Chapter 6
SIX
Eirabella
The heat is unbearable, searing the very air in my lungs and turning it into something thick and suffocating. Flames roar around me, their hungry tongues devouring everything in their path. The village is a nightmare of burning wood and desperate screams, the acrid scent of smoke choking my lungs as I stumble through the chaos. I can barely see through the thick, swirling smoke, but I know where they are—I can hear them.
“Janus! Kahlia!” I scream, my voice ragged with panic as I catch sight of them on the other side of the burning market stall. They’re trapped, separated from me by a wall of flames that grows higher with every passing second. Their terrified faces are etched into my mind, their desperate cries for help cutting through the deafening crackle of the fire. My heart races, terror pulsing through my veins as I stretch out my hands toward them, willing something, anything, to happen .
But nothing does.
I try again, desperation mounting as I focus every ounce of my strength on them, reaching out with trembling hands.
But no power answers my call—no cool rush of ice, no protective shield, nothing to save them from the inferno closing in around us.
I can’t get to them.
I can’t reach them.
The sound of cackling has my head whipping to the side where a lanky figure in a worn brown coat stands, a horsewhip in his right hand. “After all this time, you should know better, little girl. There’s no magic in you. I made sure of it.”
What is he doing back here? Did he cause this?
“Go away, Samfer!” I shout at him, and return to the blaze threatening to engulf Janus.
I can do it again, I know I can.
My hands shake with the effort of conjuring the ice shield, my heart splitting with helplessness as the fire consumes everything in its path.
The roof above us groans, a terrible sound that sends a jolt of dread through me. My eyes widen as I see it start to collapse, fiery debris falling like deadly rain.
“No!” I scream, my voice raw as I push forward, as if sheer will alone could stop the destruction around me.
But I’m frozen, powerless as the flames reach out to claim us all.
Then, suddenly, a sense of warmth surrounds me—not with the burning fury I’ve come to expect, but with a strange comforting tightness, an embrace that holds me in place. The sensation is almost comforting; the flames that should be searing my flesh instead cradle me in their heat. I gasp, fear momentarily giving way to confusion, and that’s when I hear it—a voice, soft and reassuring, cutting through the chaos .
“Relax, you’re safe. I’ve got you.”
The words are a lifeline, pulling me back from the brink of panic.
The flames surround me, but they don’t burn. It’s as if they know me, as if they’re protecting me, keeping me safe from the destruction that’s tearing the village apart. The voice is close, impossibly calm amidst the chaos, and as the world blurs and spins around me.
“Relax, you’re safe. I’ve got you,” it repeats.
The panic recedes, the tension in my body unwinds, and I allow myself to believe the voice, to trust in its promise of safety.
Slowly, the fiery scene begins to fall away, the flames fading into the distance as darkness takes over, soft and enveloping. The village, the screams, the fear—all of it dissolves into the void, leaving only the warmth and the reassuring presence holding me close. The world around me slips into nothingness, and I let myself be carried into the darkness, surrendering to the voice that promises I’m safe, that I’m held.
And then, there is nothing but peace .
When I wake up, I'm still wrapped in that warmth. Protected.
The remnants of the dream linger as I become aware of my surroundings, the comforting heat that cradled me in my sleep still holding me close. But as my eyes flutter open, the reality of the situation dawns on me. Rylan is wrapped around me, bare chested, one bronze cuffed arm pressed protectively against my back, holding me close to him. His hand is splayed against the curve of my shoulder as if ready to pull me back to him at the first sign of movement. My head, in turn, rests on his shoulder, his bare skin hot against my cheek. Under the shared blanket that covers us from the waists down, I’m curled desperately close against his side, like I’m a battered little fishing boat, and he’s a safe port in the storm. My heart pounds, not from fear or panic, but from the unfamiliar intimacy of it all. I’m scared to move, afraid of breaking whatever spell has conjured this perfectly peaceful moment.
I tilt my head back slightly, careful not to disturb him, and take the opportunity to study his face in the soft light filtering through the room. He looks different when he’s asleep, his features softened, the tension that so often lines his brow gone. His jawline is still as strong as ever, but there’s a gentleness to it now, a subtle relaxation that makes him look almost boyish.
His dark lashes rest against his cheeks, even longer than I realised, framing those piercing eyes that are now hidden, giving him a look of vulnerability. His lips, usually set in a firm, controlled line, are slightly parted, and I can’t help but notice how full and perfectly shaped they are.
