Chapter 21 #2
He tapped the ladle on the side of the cauldron before tossing in a handful of berries. “I’d say preparing your food is the most decent I could possibly be.”
“Get out.”
He slipped to my side, and ran his fingers through my tangled locks. “How quickly you forget our time on that dragon, and the fact that you owe me your life. Eat up, we’ll be departing here soon enough.”
“Aelen—”
He stopped me with a finger over my lips, before pressing his to my forehead.
He clung to me, lingering for far too long, but I didn’t push him away.
Eventually, he left on his own, making a great show of sauntering back to the bubbling caldron to pour a bowl of soup, one I had an inkling he'd thrust it at me.
Just like the orange.
When he bent down, a thin dark lock fell and brushed his cheek. It must have escaped the rest of his neatly tied-back hair. Every once in a while, he left it loose, but even when braided or tied, it had the same unnatural raven quality to it—reflecting light like oil.
My stomach grumbled, but not in the hungry way, and while clutching it, I took my seat. I was half annoyed when he inevitably slid the filled clay bowl toward me and grinned. “Breakfast is served.”
“Once you were meant to hate me. Now you feed me.”
He snorted. “So I do. Eat up.”
I wasn’t keen on letting him know just how ill I felt… so I settled on a quick change in conversation, instead.
“You never eat with me.”
His head jerked up, along with the stray piece of hair. I briefly wondered what it would feel like to tuck it behind his sharp ear—but quickly buried the thought.
“I didn’t know eating had to be a group activity. We don’t share a bed, and you still sleep.”
“You lie beside the bed, and pleasant company usually shared meals back in Ilyatria.”
“And that’s what you were used to back there? Pleasant company?” He shook his head but still rose and collected a bowl. Yet when he returned, he merely pushed it around, never once gracing his lips with the gruel. “I can’t help but notice you’re still not eating.”
“Neither are you.”
His cheeks took on a rosy shade I’d never seen before, and he focused on the flimsy board of a table. “Why aren’t you eating?”
Why, indeed. I still felt like I was being wrenched apart from the inside, only not enough to immediately kill me.
The headache had gone, along with the ringing, but this little reminder of the pact was here to stay.
I’d have to go back to Ilyatria to kill my father sooner or later. “I can’t stay here.”
“Of course you can,” he shot back. “Have I been that unwelcoming?” But his gaze trained on my hand, clutching my abdomen. He knew.
But maybe I could dull the edge a little.
“I need to make sure Mourn is safe… and train with him.”
His spoon clattered to the table. “We’ve spoken of this—”
“We have, but it’s unavoidable. I know you’re worried about the danger, but sacrifices must be made.”
“You expect me to let you train when you can’t even eat?”
I despised it, but he had a point. I was in no shape to be traipsing around dragons—even Mourn, when I could hardly sit up straight. Aelen had mentioned the demon king—Rectorindel could heal me, but wouldn’t do so willingly.
He huffed and reclined in thought, the movement thrusting his cloak over his shoulder to reveal his glittering jack. That must have been an icebind enchantment he got from the leader, just like Nenlyn.
Was that Aelen's gift?
Nenlyn had asked if I’d gotten my gift—I hadn’t. What if for my gift asked him to dissolve the pact? Either way, I’d still kill Arthvur, but at least then I wouldn't be rotting from the inside out.
“I want to go up to see Rectorindel.”
Aelen’s eyes shot up from his bowl and widened. I couldn’t quite tell, but I was almost certain he paled.
“As I said, that’s a title, and what for?
“What we talked about in the forest, extending my pact. I heard he holds benefaction sacraments, and I’d like to attend and see if he’ll give me a gift. I can’t think of a better gift than more life.”
He narrowed his eyes. “You’re not an I’phri, you’re not owed any gifts.”
“Well, he doesn’t know that—”
“Yes, he does.” He rose and traced the edge of the table until he met me, and ripped me up by my palm. After wrapping an arm around my waist, he pulled me close. “Walks like a human. Talks like a human.”
I opened my mouth, but he silenced me again with a finger, tracing it along my jaw. Then he leaned in and whispered, “Tastes like a human.”
My throat tightened. “Are you implying you’d eat me?”
He stroked his tongue along my cheek. “Yesss—but not with teeth.”
I flushed hot and heavy. A fire raged that I didn’t want to put out. So when he ran a hand up my thigh, and tight leather, I didn’t push it away. Even though he was stalling.
“How about this, I know the man in charge all too well. I’ll speak to him and ask him, ever so kindly, if he would give you the honor of a gift. And in exchange, you kiss me.”
That was all? A kiss? No more death pacts, or being purged from the inside out, or even what had occurred just the night before. No scheming shadows or pledging my life away.
That idea ruminated on my tongue. All I had to do was kiss Aelen? It seemed we’d already kissed a thousand times. “Just a kiss and nothing else?”
“But a kiss, and nothing more,” he confirmed, grinning ear to sharp ear. “Think of it as picking up where we left off last night.”
With the wine.
It wasn’t a question, though I still lingered longer than necessary, recalling the feeling of the shadows pressing into me. I shuddered.
“Alright,” I said and gasped as he met my lips with violence. He was hungrier than I expected and harsher than the last few we shared. His lips burned like poison, rough over mine, and his tongue lashed against me. And I ate it up, parting my lips further and inviting him inside.
He didn’t have to be told twice, and his hands wandered up from my hips until they found my breasts, which he grabbed greedily.
Now was the time to run. But before I could, he squeezed my hardening nipples between his forefinger and thumb, and it clicked into place.
This is a game. He wanted me to flee. To back down and claim himself the winner. He’d even said as much last night.
He was a bastard for whom I held some—a measly amount of affection, just enough to be grateful he’d saved my life—but I wouldn’t lose at cards and I’d be damned if I lost to him now.
I leaned into his brutal touch, letting my fingers trail down his leathers until I found his hardening pants, and slipped my fingers inside, trailing down his soft flesh until I found his length.
He groaned into my lips and he found my pants too, forcing me against the wall and spreading my legs with his knee.
Too much.
Only then did I part from him, pushing his chest until he released me. He stared down with wide pupils and flushed cheeks, stark against his icy skin.
I waited for him to tell me he’d won, to boast about it with that cocky smirk. But he didn’t.
With both hands, he cupped my cheeks, sucking in a long breath. “You are so godsdamn beautiful, it's unfair.” He released it and pressed his forehead to mine. “Don’t you know how you ruin me?”
The firelight caught on the hollow of his cheeks and lingered in his eyes, revealing the shame that swirled there. But I only got a glance before he turned away and took my hand. I didn’t think he would, but he entangled our fingers together and held tight.
My lips throbbed from him, aching and bruised, but like my traitorous heart, still begged for more.
“Alas, you’ve earned your audience. Let’s go.”