Seventeen
Raina
The sun was close to rising, judging by the sparrows’ songs coming through the trees. I sat curled up in a chair, reading a book I’d taken from the shelving beside the bed.
I’d read the same passage at least three times when a knock at the door saved me from going cross-eyed. I didn’t ask who it was. Only one person would know I’d been up and moving around so early.
“Come in.”
Liam entered, softly closing the door behind him. He went over to the window, his gaze fixed on the distant horizon, lost in contemplation.
The air still held residue from last night. Like a living thing, it hovered between us.
Closing the book, I braced myself for his words, expecting him to shatter the fragile peace. To tell me it had been another mistake.
Finally turning to face me, his russet eyes searched mine. "Last night …"
He ran a hand through his mop of hair, displacing the waves I’d always loved so much. The soft curls so different from my stick-straight pale strands.
"Last night?" I prodded, needing him to get this over with as soon as possible.
We'd been crossing lines, reopening old wounds. There was no pretending otherwise.
I reached the end of my patience. “Last night was a mistake? Was that what you came to tell me?”
Liam recoiled as though I’d struck him. “No. Fuck no. That is not what I was about to say.” The vehemence in his voice made my heart race.
“Then what, Liam?” I rasped.
“I don’t want to pretend it didn’t happen. I’m done with pretending.”
“I don’t understand.”
Liam pursed his lips, studying me. Resting his ass on the window sill, he crossed his arms.
“I think we should start over,” he said.
I dropped the book.
"Are you saying what I think you're saying?" My voice was barely audible, even to my frost nymph ears.
His eyes held mine, unblinking. "Yes.”
Gunnar’s little talk from last night danced around in my head. He believed Liam needed me to be complete, that the same was true for me.
I hadn’t wanted to give credence to the idea, not after all I’d endured. Facing a firing squad would be easier.
“Start over?”
“Yes, Raina. You. Me. Together."
The notion struck me dumb, a bolt from the blue that left me floundering. My heart skipped erratically as I tried to reconcile his declaration with the tattered remnants of our relationship.
"Start over?" My voice wavered, betraying my disbelief as I repeated myself.
It was more terrifying than being judged by a god in the mines. Liam could so easily break me beyond repair. I wasn’t ready to give him that kind of power.
“After everything we've been through? Start over, just like that? Like nothing happened?"
“Or start again. Start where we left off. Start with me inside you for hours until you scream yourself hoarse. Your choice, but we start somewhere because I’m fucking done pretending.”
It was so tempting. The pull between us was undeniably strong, it always had been. It would be so easy to just give in.
The tumultuous storm within me raged, torn between the safety of moving on and the dangerous allure of being with him again. The only true happiness I’d ever felt was with him.
We might not ever make our way back to profound love, but I could concede that we couldn’t continue carrying on as we had. It was already impacting those we held dear.
Give an inch, Raina. But would he demand a mile?
“It seems I’ve shocked you, flower.”
I snorted. “Obviously.”
“Are you really so surprised?”
“Surprised that you want my body? No, you’ve been pretty clear on that.”
His eyes darkened. “I want more than just your body, Raina.”
My core flexed right along with my heart. “That’s the part I’m hung up on.”
“Are you considering it? Have you ever thought about it?”
“Of course I have.”
Liam stalked closer. I held up my hand to halt him.
“Tell me what you’re thinking,” he coaxed.
I took a deep breath praying I didn’t drown in the abyss after I jumped.
“I’m thinking, possibly, we could start—”
A low growl of satisfaction rumbled from his chest as he swiftly moved to kneel in front of me.
“—as friends.”
His hands were reaching for my knees when my words registered.
"Friends?" His mouth moved like the word tasted odd on his tongue.
He ran a hand through his chocolate waves again, rising back up to his feet. His stance was rigid yet somehow imploring as he stared down at me.
I held my breath.
Miraculously, one corner of his mouth lifted as his muscles relaxed. “If this is what it takes, friends it is,” he agreed, holding his hand out.
I took it, ignoring the zap of energy between us as he pulled me to my feet and close to his body.
“Don’t look so shocked. If this is what you need, so be it.”
He paused, leaning close and fixing me with an intent look that had bumps breaking out across my flesh. "But be warned, my flower, I’ll never be content with just a friendship. I'm giving you time to get used to the idea, but I fully intend to make you mine again."
The raw intensity in his voice wrapped around me like a tangible force, sending a surge of heated excitement through my veins. It was a dangerous promise, one that thrilled and terrified me in equal measure.
The memory of our betrothal, the sharp sting of my parents' actions and the ache of loss, still haunted me. Fear whispered that history would repeat itself, that Liam would unravel me only to leave me in pieces.
