Chapter 18
Blainor kissed her like a man parched, as if only she could sate his thirst. He kissed.
Kissed deeper. She gave freely, taking just as much in return.
Two people who’d wanted it for too long were finally allowed to touch.
When he tasted the tender place near her neck, just under her ear, a low groan left Trisha’s lips.
She wove her finger through those dark curls, testing the strength of his broad shoulders and chest. Blainor pulled her closer; she merged with him like a note into a song.
Stirred awake by the press of Blainor’s hands, Trisha’s magic cooed, tempting her to ignite into flames.
“Tell me, Trisha. Is this real enough for you?” His ragged breath was hot against her mouth.
“Blainor—” Another searing kiss silenced her.
“Your song nearly undid me today,” he muttered, tracing the shape of her waist. “Don’t do that again.” His wet lips pressed her skin, the rough stubble tickling. “Unless you’ve changed your mind and wish for me to abduct you.”
Thoughts feverish and fogged, she drew a quick breath. It entwined with his.
“Still no,” she gasped, unsure what she was saying no to.
His heartbeat thrummed against her palm. All she tasted was him. All she smelled was him: the smoke, the evergreen forest, the sharp scent of cedar. Every part of her quivered to get closer and scorch everything separating their bodies.
“Shame,” Blainor murmured after stealing another kiss. “I’d show you all the wicked things I want to do to you.”
“This isn’t wicked enough for you?”
“Starling… you have no idea.” His laughter was low, dark, and full of heated promise. “Come with me, and I’ll make you sing.”
She nearly did. Every nerve in Trisha wanted him to coax music from her mouth, body, and between her thighs.
But that stubborn part of her that refused to be beholden remembered what it meant to trust and bleed. It wouldn’t be silenced, reminding her of the cost.
The agonizing memory of a hand, leading her to the stone circles, cooled down the flames. Trisha had trusted and been left behind. If she now agreed, she’d dismantle every barrier between them, leaving herself vulnerable.
How she found the strength, she couldn’t say. At this very moment, she was completely, utterly under his spell.
“No, Blainor.” The low-spoken words dragged out against her. “I don’t think I should.”
Blainor’s forehead pressed against hers. His gaze was heavy and full of danger, like a dark storm brewing. Blainor’s hands trembled as he stroked her face. “Don’t deny me,” he breathed, a near plea. “Not tonight, Trisha an Tilia.”
The kiss that followed burned away all sense. Trisha couldn’t catch her breath, spiraling into the sensations his nimble fingers and mouth conjured. He broke off, tracing her lips with a roguish smile. And yet, it didn’t quite reach his eyes.
“Still no?”
And gods, how she wanted to say yes—yes, yes, yes. But she couldn’t. The pain of her abandonment lived too close to her skin. First, her mother. Then, the pains in the Undying Lands preceding those early failures in this mortal world. She’d been hurt too often.
“I-I-”
He watched Trisha’s movements, as though to compel her to change her mind. Undressing her with his sultry stare. And then with his hands. The world intruded on their cocoon in the twilight with its muffled sounds of laughter and music from yonder. The effigy still burned, but the flames were low.
A sprinkle of sea mist cooled her further.
Stepping back, Trisha broke away from his touch.
Her sleeves hung from her shoulders, exposing her neck and chest, but she didn’t fix her dress.
He’d already seen and touched what it hid.
Being half-naked didn’t scare her. She feared what he’d expose if she allowed herself to succumb to his promise of a kiss, a night in his bed.
“I cannot,” she said.
Blainor fed her morsels of truth but never laid down the full feast. His gaze may burn her, but it remained veiled to what lay behind. No fire, no passion would convince him to reveal what he kept locked away.
“You… you cannot?” Despite the softness of his voice, the words were cutting. “You asked for real. There’s not much more real I can show you than right here and now.”
“No!” And how could she explain? “You’re—” Her words died.
“Go ahead, say what you need to say.”
“Why did you make me your bard, Blainor? What do you really want?”
“I thought it was obvious. Or am I not speaking in the right tongue?” he asked with a tone like a blade’s edge. “You seemed willing enough.”
“I’d be a fool to believe your only motivation is to have me in your bed. The Warlord of the Twelve shouldn’t have trouble finding partners for that task.”
“Trisha, is that insecurity I hear? I didn’t take you as one to ask for reassurance.”
“I need to trust. And can I trust you, Blainor? What are you offering me—a moment by your side? A month to burn in your hands, and then what?” Her hands balled at her sides. “You’d take all I am but give nothing back.”
