Chapter 24 #2
Placing the pepper in the white bowl, I half-snapped the greeny-gold fronds from the top of the celery and used them to pull the thick fibers free from the stalk.
And now it was me intently watching Graysen’s reaction as I shared in an off-handed manner, “He knows, at least that’s what he suggested, that I’m a wyrm. ”
“So the Children of the Harbinger are after you because you’re a wyrm.”
“It seems the logical reason,” I said, popping the celery into the bowl.
He unleashed a violent string of curses and took out his anger on the vegetables.
Snatching up the bowl, he tipped it up and over and shook everything out onto the counter in a rainfall.
Grabbing hold of a carrot, he sliced it into thin rounds so fast that the thudding of his blade upon the wooden chopping board sounded more like the rapid fire of a machine gun.
In a few seconds, he’d chopped up all the vegetables and tossed them into the bowl.
The spinach and herbs were next, the pungent aroma of thyme and marjoram and a splash of olive oil pervading the space between us, and last, he threw crumbled feta on top of the salad, and his dagger into the sink with an explosive clank. “Fuck!”
My gaze greedily darted to the bowl and back to him. It appeared I’d gotten a fabulous salad out of his temper tantrum.
Sage wandered over as Graysen spread his hands on the counter, head hanging low as he sucked in a few deep breaths and got himself back under control.
I could only imagine what he was feeling.
It was a kink in his family’s plans to learn the Children of the Harbinger knew I was a wyrm and were after me too.
I kept silent as he straightened and pushed away an unruly lock of hair obstructing his sight before he searched my face, looking for clues, any hint at what was held in my mind. I maintained a neutral expression. He tapped a finger on the granite, finally asking, “What does Silas Boon look like?”
I blinked. I hadn’t expected that question. But I suppose he’d want to know what Silas looked like to hunt him down.
I’d spotted Silas a few times at my family home, stealing onto the estate with the mortal contractors brought in to deal with Evvie’s engagement.
Evvie.
I missed her terribly.
Lise too. My parents as well.
A pang of heartache ricocheted against my chest. I sank down to my knees and hugged Sage, burying my face in his wisps of mist, breathing him in and expelling the misery. Nothingness clung to Sage along with the faint scent of the rancid chicken he loved so much.
Sliding my cheek against Sage’s flank, my gaze skimmed the floor as my mind turned inward, rifling through the last moments I’d been in my family home.
After learning the truth of the Alverac, I ran to my bedroom, determined to do as Graysen had begged me—to run. I’d grab some clothes, get Sage and Evvie, and we’d all escape. Instead, I encountered me—a changeling.
I’d inhaled magic-infused dust.
Couldn’t breathe and was suffocating.
I thought I was going to die.
Silas had caught me as I fell, held me in his arms, and given me his own breath to break through the magic that had ensnared my lungs.
I’d gazed upon a striking face framed with white-blond hair as pale as my own, bright kingfisher-blue eyes staring down at me in reverence.
He’d stared at me as if he already knew me, or at least the idea of me.
He’d certainly spoken that way, with familiarity, at the cottage too.
Which was strange, because I’d never met him before.
“Handsome,” I decided, tilting my head to look up at Graysen.
One lonely eyebrow rose. “Handsome? That’s not much of a fucking description.”
Untangling my arms from Sage, I drifted my fingertips over my face as I considered the best way to describe Silas to see if I could taunt the tamer once more.
“He has these amazing cheekbones and these hollows.” I brushed a stroke across the swelling curve of my own cheeks.
“Silky blond hair, and these full pouty lips, and he’s…
” I shrugged a shoulder, thinking about Silas’s features and wondering how to word it to wind Graysen up further. “Really pretty.”
Graysen squinted at me. “You do realize you just described Barbie Doll Ken.”
Despite the severity of our conversation, I almost burst out laughing. Instead, I chewed my laughter back and schooled my features into a dreamy gaze. “Handsome,” I sighed wistfully as I rose and wandered away.
“You’ve already said that,” I heard behind me, his voice rough-edged.
Graysen didn’t notice the cunning look I shot him before I turned around slowly, making an appreciative humming sound before I said once more, “Handsome.”
He advanced, prowling, and I backed away, retreating. We held each other’s defiant gazes, neither of us blinking. I jolted as my spine hit the bookcase.
Graysen stepped into my personal space, boxing me in with his arms on either side of my body, and gripped the lip of a bookshelf.
