After all, I was supposed to be encouraging him to lower his guard, wasn’t I? “I was observing how similar our hair is.”
His scarred brow rose. “Is that so?”
I motioned to the leather strip tying up the twist of my waist-length locks. “Mine sits atop my head, though.”
He nodded, finishing the last of his fruit and flinging it away. “Because of dance.”
“Exactly. It is standard with Vaela?,” I explained. “Why don’t you tie yours higher?”
The Issaraeth shrugged, reaching for the bag that held bread and dried meat. “This is how I’ve always styled it.”
From the times I’d seen him take it down and fix it, I knew that his hair only reached his shoulders. Too high, and he wouldn’t be able to secure it all out of the way.
He handed me a strip of jerky, and I set it in my lap while I ate the last slices of my orange.
“Your hair color is also unusual,” I told him.
He finally looked at me again. Something brewed in his eyes, in the way he rolled his lips before speaking again. “Perhaps because I’m a monster? A beast closer to a Demon than an Angel?”
I smothered the instinct to argue. Not because he wasn’t a monster, but because my beliefs had no place in the game I was beginning to play.
Namely, that the Demons weren’t so different from us, save for their dark hair, red irises, and sharpened teeth.
But that argument—long put forth by Elessarum—would only garner scorn from him. And I needed more than his disdain.
So instead, I reached for him, letting my hand rest on his arm. Energy sparked beneath my fingers. Warm muscles flexed as he shifted ever so slightly. He felt…real. Like he was more than a villain of legend.
I snuffed the thought out before it could flicker down our bond. The damn thing purred at our contact.
“I don’t think you are like a Demon.” It wasn’t entirely a lie, given that I didn’t hold the same hateful beliefs as many other Angels.
He held my gaze for a long moment. “Yours is darker too. Perhaps we were meant to mirror one another.”
His suggestion landed like a lightning bolt, igniting something I wasn’t ready to name. The way he spoke made me think he believed the Goddess chained us together for a reason—not as punishment, but as something more.
Sitting with the thought was wildly uncomfortable.
Yet it was something I could exploit. What terrified me was how deeply I already felt the pull towards a male I hated.
“Perhaps,” I said, not removing my hand. “Ice-blue irises. Your hair is dark gray, mine silver. Your body is built for battle, mine is designed for dance. Both are movements with rhythm, after all.”
“Aye, that they are,” he replied, a hunger rising in his gaze. But it wasn’t only desire for me in it. No, there was something sinister lurking beneath, like he was reaching for control.
He shifted his arm, and my hand slid off of its own accord. His fingers came to rest on the wagon beside my hip, brushing ever so lightly against my flesh. The motion made me acutely aware of his presence.
When he drifted closer, powerful shoulder nearly touching mine, my breath hitched. “But our values couldn’t be more different. You want peace. I want war.”
“But why?” I couldn’t help but ask.
“Nonviolence is weakness. It is asking to be killed. I would do anything to protect my family and my people,” he replied as if it was the most logical thing in all the worlds. But he had demonstrated that only a few days before when he had defended me.
My mind flashed to the scar over his heart.
The Issaraeth was duty. I was defiance.
Yet stretched between us was an undeniable desire.
With the way he looked at me then, his expression almost beseeching mine to understand, to agree…
To see him, to accept him as he was.
Understanding slammed into me like a tidal wave, dragging me under before I could brace for the impact.
That was the root of the desperation leaking down our bond.
Virelthorn hadn’t suppressed my keen intuition, but rather allowed it to sharpen over the years. And right now, it was slicing open something that should have remained closed. Empathy rose from the depths of me, unbidden and unwanted.
What had caused such an idea to bloom in the mind of the realm’s most lethal hunter? A male, by all accounts, who had everything he could have wanted. Wealth, power, prestige. Respect, even if it was borne through fear.
This male was an enigma.
“What if there was a way to protect those you love without bloodshed?” I asked, my voice no louder than a whisper. I hadn’t drawn the life out of the male who had attacked me—merely blasted him away to give myself space. That was entirely different from the type of violence the Issaraeth wielded.
“I have yet to find a way, little fugitive. Especially in this age of war, I fear there is no other option,” he stated. The certainty in his tone chilled me like I stood atop the highest peak of the Skala Mountains.
I refused to believe that. But I didn’t tell him. Not when I was so close to crumbling some of his high walls.
So I met him where he was, both of us nearly to the center of the cart. “This is also the age of prophecy. Perhaps someone will See a way out of it.”
His eyes traced my face like he was searching for answers I didn’t want to give. “And that is why my sister keeps Seers like pets. Because no one wants this war to go on endlessly. We must win so our race can survive.”
I fought to keep my expression neutral. “We have the same goal, Issaraeth. We simply disagree on how to reach that end.”
My heart beat a staccato rhythm against my ribs as our faces lingered inches apart.
“We’ll see who is right in the end, I suppose,” he murmured, gaze lingering on my lips. Humidity thickened the air—or was that the tension between us?
A heartbeat passed. Then another. We were stuck in that position, him and I, balanced on the precipice of danger and divinity. One move away from ruin or revelation.
With the smallest groan, so soft I thought I’d imagined it, he withdrew. I blinked, trying to ground myself amid the dizzying rush of air that didn’t smell like stormwood.
The Issaraeth tore into his dried meat next. I did the same, mind working over how to continue the intimate conversation without seeming desperate for his attention. It would only raise suspicion when most of our interactions before ended in heated disagreement.
Nothing surfaced.
Until he was packing up our lunch and we prepared to depart again. “Can I ride up front with you?”
He paused, hand halfway into the food bag. Air stilled in my lungs as he remained in that position, studying me. Calculating.
Sweat broke out on my spine.
Does he already suspect I’m twisting the thread between us?
“I would like to see where we are going. I’ve never been this far north before,” I offered by way of additional explanation, keeping the waver out of my voice. Confidence would not get me caught.
He exhaled, shoulders still perfectly straight despite the long breath. “If you can make yourself comfortable on the bench. Besides, it will be easier to keep my eye on you if you’re beside me rather than behind me.”
I huffed, scowling at him. The corners of his mouth twitched up.
“You’re not wrong,” I grumbled, scooting to the end of the wagon. He handed me the crutches as I slid to the ground.
“I am usually right. Probably should get used to that.”
I rolled my eyes and hobbled around to the front. One of the horses shook its mane as the Issaraeth climbed into the seat. He held out a hand, and without hesitating, I accepted it. Magic encased my leg to protect it as he hauled me up like I weighed nothing more than a feather.
Thankfully, the bench was wide, and after a few awkward shuffles, I managed to sit with my bad leg outstretched and supported.
The position grazed my shoulder against the Issaraeth’s. Neither of us flinched away.
“Follow,” he shouted at Ilae. The auravane extended his mighty wings, flapping them a few times, before leaping from the branch and sailing ahead. He made a lazy loop around us, diving between the round trunks like he was hunting his next meal.
My mate ordered the horses on next, and we jolted along the dirt road, headed toward the capital of the Angel Realm.
I let myself bump into him, then leaned back again.
Close. Comfortable. Controlled.
Just as he had done to me while we ate earlier.
This was the next step—making him want me near, and not out of some duty to protect me. Because he craved my presence, outside of the chain linking our fates. This undercurrent between us, raw and crackling, could be twisted. Wrapped around my hand and yanked. Exploited to gain power for myself.
To become the storm.
But as our bodies brushed again, as sparks slipped under my skin, a single, undeniable truth sank its teeth into me.
He wasn’t the only one being unraveled.
If I wasn’t careful, I wouldn’t just lose my direction in the squall.
I’d drown in it.