There’s a calmness about him that I haven’t seen in him when he’s awake, a peace that’s so at odds with the man who is always buzzing with intensity, as I’ve seen in the last few days. I find myself wondering what he’s dreaming about, what thoughts fill his mind when he’s not burdened by the weight of his awake thoughts. He seems almost… human like this, stripped of the defences he usually wears so well.
My gaze traces the contours of his face, the high cheekbones that give him that chiselled, noble look, the slight roughness to his skin that tells of a life lived with purpose and intensity. His hair is tousled by sleep, with a few strands falling across his forehead, gifting him a softness that is the difference between him looking merely handsome and utterly… beautiful.
But what makes him so perfect… is, ironically, an imperfection.
This close up I finally spot a scar, long and jagged, running from the curve of his jaw and snaking all the way down his neck to his shoulder, the pale, pink line in contrast against his sun-kissed skin. My breath stills as I take it in, wondering how I missed it before. Maybe because he never lets anyone see him like this, vulnerable.
Curiosity—and something else, something sharper—takes over as my fingers reach out on their own. I trace the scar, featherlight, feeling the smooth texture. It’s deep, uneven, a brutal memory etched into his very being. What could have left a mark like this? The thought twists in my chest, a pang of sadness swelling as I imagine the pain he must have endured.
I wonder how long he’s carried this with him, both the scar and whatever caused it. My mind races with questions, but mostly, I feel the weight of something I can’t put into words—something that makes me want to hold him, to protect him in the way he’s protected me.
He stirs slightly at my touch but doesn’t wake, and I lay a kiss to my fingertips and press it to the scar, letting my hand linger for a moment before pulling it back, my heart aching with a sadness I hadn’t expected to ever feel for my captor. What battles did he fight to earn a scar like this? And why do I feel so deeply about something I barely understand ?
Travelling down his body, my eyes catch on something I hadn’t noticed before.
And it makes me gasp.
Embedded right in the middle of his chest, dead centre on his sternum, is an obsidian coloured gemstone. So black, it looks like it would swallow the slight sliver of light that passes by. My breath stills as I reach out to touch it, but as my finger nears, the stone flares red hot, and I quickly draw my hand back, biting back a squeal. What could it be? Is it the source of his power? Again, a million questions rise to my tongue, but a soft, sleepy exhalation escapes his lips and my thoughts quiesce. I can ask them any time. I don’t want to disturb his sleep.
That’s when I suddenly realise, given the chance, I could stay like this forever, just watching him, memorising every detail of his face, his body in this rare, unguarded moment. There’s something almost sacred about it, as if I’m seeing a side of him that no one else gets to see, a side he doesn’t even show to himself.
I lie completely still, forgoing my breath in exchange for another moment of getting to feel the steady breath filling his chest, the natural pressing of his warm body against mine. There’ve been times I sought out these moments of connection during the fleeting dalliances with men who never stayed for long. But they always came up short, often leaving me worse off, and it’s been an age since I last let myself indulge in something so simple, so intimate as just being held. But this, this tiny moment of closeness with this virtual stranger, is surpassing anything I dared to dream of in the past.
His chest continues its rhythmic rise and fall, and my fingers reach out, avoiding the gemstone, to trace the corded ridges of his impossibly toned body. Up his abdomen, over the clean bandage covering his wound, his chest, up his neck and finally… against his sc ulpted mouth.
After a few minutes, it occurs to me how he might react when he wakes and sees me staring at him like this, and as much as I wish I could stay in this moment forever, I start to roll away. But before I get too far, his arm wraps around my waist, pulling me back to him. His body curls around mine, until his chest is pressed against my back, his legs cradling mine, his skin burning mine everywhere we touch. He buries his face into my neck, lips grazing the bare skin of my shoulder. I bite back the urge to imagine those lips tracing over more than just my shoulder.
Shit. This is getting dangerous, I should’ve woken him up the moment I realised who was in bed with me. I let myself enjoy one last indulgent moment in his arms and start to push away again. But his arm only tightens around me.
“Don’t you dare fucking leave,” he murmurs in his sleep, his voice soft and rough all at once, sending a delicious shiver down my spine. Then I feel it—his hips gently grinding against me, his arousal unmistakable.
Rylan is hard.
Rock hard.
Holy gods help me.
My heart skips, and my cheeks flush, as a streak of heat, no, pure desire, spreads through my body. I should move, I should slip away right now, but instead, my body betrays me. I press back against him, wanting to feel the evidence of his arousal against me.
