Chapter 17 #3
“Bellmont has spent the past two days with the Master of Whispers, Elory,” Brunn said in a tone too soothing to put her at ease.
Aiden had injuries all over his face and bare forearms, little cuts, none of them fresh, that spoke of hours of torture, she noticed when the guards led him to sit at the table next to hers.
His head was bowed, and his shoulders slumped, but when he glanced up at her, his eyes sparkled glacial blue, defiance frozen in two orbs that told her he was ready to take whatever the Master of Whispers threw his way next.
“Perhaps you’ll be willing to cooperate if we peel off the ice wielder’s fingernails,” Lenya purred. “We’ve noticed the two of you have grown quite attached.”
Why was Lory still surprised they were paying such close attention to who got along with whom?
The bonds forged in this place were the ones that would survive a lifetime and the ones people would endure torture for.
The fact that Aiden had already done the latter showed how empty his life must have been after his sister’s death until he’d come to Ashthorn.
“What do you want me to do?” She’d been prepared to suffer, had been convinced there was no one worth torturing for information. Now she realized information wasn’t the only thing they could use to get her friends out of there. Compliance was just as important.
“Set the meat on fire. Restrict the flames to the bowl.” Khayrivven’s voice was the one she was craving to hear most in this moment, yet, when he spoke this demand, all she could think of was that he was her only regret—even if he didn’t deserve a second thought after what he’d done.
“Just a few flames.” Not a plea, but his softer tone spoke of the man she’d spent those fiery minutes in the stone room with, and in her chest, something broke.
“I promise I’ll leave Bellmont alone if you show us what you’re capable of.
” Lenya patted the sword at his hip, gesturing that it would remain safely sheathed if she cooperated.
Lory met Khayrivven’s gaze over the shoulder of the Master of Whispers, savoring the softness spreading in his eyes while the rest of them were focused on Lory.
He let his facade slip for her—only for her, and for a brief heartbeat—that was all he seemed to allow himself, but Lory caught that unguarded moment and the flicker of fear in his eyes as Lenya unsheathed his sword, pointing it at Aiden’s neck.
No regrets. She wouldn’t let Aiden suffer, only so she could deny something everyone already knew.
“All right.” Slowly, she sat back on her chair, the Triad’s and two guards’ suspicious glances following her every move while Khayrivven seemed to be holding his breath. “I’ll try. I’ve never summoned my magic at will, so it’s possible all you’ll see is a girl with a sweaty forehead.”
No one as much as smiled at her joke. Not even Khayrivven, whose hand hung casually by his sword.
“Very well, Vednis.” Lenya didn’t remove his blade from Aiden’s neck, nor did he show any other sign he was ready to let the ice wielder go.
“Summon your magic, or he dies.” With bared teeth, Lenya bent over Aiden, grasping his collar with his free hand and pinning him to the backrest of the chair.
Aiden’s groan confirmed his visible injuries weren’t the only ones. “Now, Vednis.”
Inhaling a steadying breath, Lory positioned her hands in front of her, above the bowl, and closed her eyes.
If they’d wanted to kill her right away, they’d long done that, and they wouldn’t hurt Aiden until she showed first signs of failure, so she took her time, searching every nook and cranny of herself for signs of the smoldering heat that had erupted from her before.
All she found was a hint of warmth where the past two days in the dungeons had drained whatever strength she’d had from her. Not enough. She needed more. Real heat.
She was afraid enough to make her magic burst out of her for sure, yet it remained shy beyond a protective layer, as if knowing it meant a death sentence.
Anger... If fear didn’t work, anger would. It had done the trick in the stone chamber with Khayrivven.
The Gargoyles attacking Evven and her, General Ycken catching her in front of Lu’Shen’s, Falcrest locking Aiden and her in the stone chamber, the ashlings dying every day at the tip of their peers’ blades for nothing more than failing to be on time, this entire monstrosity of an academy, the secrets…
anything she could think of, she threw into the furnace of anger until a beast hot enough to burn down Ashthorn raged inside her, but when she opened her eyes, not a trace of fire had grown from her fingertips.
Not enough—whatever anger she’d summoned, it wasn’t enough to bring her power forward.