I looked up at him from beneath the fringed shadows of my lashes, my breath trapped in my throat at his proximity.
“I like the sound of handsome, and he was very handsome.”
His voice was a rich, seductive challenge. “I thought you liked stupidly beautiful?”
I rose on tiptoe and crooked my finger. He hesitated, wariness flickering across his features because I’d taunted him not so long ago with Master Sirro.
Finally, slowly and cautiously, he bowed his head, and I leaned close, placing a hand on his chest to steady myself, the heat of his powerful body warming my palm.
Soft hair brushed along my nose and cheek as I whispered, my voice husky, “Stupidly beautiful has its place if it behaves itself.” I gently blew a breath against his ear.
His fingers tightened on the shelf. Wood cracked, then splintered, and books spilled to the floor in a thunderous clatter as a full body-shiver rippled through his tall physique and he gritted out a low, desperate groan.
When I eased back down, I watched the bronze flecks in his irises burn as hot as the flames of a forge. He fixed his gaze on mine with dark want before dipping it to my mouth, staring at my lips with hungry intent.
I tilted my chin defiantly. “But maybe I’ve moved on. Maybe handsome is preferable.”
His jaw clenched hard. “He kidnapped you.”
“Pot. Kettle. Black,” I shot back, ducking under one of his arms.
He turned swiftly. The movement sent a surge of featherlight air to skim along my body.
A gentle sting flared across my scalp as he tugged sharply on the end of my hair, and I stilled, waiting to see what he would do.
My heart kicked into a faster pace, and my breathing became uneven as he stepped right behind me.
It was a dangerous game I was playing, fraught with quicksand.
It was impossible not to arch my neck to allow him to draw a single calloused fingertip slowly along the delicate column, all the way down to the curve of my exposed shoulder where the dress’s sleeve hung loose on my upper arm.
That touch and the line of delicious heat it created narrowed my entire focus.
A moment later I sucked in a sharp breath as his stubble-dusted cheek prickled my flesh.
I felt a rake of teeth against my throat before he nudged his nose through my hair, and this time it was his lips that teased my sensitive ear.
“Is Silas blond? Like your kind of blond?” he whispered, the low vibration of his gravelly voice arrowing lust right to my inner core.
Beneath the thin dress, my thighs clenched helplessly, and I bit down hard on my bottom lip to stop the moan from escaping.
Holy Skalki…
I swallowed thickly, nodded, and turned around to face him as he straightened.
I steeled myself against the thrall of the tamer, and let him play with the lock of hair, winding it around his finger as he asked in a more serious tone, “Is he about six foot high?” Silas was lean, more of a wiry build, and obviously not as tall as Graysen either, who towered above me at 6-foot-4.
“Bright blue eyes? Like fucking bright-bright blue eyes.”
His question doused the flames of desire instantly. “Yes.” I frowned at his description because Graysen had obviously spotted Silas too. “You’ve seen him? Met him?”
“Kinda,” he said, rubbing the lock of hair between the tips of his fingers and thumb.
His gaze sharpened on me. “Silas was there with…” His nostrils flared and a muscle ticked in his jaw.
We both knew who he was referring to. He shrugged casually, but there was nothing casual in his bitter tone.
“When I roughed him up outside the engagement marquee. Told him to keep away from you.”
I blinked, and a small part of me softened. “You did?”
“Fuck yes.”
A sliver of me felt grateful that he’d done that. It hadn’t worked though.
“I thought Silas was his bodyguard,” he murmured.
“Guess not.”
His jaw flexed darkly before he agreed quietly, “Yeah, I guess not.”
I remained silent, and he took it as I’d intended. An invitation to ask another question. “How did Silas bind your wyrm?”
The Crowthers had to use physical force and Zrenyth’s wyrm-taming tools. But all Silas used was magical dust. My gaze slid sideways as I tapped my mouth with a fingertip, pretending to think on it.
Interesting question.
My hand settled on my hip. “Some sort of dust I inhaled in. I don’t know what it was. It trapped the wyrm, or rather, my wyrm had to shield itself from its dark magic.” And then I casually dropped, “I couldn’t breathe either.”
His gaze narrowed sharply. “You couldn’t breathe?”
“I thought I was going to suffocate to death,” I whispered, wide-eyed.
Shock barreled across his features, anger too. “How—”
“How did I manage to breathe again?”