Chapter Six
MALRIC
The dining chamber felt too small after she left.
I stood where Aveline had abandoned us, her scent still thick in the air, honey and spice and silver blossom clinging to my senses like a brand I couldn’t scrub away.
My hands flexed at my sides, the memory of her waist beneath my palm, the curve of her body against mine for those few heartbeats before she’d wrenched herself free.
The tower hummed beneath my boots, disapproving, as if it could sense my frustration and found it wanting.
Thane hadn’t moved from his chair. He sat with his elbows on the table, head bowed, fingers threaded through his hair as if he could physically hold himself together. His scent had changed too—sharper, edged with something I recognized as distress, even though he was trying to hide it.
“She hates us,” he said quietly.
“She hates me,” I corrected, my voice coming out harder than I’d intended. “You, she let cry on her shoulder.”
His head snapped up, eyes flashing. “I didn’t—”
“I know what I saw.” I turned away from him, pacing to the window, though there was nothing to see beyond the glass but darkness and the faint outline of trees. “You wrapped yourself around her as if she were already yours.”
“She was terrified,” Thane shot back. “Someone needed to—”
“Comfort her?” I finished, the word bitter on my tongue. “While I played the villain?”
Silence stretched between us, heavy and accusatory.
I pressed my palm against the cool stone wall, letting it ground me, letting the sensation cut through the heat still coiled in my gut.
My body hadn’t settled since we’d entered this cursed tower.
First the climb, her scent drawing us upward like a lure.
Then seeing her standing there, wide-eyed and beautiful and utterly unaware of what she was doing to us.
And now this—the aftermath, my alpha straining against control, Thane’s loyalty shifting toward someone who wasn’t me.
“There’s no way the king just appears,” I said, forcing my mind back to strategy, to something I could control. “He has to enter the same way we did.”
Thane made a noncommittal sound. “Unless he has a portal between here and the throne. He could have magic-users for that.”
I snorted despite myself, glancing back at him. “Maybe. Is that even possible?”
Thane thought for a long moment. “He has gathered all kinds of magic-users to himself, and he has manipulated some of the magic to suit his needs. I was his only weather mage. He could have a portal mage.”
Knowing the king, and how he hoarded resources and people, it was likely.
He had responsibilities, so he couldn’t constantly slip away to be at the tower.
The tower’s magic was old, deliberate. If the king had designed this place specifically for Aveline—to contain her—then conventional entry might be irrelevant.
He could step through a doorway in his palace and arrive here without crossing the forest at all.
Which meant we needed to be ready at any moment for entry at any level. I hated being vulnerable.
“Either way,” I continued, “we should sleep in the lower level. It gives us the best chance for escape and to make a stand.”
Thane nodded slowly, rising from his chair. His movements were stiff, reluctant, his gaze drifting toward the corridor where Aveline had disappeared. “The nest—”
“No.” The word came out too sharply. I forced myself to soften it. “We leave her alone. She made that clear. Honor her wishes. Give her choices.”
His jaw tightened, but he didn’t argue. We had left our gear—bedrolls and packs—in the lower level, so we headed down the spiral staircase. The tower’s hum followed us, a low vibration that seemed to pulse with our descent, as if it were measuring our intentions.
Before descending, Thane glanced up one level at the landing that led to the nest.
I could see it from here—the doorway half-open, the soft glow of candlelight spilling out, the impression of cushions and furs piled deep. Her scent drifted from that direction, warmer here, richer, as if the nest concentrated it.
Thane’s shoulders tensed. He took half a step toward it.
I caught his arm and pulled him down toward the ground level where we’d first entered. “Don’t.”
“I wasn’t—”
“You were.” I didn’t release him until we reached the bare stone chamber at the tower’s base. Our entry point had sealed completely, no seam visible, no indication that a doorway had ever existed. I confirmed our gear was still there and had not been tampered with, then turned to face him.
Thane stood in the center of the room, looking lost in a way that made my chest tighten with something uncomfortably close to guilt. His hair was disheveled from running his hands through it, his posture hunched slightly as if he were carrying a weight I couldn’t see.
“She’ll be fine,” I said, though I wasn’t sure why I reassured him.
“She’s alone.” His voice was rough, threaded with frustration. “She’s been alone for years, Malric. And we just showed up, told her everything she believed was a lie, threatened to kill her father—”
“He deserves it.”
