SIXTEEN #2
How could he save them from the fate that had taken the previous bonded pairs? Silas needed more answers, and it was clear that was being made as difficult as possible.
Frustrated and unable to process it all, he made his way past his own room and Amelia’s, walking to the kitchen. Locating what he was after, he poured himself a healthy portion of an old whiskey that had been his fathers’, enjoying the burn as it slid down his throat.
For once, time meant nothing.
It was blissful.
His body felt weightless and carefree as he flounced around his room, drink sloshing dangerously.
Silas felt at ease as he played an old track he had used to enjoy. Back when he had found pleasure in things like music.
He wasn’t thinking about science, or the blades, or midnight.
He was simply…Silas.
With a drink.
And a slightly unsteady rhythm while he shifted about to the beat of the music.
A knock on the door came sometime later, a few many drinks later.
A few many?
Well, lots.
He didn’t bother to answer. Silas didn’t feel like visitors. He was enjoying his own company for once, enjoying that his mind felt heavy and blank, all prior worries shoved somewhere irretrievable for now.
The knock came again, this time louder and accompanied by a sweet, sweet voice.
“Finley? Are you in there?”
Amelia.
She was the most beautiful human he had ever met. Stern and direct? Yes. Serious and stubborn? Also, yes. But undeniably beautiful with a depth of soul and character that he wished to tease apart with endless hours spent in her company.
She was so much more than what she revealed, he knew it.
Silas opened the door, leaning heavily into the frame and peering down at her. So small and cute, she was.
“Evening, Winslow…you coming to rain on my parade?”
Amelia’s face shifted from surprise to concern. “Are you…” Her eyes flicked to the crystal glass in his hand, before moving back to his face. “Drunk?”
“Mm,” he hummed, smiling softly. “You’re so perceptive, so observant, so very perfect you are.”
Her brows drew together, looking him over before sighing. “Shall I assume the conversation with your sister didn’t go so well?”
Silas pressed his lips together, staring into her dark brown eyes. They were so sharp, so knowing. He wanted to lean closer, gaze into them before he might brush his thumb across that delicate arch of her cheekbone.
“Finley?” she prompted again.
He reared back, realising he had been unconsciously leaning close. Silas attempted to straighten himself, clearing his throat.
“You have caught me at a bad time, admirably…um, I mean admittedly,” Silas said with a chuckle. “Perhaps we should speak tomorrow.”
Amelia frowned. “It’s nearly midnight.”
He stared at her, brain stalling.
She exhaled impatiently.
“You know…the cursed time of every day where magic brings us together against our will?”
The reality slammed into him, and Silas blew out a breath, wondering how he could have possibly forgotten.
He cleared his throat again. “Ah,” Silas said, pushing away from the door. “But, of course…one can’t possibly have an evening to wallow in blissful ignorance, can one?”
“Finley…are you alright? What happened with Aurora?”
Silas set his glass down on a table, turning back to her. She had moved into the room, shutting the door behind her. Amelia had shed the heavier winter gear, now wearing her brown slacks and a black long-sleeved shirt. It fit to her body, sitting against every soft curve.
So. Achingly. Beautiful.
Forgetting himself, he breathed in sharply and forced his gaze back to her eyes. Silas attempted a smirk. “Are you pretending you care for my wellbeing?”
Amelia just stared, lips parting and looking uncertain how to respond.
He laughed. “Have I rendered you speechless? My, that’s a first.”
She sighed, glancing away. “Finley…let’s just get through midnight, and then I’ll leave you to sober up and we can talk tomorrow.”
Silas shrugged, picking up his glass for another swig. “Can’t promise I’ll be sober in the morning.”
“Can you put that drink down,” she said, sounding cross now, and he watched her eyes flick to the clock above his mantel. “We don’t have long, and I’d prefer not to have scotch spilled all over me.”
He saluted her with the glass before tipping it back, finishing it. “It’s whiskey,” he said, his finger tapping against the empty glass before setting it aside. “Father’s favourite.”
“Finley…”
Silas looked up. There was something he might interpret as concern on her face. Except Amelia wouldn’t be concerned about someone like him. Right?
His head tilted, considering, before calmly pouring another glass. Then he whirled, stalking over to his satchel, and rifled around in it with one hand, keeping his whiskey held firmly in the other.
“What are you—”
Silas straightened, holding something out for Amelia, cutting off her question as she eyed the cracked red leather of the unmarked journal.
She sucked in a small breath, eyes flicked uncertainly to him. “Is that…?”
Silas pressed his lips together with a nod. “Yup,” he said, waving the journal around. “You found this in my tent. Had a little look inside, didn’t you?”
Amelia swallowed, her fingers fidgeting. “Yes, but I barely read anything.”
“Mm,” Silas mused, finally placing his glass down to flip open the pages.
“I lied when I said I’d never found any of my father’s journals.
” He didn’t look up, turning another page, his head tilting to read a passage.
“This was his, from the mind of the great Orion Finley. He used this journal when we worked together on our Monolith research. I took it after he disappeared, and that was how I knew he had died in the Rift. His expedition plans were outlined in this.” Silas snapped the journal shut, a grim smile on his face.