"Is that a threat or a promise?" I managed to quip, attempting to infuse humor into the charged atmosphere, to conceal the tremor of vulnerability that threatened to betray me.
"Take it as you will," he replied, a ghost of a smile playing on his lips, softening the hardness in his eyes for a fleeting moment.
In the silence that followed, I found myself caught in the gravity of his orbit, unable to break free even if I wanted to. I was about to do something stupid, like pull his lips down to mine, when he ushered me out the door.
The chill of the morning air was a sharp contrast to the warmth that had lingered between Liam and I only moments before. Without speaking, we navigated the narrow bridges to the infirmary, giving my mind something else to focus on.
Liam led all the way to Mirrelle’s room. He pushed open the door, and my nose was hit with the heavy scent of healing herbs. In the bed, Mirrelle lay propped up on a nest of pillows, her skin pale but her spirit still shining in her eyes.
Gunnar occupied a seat near her bedside, his presence as imposing as ever, sipping coffee with an air of detached nonchalance.
"Liam, can your father come back and guard me instead of Drótinn Junior over here?" Mirrelle’s voice was weak but laced with her characteristic feistiness.
Gunnar raised an eyebrow. The corner of his lips turned down before he masked the expression behind the rim of his mug.
Liam chuckled. "I'll put in a good word for you," he promised. “Though I’m sure Father enjoyed playing guard overnight.”
She grinned cheekily.
"Mirrelle," I started, my throat tight with emotion, "I'm sor—"
"Raina, if you apologize one more time, I swear I'll get up from this bed just to kick your ass."
I sobered instantly, a giggle escaping me despite the seriousness of her threat. "Alright. Then I suppose I will say thank you instead. For protecting me so fiercely."
"Don't mention it." Mirrelle waved her hand dismissively, though the slight wince that followed betrayed the effort even that small gesture took.
"See how easy it is to say thank you to someone who stands between you and multiple attackers? Someone who risks their life to save yours?" Gunnar's tone was light, but there was challenge.
Mirrelle's ruby eyes darkened. Gunnar continued to sip his coffee slowly, his hazel eyes never leaving hers.
A smile threatened and I pressed my lips together. She really would try to kick my ass if I laughed right now.
Their banter was some twisted form of foreplay. But it fit them.
I wondered if I should be worried about that. Mirrelle could handle herself, yet there was something about Gunnar that seemed to worm its way under her skin.
A fit of coughing broke through my musings, and I turned to see Mirrelle clutching her belly, her face contorted in pain. In less time than it took for me to draw a breath, Gunnar was at her side.
He moved with a grace that belied his size, kneeling on the bed by her hip, a clean rag in hand.
"Here, dove, I've got you," he murmured, his voice gentle as he dabbed at her lips.
I stood frozen, watching as Mirrelle allowed him to care for her. Her surprise mirrored my own. Since when did the blood fae let anyone, particularly a male who'd just been the subject of her ire, tend to her so tenderly?
Gunnar looked up at Liam, all trace of softness evaporating from his expression. "Father is waiting for us at Speirhaus," he said, the command in his tone leaving no room for argument. "But I'll stay here for now."
Mirrelle rolled her eyes at his declaration, prompting a mischievous twinkle in Gunnar's own.
Liam nudged me to the door saying, “I’ll let him know where you are.”
I stood before Brahm, his presence as commanding as ever. The weight of my guilt pressed down on me, heavy as the rock that made up the mines.
“I’m sorry about the attack, Drótinn Brahm. I never actually thought they’d be rash enough to attempt it here in Ephandor.”
“Me, either, Raina. I suspect they believed by not killing any of the clan they could avoid my wrath. They were sadly mistaken. Though, I suspect they’ll eventually grow desperate enough they won’t be so careful about it.”
"I will leave Ephandor," I insisted. "I won't risk any more lives for my sake."
Liam's hand shot out, gripping my arm with silent intensity. His displeasure was etched into the hard line of his jaw. “No.”
"Leave?" Brahm's voice boomed through the chamber, echoing off the stone. "You think you can just walk away from those that mean harm? Who attacked you again and again? I don’t think so. Warriors do not walk away. My warriors fight those that mean us harm.”
I held my ground, though it felt like standing against a gale. "I’m not one of your warriors, Drótinn.”
Brahm stepped closer, his towering frame somehow managing to loom even larger. "Are you sure about that?" he challenged.
My chest tightened at his words, an unexpected warmth blooming. I didn’t answer.
“Now,” he went on, “as warriors of Ephandor, you’ll be rectifying your mistakes from last night.”
The weight of Brahm's stare was a physical thing, pressing down on us with collective disappointment. I focused on the pattern of stitching on his tunic until I found the courage to look up again.