“That’s not the point!” Thane’s magic flared, the air crackling with the promise of a storm. He clenched his fists, visibly fighting for control. “You bullied her. You cornered her. You didn’t give her a chance to—”
I moved before I had fully decided to.
Three strides brought me to him. My hand closed around the front of his tunic, and I shoved him back against the stone wall hard enough that his breath left him in a rush. Our bodies collided, his back hitting the wall, my chest pressed against his, the space between us eliminated in a heartbeat.
Thane’s eyes widened, storm-bright and startled.
“I believe,” I said, my voice coming out raw, “we have unfinished business.”
His breath caught. The hitch in his chest, the way his body went rigid beneath mine. For a moment, I thought he might push back, might argue, might tell me to let him go so he could comfort the princess we’d both been circling like starving wolves.
Instead, his gaze dropped to my mouth.
That was all the permission I needed.
My hand slid down between us, rough and deliberate, and closed over the hard length of him through his leathers. He was already straining against the fabric, thick and hot beneath my palm, his arousal unmistakable even through the layers.
Thane’s head fell back against the stone, a low, broken sound tearing from his throat.
“Is this what you need?” I asked, my voice low, stroking him firmly, roughly, the way I knew he liked when words failed and bodies spoke louder. “Or were you planning to take this upstairs to her?”
“Fuck you,” he gasped, but his hips rolled into my hand, seeking friction, seeking more.
I smiled, sharp and possessive. “Not tonight.”
His hand came up, fisting in my tunic, yanking me closer even as his other hand found the front of my leathers and squeezed. The contact sent heat spiking through me, my cock hardening instantly under his touch, the pressure almost painful after hours of restraint.
I groaned, the sound dragged from somewhere deep, and crushed my mouth to his.
It wasn’t gentle.
We collided like we always did when control finally snapped—teeth and tongue and the clash of wills that refused to yield even in this.
He bit my lower lip hard enough to sting, and I retaliated by tightening my grip on him, stroking firmly until he moaned into my mouth, the sound vibrating between us.
Our bond surged, magic tangling, seeking the familiar alignment we’d built over years of fighting and fucking and learning each other’s bodies like territory claimed and reclaimed.
His storm pressed against my leashed power, lightning crackling along my skin, the mark at my wrist burning hot beneath the bracer.
“Malric,” Thane breathed against my mouth, his hand working me through the leather, rough and urgent. “We shouldn’t—”
“Shut up,” I said, and kissed him again before he could finish that thought.
Because we should. Because if we didn’t burn this off, the tension would eat us both alive. Because Aveline’s scent was still in my lungs, and Thane’s loyalty was wavering, and I needed to remind him—remind both of us—what we were to each other.
I broke the kiss long enough to reach for his belt, fingers working the buckle with practiced efficiency. He mirrored me, hands yanking at my laces, our movements clumsy with urgency, neither of us willing to step back far enough to make it easier.
His leathers parted under my hands, and I shoved them down his hips just enough to free him. He sprang into my palm, thick and hot and already slick at the tip. I wrapped my fingers around him properly now, skin on skin, and stroked from base to tip in one firm pull.
Thane’s knees buckled.
I caught him with my other hand at his hip, pinning him to the wall, holding him upright as I worked him with deliberate intent. He was beautiful like this—head thrown back, throat exposed, lips parted on ragged breaths, his body surrendering even as his pride fought to hold on.
“Look at you,” I murmured, my thumb sliding over the head of his cock, spreading the wetness there. “Falling apart already.”
“Bastard,” he panted, but his hips thrust into my grip, seeking more friction, more pressure.
I gave it to him, tightening my hold, picking up the pace until he was gasping, his hands scrabbling at my shoulders, my chest, anywhere he could reach. His magic flared again, wild and uncontrolled, the air around us crackling with energy that made the hair on my arms stand on end.
“Easy,” I said, though my control was fraying fast. “Save some of that.”
Thane’s eyes snapped open, storm-dark and furious. “Then stop teasing.”
I grinned, sharp and feral. “Make me.”
He moved fast—faster than I expected. His hands shoved at my chest, and suddenly our positions reversed, my back hitting the wall as he dropped to his knees in front of me with a grace that should have been impossible given how hard he was breathing.