Chapter 45 #3
I rolled my hips, and the motion brought me flush against him, bare as I was, with only the soft fabric of his pants separating us. I felt him there—the hard line of him through the fabric—and a soft whimper escaped me. A broken groan tore from his chest in answer.
The sound sent a rush through my blood, pooling between my legs where our bodies met. I arched toward him, tipping my head back. His mouth hovered just above mine, so close that every breath felt shared.
“You're a monster,” he murmured against my mouth.
“Takes one to know one.”
My eyes fluttered closed, every nerve straining toward the warmth of his lips, toward the touch I was certain was coming.
“Why in the world, Eidra,” he whispered, his voice shaking, “would you ever think I’d want Aedric’s scraps?”
The words lanced straight through my heart. Whatever hold my magic had over me shattered.
I sucked in a ragged breath as everything came rushing back at once—the room, the bed, his body between my thighs, the terrible reality of what I’d been doing. My magic recoiled, retreating so violently that the silver light vanished from my skin.
Then my emotions flooded back into me. Not the warped, possessive hunger my magic had forced upon me, but my own.
Shock. Humiliation. Outrage.
Before I could think, before I could stop myself, my fist connected with his face.
A crunch sounded through the room. Pain shot through my hand.
Rìan's head snapped with the force of the blow. He didn't flinch as blood spilled from his nose, bright against his skin. Slowly, he lifted a hand and wiped it away, weary resignation settling over his features.
He stepped back, and I snapped my legs together, squeezing my thighs so hard my muscles seized. “Better Aedric's scraps than Elyndra's fool.”
He froze. Blinked. “What do you mean?”
And that was when the full horror of what I'd done struck me.
Gods. My magic had tried to seduce Rìan.
Shame burned through me. What I'd said. What I'd done.
I dragged the blanket over my lap, tucking it firmly around my legs with shaking hands. “Elyndra lied to you.”
His brows knitted.
“The Looking Glass is still intact,” I continued. “I found it while you two were... occupied.”
He looked as though I'd punched him in the face a second time.
“It's in a warded room.”
Rìan swore under his breath and dragged a hand through his hair. “How did you get in?”
I gave him a look.
“Did you put the wards back when you left?” he demanded. “Elyndra will know if they've been tampered with.”
“Exactly as I found them.” I folded my arms across my chest. “You really think I'm stupid, don't you?”
“No,” he said immediately. “I don't.”
I couldn’t meet his gaze. “I saw through it into another room. Everything was turquoise and silver.”
The effect was immediate. Rìan's hands curled into white-knuckled fists. “Pelaga.” The word sounded like a curse.
He headed immediately for his blades on the side table, but his hand caught briefly on the edge as he reached for them.
“You need to sleep,” I said, noticing.
“We need to leave.”
“There are still people around,” I argued. Despite the early hour, moans drifted up from downstairs. Not as loud as before, but enough to make it clear the night was far from over. “We'll be seen.”
He continued fastening his belt, methodically settling each blade back into its sheath. “It's not safe here.” His face was drawn with exhaustion, bruised shadows pooling beneath his eyes.
“One hour,” I said firmly.
I thought he would argue. Instead, he sighed, sheathed his final blade, and gave a reluctant nod. “One hour.”
I sagged back against the wooden headboard.
“Eidra,” he said after a moment.
He didn't turn to face me, as though he couldn't bear to look at me.
“Never again,” he murmured. “Do you understand?”
“Yes,” I said weakly.
He let out a slow breath, then pulled on his boots, gathered his cloak, and crossed back to the bed. Without another glance in my direction, he lay down, shoved the bundled cloak beneath his head, and closed his eyes.
I lay back onto the mattress. My gaze immediately caught on our reflections in the mirrored ceiling, and a fresh wave of mortification washed over me. How was I ever supposed to look him in the eye again?
My magic had never done anything like that before—possessed me and bent me to its will.
Although… perhaps, in a way, that was exactly what it always did.
I thought back to Midland. To the Infected. To the way I'd slaughtered them when Aedric's life had been threatened. Even when I killed Sevrien, I'd felt detached from myself, as though I were merely watching from somewhere far away while my magic acted through me.
It always happened when something it valued was at risk.
And tonight, it had made itself perfectly clear. It wanted Rìan.
The thought turned my stomach.
Thank the gods he’d stopped me.
His eyes were closed, though a faint furrow still lingered between his brows.
The sight of him lying there drew a greedy tendril of my magic forward.
Before it could do anything foolish, I seized hold of it and swept a hand through the air.
The mirrored glass overhead darkened and our reflections disappeared.
Only then did I allow myself to relax.
Praying Aedric could forgive the monster inside me, I finally surrendered to sleep.