For all my bravado, I felt like a younglin in front of the Drótinn. I’d rather fight him with a weapon than be on the receiving end of his disappointment.
"Despite all the years of training, despite the constant reminders over the last few days," Brahm eyeballed Liam, his voice hard, "you two managed to be far enough apart that you couldn't reach Raina to portal away before they reached her. It left her vulnerable. Unacceptable."
I sensed Liam shift beside me. "It was my fault," he asserted.
Like hell it was.
"No. The fault was mine. I pushed Liam on something he didn't want to talk about. I knew he wouldn’t want to discuss it but I picked that scab anyway. I distracted us both."
Brahm's brows drew together, and for a moment, I wondered if the floor would crack open under the force of his frown.
"What's done is done,” he said, cuffing Liam around the back of his neck and putting their foreheads together. “It won't happen again. Understood?"
"Understood," Liam and I said in unison.
I suspected I was getting a taste of what it was like to grow up with Brahm as a father. He was assuredly harder on his berserkers than this, showing affection while correcting behavior.
Brahm released his son and went back to the other side of his desk.
"Letting emotions cloud your judgment has consequences. Now sweet Mirrelle is in the infirmary, enduring Gunnar's so-called attentions."
Sweet? I didn’t know where that assessment came from, but I did feel responsible for her injuries. I lowered my head, looking down.
"From this moment on," Brahm continued, "you two will work together as one. No more distance. Arm's reach, at all times. Always."
"Always?" The word slipped from my lips before I could corral it, betraying my trepidation. "Even at night?"
"What does always mean, Raina?" His reply was sharp, a sword unsheathed.
Color flooded my cheeks. I felt Liam's intense stare on the side of my face.
Always meant no space, no hiding. It meant physical closeness that was a danger to my request of starting as friends.
"Go," Brahm ordered. "Create a plan to make up for the fiasco of last night. We now know they have an Anuban witch. I’m tasking you to create a solution. You owe the clan that much."
I swallowed hard.
As Brahm turned and left his study, the heavy oak door closing behind him, I felt the space between Liam and me shrink immeasurably.
"Alright then," Liam said, his voice low and steady, "we have work to do."
He moved toward the table strewn with maps and scrolls, his back to me for a moment, and I caught my breath at the sight. Even in such simple actions, his poise held an edge of readiness, an ever-present reminder of the warrior he was.
Fit. Strong. Capable.
"Every waking hour?" I murmured, still grappling with always, at all times.
"Seems so." The corner of his mouth lifted in a half-smile but he made no other comment.
"Let's start with the perimeter," Liam suggested, unrolling a detailed map of Ephandor and the lands beyond.
His finger traced the outlines of the territory, and I couldn't help but notice the warmth radiating from his skin just inches from mine.
“Initial thoughts?” he asked.
"The patrols will need to be doubled at least. If there’s only one Anuban, they likely don’t have enough power to handle that many berserkers at once."
“Assuming they still don’t intend to kill anyone in the clan.”
I leaned over the map, my white-blonde hair falling forward, creating a temporary curtain between us. “True.”
I could feel Liam's presence, a solid heat at my side, and it sent a ripple of awareness through me that I struggled to suppress.
"Double patrols, heightened alerts," Liam added, marking the map with swift, sure strokes. The casual grace of his movements were sexy as hell.
“What about the wards? Who …” My sentence trailed off as I realized how close our hands were, almost touching over the parchment.
"Raina?" Liam's voice, a soft prompt laced with concern.
"Ah, the wards. Whoever created them, they didn’t work." I forced the answer out, pushing past the sudden dryness in my throat.
“I have to assume the witch undid them. So where does that leave us with their usefulness?”
“Where indeed,” he said softly, looking up from the map.
I drew in a deep breath, trying to steady my pulse. What was wrong with me?
This wasn’t the first time we’d had to be in close proximity, so why was I so rattled?
Because he’d opened the door to the possibility of more. Hell, he’d busted through it and told me exactly what he wanted.
This wasn’t the time to dwell on it.
"Let's start with the basics," I suggested, my mind shifting gears as I pointed to a section of the map. "We can't keep reacting. I'm sick of always having to react, having to play defense."
“On that I can agree.”
Liam's hand brushed over mine as he traced a path along the etched hills and valleys. "Let's figure out how to go on the offensive instead. Try to get the upperhand in some fashion.”
"Offensive," I repeated, a newfound determination settling in my chest. "Yes, absolutely. We should be going after them, not sitting and waiting for something to happen."
A sly grin flickered across Liam's face.
And just like that, the seed of hope he’d planted took root inside my chest. It kindled a warmth that even the chill of my nature couldn't suppress.
I just hoped I didn’t end up choking on it if it bloomed.