Warmth blooms deep in my belly, and I feel a strong pull low in my core, an awareness of him that I haven’t allowed myself to acknowledge before. It confuses me, this sudden, intense attraction. I don’t even know how I actually feel about him. He’s been my captor, my protector, an enigma, and now, in this moment, something more. But the lines between those roles are blurring, and I don’t know what to make of it. Dammit. Could I actually want him? Want his body against mine? My core liquefies at the mere thought, and my thighs involuntarily squeeze.
Who am I kidding? I more than want him. I want him to ravage me. As hard, as fast, as deep… as thoroughly as humanly possible. I can’t remember when, if ever, I craved anything so desperately.
He makes an unintelligible sound, his breath warm against my neck. Burying his face in the curve of my shoulder, he inhales long and deep. “The smell of you... gods,” he whispers, barely audible, but it’s enough to make my pulse race. And then, he murmurs a single word with such naked desperation it makes my heart ache. “Valora…”
Valora. The word is foreign to me. A woman's name, maybe? A lost love? Or… a current one? I should be pulling away, pushing him away, but instead, I continue to lie there, the experience of his body around me making mine spark alive. The way he holds me in his sleep as though letting go is the last thing he wants to do makes me want to give him this, even if it’s someone else’s face, someone else’s body he’s picturing in his dreams. It may be another woman’s memory turning him on, but it’s my body he’s holding. Inexplicably, foolishly, I drop my chin and press the softest of kisses onto the skin of the forearm cradling me, right above the cuff around his wrist, like I’m precious.
A sudden knock on the door shatters the quiet, and Rylan jerks awake. I freeze, waiting for him to fully come back to himself. Then his body tenses as he realises where he is, who he’s with, and he quickly jumps to his feet.
“Shit,” he growls under his breath as I follow his lead and get up off the bed.
He glances over at me and does a double take, his eyes raking like fevered fingers up my body, pausing at where the new shirt I chose to wear as a nightgown brushes the tops of my bare thighs. He blinks and clears his throat, then turns away, his hands adjusting his pants.
Giving him the privacy to regain his composure, and for me to regain mine, I spin around, trying not to focus on the flush I feel creeping up my neck, or the emptiness left where his warmth just was. When I face him again, he’s running a hand through his tousled hair, his face set in a frown.
“Fuck. I’m sorry,” he mutters, his voice still thick with sleep. “I didn’t mean to…” He trails off, clearly uncomfortable, struggling to find the words to say.
Didn’t mean to what? Grind your hard cock against me? I want to say, want to use it to unnerve him.
Because there’s no denying it—we were in bed together, and he was aroused.
And I’d wanted him to be.
I only wish it had been me that had made him feel that way.
The knock comes again, more insistent this time, and Rylan crosses the room in a few quick strides, throwing the door open with a sharp, “What?”
He stands there, back rigid, as the interruption pulls him fully back into the awake and present, dissolving any semblance of that vulnerability we’d shared. Grellor murmurs something to him in low, urgent tones. I can’t make out the words, but I can see the immediate change in Rylan’s posture. When he turns back to me, his expression is stormy, his earlier softness vanished as if it had never existed.
He steps back into the room, his movements quick and clipped, and barks, “Get ready to go. Have some breakfast and be ready to leave in half an hour.”
The sudden harshness of his voice stings, cutting through the lingering warmth of the moment we shared. But even as he snaps at me, I can still feel the imprint of his body from where we’d been pressed together, the way my skin had reacted to his nearness. His eyes flicker down to my lips, just for a heartbeat, but it’s enough to send a buzzing pulse through my core.
“Is something wrong? What did Grellor wan—”
He cuts me off. “Stop. We’re not going to do the questions game again. Just do what I say for once.”
He’s already storming halfway to the door again when his name slips out of my mouth. It doesn’t feel right to pretend like nothing has changed between us. “Rylan, I—” I start, but before I can say anything more, he whirls around.
“What?” he snaps, his voice steeped with irritation.
Any words I might’ve wanted to say die on my tongue, and I just gape at him.
“Well? We don’t have all day!” he shouts.
The brusqueness of his tone strikes me like a stinging blow, and I realise with a sinking feeling that the moment of closeness I thought we’d shared really hadn’t meant anything to him. He’d just been asleep, and I’d just been a fucking fool. My heart instantly hardens, a wall of impenetrable ice protecting me from him.
Lifting my chin, I return the cold in his eyes and inject it into my voice. “I just wanted to say, I don’t know what you were doing in here after I specifically asked you not to be,” I say, my voice firm, steady. “But I do not feel safe with you. So, I’m riding with Mathis today. And you can say no, but then you’re going to have to drag my cold, dead body wherever it is you’re taking me.”