“We’d both believed the Monoliths were connected, that at the centre of their power, the Ruins…
would hold answers. He wrote in here how he wanted access to Veilthorne, that it was the key.
He planned to find a way to break through the wards surrounding the lost city. ”
Amelia swallowed, eyes widening.
“I don’t know if he’s the reason the ward dropped, but it happened around the time he disappeared,” Silas said.
“I agreed to the expedition because I wanted my own answers. About where he went…what might have happened to him.” He looked away, throwing the journal down and grabbing his whiskey for a scorching sip.
“After seeing the midnight disruptions, and what happened to us with the Crawlers, I figured…he just died. Like every other stupid sod to traverse the Rift.”
“I’m sorry, Finley,” Amelia whispered.
Pity was etched into her features, Silas feeling the extra heaviness on his chest that came from her.
Silas stepped forwards. “No, I’m sorry. After we were bonded, I should’ve told you about him, about what had brought me there in the first place. I just…” He paused to shake his head. “I’m not even sure I’ve processed it yet. He was my dad.”
Silence fell between them, heavy and drawn out. Finally, she said, “It’s alright.”
Silas gritted his teeth, jaw flexing.
Slowly, she took a step closer, clearing her throat and eyes moving to the clock. “If we aren’t going to make tonight about science, can we make it less painful?”
He blinked stupidly for a moment before she reached out a hand.
Right . Midnight .
Silas checked the clock, realising he had talked away the last seconds of the day, midnight coming to claim them at any moment.
He glanced at her outstretched hand, swallowing. Silas hesitated before taking it, the warm softness of her skin always taking him by surprise. They stepped closer, but he made sure to keep a distance between them.
Midnight struck, the pull inevitable. Their bodies jerked together like two magnets forced to meet. Her chest collided with his, Silas’ arm snaking around her waist to keep her steady against him.
Her soft intake of breath, the tickle of hair against his cheek. She fit against him so perfectly that he wished he didn’t have to let her go.
But he did.
Silas began to pull away, though his hand slid around her waist slower and with a firmness that wasn’t necessary, prolonging the closeness.
He was about to let her go when he felt it, stilling him.
Amelia had an arm around him, her fingers pressing in at the base of his spine, holding them firmly together. Her head was burrowed into the side of his neck, and she was inhaling deeply and slowly, her other hand still clasping at his fingers.
She was moulded to him. She wasn’t pulling away from him .
Silas’ heart thundered in his chest, holding her to him. After a few breathless seconds, he questioned softly, “Winslow?”
Amelia reacted quickly, body jerking and head pulling back, staring at him with wide eyes, like she hadn’t realised what she had been doing.
She began stepping away.
Like a magnet, but with no magical excuse, Silas moved with her, eating up the space she had taken with his own step.
Her eyes widened further, his hand tightening on her waist. She looked shocked but didn’t move.
Feeling a sense of freedom he hadn’t for years, Silas did something he had dreamt of for so long.
He reached up, capturing a silky curl between two fingers, his eyes tracking the movement.
Amelia was still before him, while he gently tucked it behind her ear.
It was a soft moment, to rival the heated one of their kiss in his lab.
He let his finger trail a gentle path from the shell of her ear and across her cheekbone, which was stained a deep pink.
He stopped at the corner of her lips, finger hovering at the edge of her full, tantalising mouth.
Silas stared, mesmerised by the way her lips shifted with her sharp, uneven breaths.
The wall sconces flickered, pulsing along with the heavy beat of his heart.
Amelia shifted her head minutely, his finger brushing her bottom lip. He released a rough breath at the softness, the reality of touching her like this…
But was it reality?
His heart stuttered pathetically, considering whether it was the newly forged bond that had her letting him do this.
He knew he should move, but he was caught in a trap of his own desire.
“Is this what it wants?” he whispered, tearing his gaze from her mouth to find her eyes. There was a warmth and vulnerability in her gaze that he knew was rare.
“What?” she said, voice hushed.
Silas leaned in a fraction, her face so close that it was hard to shove away the thoughts of kissing her again, of taking her into his bed and exploring every part of her body. The thoughts plagued him, with how near that possibility was, right before him, so close…
His hand tightened at her waist. “It sure feels like it wants me to want you.”
Lies.
He had wanted her long before the bond, but what fuelled her? Was it her heart, or was it a cruel fabrication forged in magic?
Amelia’s eyes darted between his, the warmth leeching away slowly, the vulnerability closing like a slamming door.
She pushed away, and this time, he didn’t follow. His heart sunk as she seemed to shake off and discard whatever had passed between them.
Cheeks still rosy with a blush, Amelia cleared her throat, hands flexing. Casting him one final look, she walked for the door, not glancing back as she pulled it shut behind her.
Silas fixated on the spot where she had disappeared, his brain repeating the last look she had given him.
Unless he was deeply mistaken and his drink-addled brain were conjuring things, Amelia had looked hurt.
Deeply hurt.
Fuck .