Lust. The word floated through her mind like a caress. There was no way she could throw herself into that sort of emotion under duress, let alone under the scrutiny of six men and one woman, at least five of them wanting to see her dead.
Close your eyes, Gutter Gem. His voice was a distant memory, the chuckle in his tone easing the tension in her limbs like a light stroke of his hand, and Guardians be damned, a streak of fire ran from Lory’s chest straight to her core, and her eyes shut as if on their own accord.
Behind her lids, a dark stone room welcomed her, and at the center of it, Khayrivven waited with a supple grin on his lips.
Lory’s knees wobbled from exhaustion, but as she tumbled over, the rough stone floor wasn’t where she landed. Instead, the soft mattress of a wide, black-sheeted bed caught her in a gentle embrace.
“Relax, Gutter Gem. It’s only you and me in this room.
They can’t reach you in here, and I won’t let you escape until you burn for me.
” The grin turned wicked as his gaze dropped to her chest, then to her hips and legs, and Lory realized that she was no longer wearing her Ashthorn uniform but a delicate, silken nightgown with thin straps and excessive lace along the plunging neckline that left little to the imagination.
“Where are we?” Lory’s voice echoed off the torch-lit walls, heart thundering in her chest as she ran through all possible scenarios of how she’d ended up here when she was just sitting at Lenya’s table.
“A dream.” He took a casual step closer, opening the top button of his shirt. “You need lust to stoke your fire, and I’m making sure you’ll burn bright once you open your eyes again.”
A dream. How had he dragged her into a dream while she was fighting for her life?
“It’s a talent of mine.” With a wink, he shucked his weapons belt, then slid his fingers up to his chest and opened another button on his shirt “One of my more annoying ones, I’ve been told.
” There was no apology on his face as he took another step, and another, opening button after button until his shirt hung open to his stomach, exposing smooth, olive skin and hard, defined muscle.
Lory had a difficult time ripping her gaze away from what was certainly the most appealing torso she’d ever laid eyes on.
Yes, she’d seen him shirtless that night she’d spied on him, but then, the night had swallowed most of the view.
Now, the light of multiple torches painted fiery patterns on his skin, rippling over the ridges and grooves, defining what had to be the result of years and years of training.
“Look your fill, Lory.” His fingers slid lower, pulling his shirt from the waistband of his pants, and he reached behind his neck, tugging the fabric off in one smooth motion. “I might be the one directing this dream, but I want you to take whatever you need in order to produce those flames.”
Lory’s mouth went dry as he reached for the strings tying his pants, and a part of her was ready to watch whatever he was about to show her, but—
“You kissed me, and then you disappeared for days, and when I went up in flames in front of the entire school, you threw me in the dungeons and delivered me to the Triad for execution.” Her throat tightened more with every word while her eyes fought to hold his gaze when all they wanted was to return to where his hand lay frozen on the waistband of his pants.
“Why?” Her voice was breathy from weakness or the rising excitement in her belly as Khayrivven shifted on his feet, sending a ripple through his abdomen. “Why try to help me now?”
All he gave her was a tired smile. “No regrets.” It was all the explanation she got before he bent over her, taking her hands in his and placing them on his stomach.
“I can see how fast you’re breathing, Lory, and it’s not because you’re afraid anymore.
” He traced the length of her arm with the tips of his fingers, eliciting a shudder of pleasure from her.
“You want me, Lory. You want me so badly I can feel it in my very bones.”
His hand wandered along the side of her neck, delving into her hair and tilting her head back so she had to look up at him or close her eyes.
“I don’t want you to die, Gutter Gem. I like you way too much for that, and I don’t want you to suffer because I failed to make your magic appear, so please”—this time it was a plea—“please let me give you something that will make you burn.”
Lory couldn’t think as he lowered his mouth to hers in a breathtaking kiss, his tongue requesting access in a subtle stroke along her lower lip, and—Guardians—did that heat flare in her chest. One kiss, and he set her on fire, one stroke of his tongue against hers, and an inferno exploded inside her chest. And those flames didn’t stop there—like a wildfire, they spread along her arms and hands until her fingers were aglow.
Her arms wrapped around his neck of their own accord, and she pulled him off balance, making him straddle her legs as he caught his weight with his arms right next to her head.