The restless sea spilled white foam over the sharp rocks. Her hair, freed from the braid he’d undone, flowed around her waist.
“I doubt even a year would be enough.” His gaze devoured her features and exposed skin.
And when he spoke, his rough words tingled her every nerve.
“You… crawl under my skin, Trisha.” The tendons in his neck strained as he swallowed.
“Your music, your smell, how you refuse to bow to me.” He whispered, barely overcoming the wind, “I’ve seen how you watch me.
How your body reacts when I’m near. Mine, too.
Don’t you dare say you don’t want me. I feel the truth. ”
It was so hard not to lean in and let him have her. All Trisha knew was that she couldn’t. Not to him, even when he made every nerve in her body sing like no other before. She couldn’t afford to risk him, not when it might mean being used. Betrayed. And possibly abandoned at his whim.
“I want my freedom more than your touch,” she said quietly.
He flinched, keen expression now fractured. A wounded look flickered behind his gaze before a gust of cold wind swept it away. Blainor laughed. It was a dry, bitter sound. “Freedom? What you call freedom is just another lie, Trisha. A convenient escape.”
“I’d rather take my lie than accept yours,” she snapped.
The fire had abandoned him. All that remained was an angry man standing before her.
“I’ve never lied to you, Trisha.”
“But you never give me the truth, either! Am I now to trust your word? Throw myself in your arms just because you want me? Desire isn’t enough to—” Her voice broke. Why couldn’t he understand? She needed more than flirtation and half-truths.
The stony look on his face ached her heart. How was it possible to turn passion into fury so quickly? She shoved down the regret, resolved not to show him how deeply she was hurting.
“I won’t burn for a man who refuses to show his true fire. The truth.”
A seagull’s shriek sliced through the silence.
“Truth? Fine,” he sneered. “Then let’s start with yours, Trisha. That thing you do with your music—what is it, really? Magic, I know. Strong enough to compel minds, steal people of their senses, create illusions I can touch. I know it’s not human, Trisha.”
Her stomach lurched.
Blainor’s gaze locked on her, razor-sharp, hungry for any falter. And curse her for not having an answer. “As I thought,” he scoffed. “Or are you going to tell me it’s the road that taught you? Don’t insult me. I’ve ridden that road, and I know all its lessons.”
“Oh, yes, your road!” Trisha shouted. “I know all about the trail of blood and death you leave. Why would I give my past to the man whose name is so feared no one dares to speak it out loud?”
“Your past, Trisha… What an interesting concept,” Blainor said in a silky voice full of poison. “Seven years, you’ve walked the road. But what about before? Didn’t the road exist then?”
Terror froze her. She stood before him, dress undone, skin exposed, but what scared her most was how he stripped her bare with his words alone.
“Struck a nerve, did I, Trisha?”
A flare of anger burned away her fear of upsetting the Warlord.
“You’re so wrong, Blainor. You think I’d fling myself to you?
Everything you’ve said proves me right. You don’t want just my body; you want to own me.
And for what?” A sharp inhale, and Blainor pulled back as though struck.
She didn’t stop. “I belong to no one. Between you and the road, it’s not even a choice. I take the road. Every. Time.”
His jaw taut, Blainor leaned in. The flames were dead, the song muted. Behind him, the sea churned, dark and broken. “Go ahead, then. Ride your road. Just remember—it’s a cold bed.”
His words cut deep, but she’d be damned if she gave him yet another weapon to hurt her.
“At least I decide who to share it with.”
Not waiting for a response, Trisha spun around. She left Blainor, the beach, and the bonfire with its blackened skeletons. The shadows flickered, voices splintering through, as though she’d passed an invisible threshold.
Trisha didn’t stop to think or wonder. Didn’t pay attention to the celebration they’d abandoned.
Fury drove her over the hills, past the crossing to Havbrun, up the road.
The twilight was a pale comparison to her past, not really here, the sun not truly gone.
Already, it dawned beyond the eastern hills, cresting over green grass and blooming flowers.
She both feared and hoped to hear steps behind her.
But Blainor—curse that man—didn’t run after her. Didn’t deem her worthy.
He didn’t care.
Stifling a sob, she wiped a tear from her cheek. Blainor didn’t deserve her upset. Didn’t deserve anything from her. Not after slicing his cruel words into her soul. How naive she’d been to think he could offer her something real. Help.