Something flickers in his eyes—anger, hurt, maybe both—but he doesn’t respond with words, just stands there, his jaw tight. For a moment, I think he might say something, insist on his own way, but instead, he turns to leave. His hand is on the door handle when he stops, his back to me. “Let Mathis know if you need any more clothes before we go,” he says, his voice flat, devoid of emotion.
And with that, he storms out, the door slamming shut behind him. The abruptness of his departure leaves me standing there, my heart and head a confusing mess of emotions with nothing but the fading memories of the peaceful morning in his arms shattered at my feet.
As ordered, half an hour later, I’m sitting on Mathis’s horse, dressed in my new clothes, with a scowl on my face even Lord Grumpypants would be proud of. The saddle is unfamiliar beneath me, but it’s a welcome change. Rylan is the last to emerge from the inn, his face set in a grim mask. He doesn’t look at me, not even a glance. I haven’t seen him since he stormed out of the room; he hadn’t joined us for breakfast either, and for a split second, I worry about him being hungry. Then I remember the way he’d shouted at me for no reason, and the concern turns to loathing again. He mounts his horse and gives the others a serious nod. The camaraderie from the night before, the easy banter with the guards, is gone, replaced by a thick silence that none of us seem willing to break.
We ride out, the sound of the horses’ hooves on the dirt road the only noise between us. Grellor takes the lead up front, his eyes scanning the horizon, followed by Yosef, then Mathis and me, their usual joviality replaced by a wary vigilance. Whatever message Grellor had given Rylan has everyone on edge. Rylan brings up the rear, his presence looming like a dark shadow behind us. Every mile bears down on my shoulders, and worse, at my thoughts, dragging them back to Rylan no matter how hard I try to focus on anything else .
Sometime around mid-morning, I turn to Mathis, needing something to distract me from the knot in my chest. “How long have you known Rylan?” I ask before I can stop myself, my voice low, not needing the man in question to hear me ask about him.
Mathis glances at me, surprised by the question, but he answers without hesitation. “Pretty much since we were born,” he says. “We grew up together. I’m a year older than him. Grellor and Yosef are newer to the guard—they’ve only been around for about five years. But Rylan and I? We’ve been through a lot together.”
His words hang in the air, and I find myself more aware of Rylan than ever. Even though he’s riding at the back, I can’t shake the feeling that he’s always watching me. But every time I turn to look back at him, his gaze is fixed elsewhere, cold and distant, as though the morning’s events didn’t affect him at all. But something must be on his mind. I can feel the tension radiating from him, the way his shoulders are set just a little too tight, the way he grips the reins like they might slip away from him at any moment. I try to remember when, and if, I’ve ever seen him actually smile. And I realise that I haven’t.
“If you’re asking if he has always been this way, then yes… and no,” Mathis adds, as if he can hear my thoughts. “He was more… open, I guess, when he was younger. But still some version of the strong, silent type. He keeps most decisions he makes close to his chest. But you won’t ever find a better man. Or friend.”
I nod, as if understanding, but in many ways, Mathis’s words have only raised more questions. Why is Rylan the way he is? What made him so guarded, so determined to keep everyone at arm’s length? The glimpses I’ve seen of something softer, something almost tender beneath that hard exterior, only confuse me more. I wonder what he’s hiding behind that cold, impenetrable mask—what fears, what pain, has shaped him into the man he is now. The memory of the scar tells me, whatever he’s gone through, it hasn’t been easy.
I take advantage of Mathis’s willingness to answer questions and ask him something else that’s been on my mind. “Mathis,” I begin, trying to choose the right words, “back in the village… did you see what happened? What I did?”
He nods slowly, his expression thoughtful. “Yes, I saw,” he replies, keeping his voice low. There’s no judgement in his tone, just a simple acknowledgment.
I hesitate, unsure of how to phrase my next question. “I didn’t have magic before. At least, not since I was ten seasons old. And then… that happened. What do you think about my powers, why are they back?”
Mathis looks at me, his brow furrowed as if considering his words carefully. “I don’t know what to tell you. I’m not especially well-versed in Strengths like…” his voice trails off as he glances at the figure behind us. “Magic like yours… it’s far beyond my understanding.”
I sigh, feeling the weight of his honesty, but it’s not the answer I was hoping for. Magic like mine. Until a few days ago, I was unsure that I would ever hear that phrase again. In fact, I was sure of it. Flashbacks of Samfer nibble at the edges of my mind and I shake my head to be rid of them.
Mathis, oblivious to my thoughts, continues speaking. “Your magic... it’s truly something special. I’ve never seen anything like it, even in just those few moments. And I personally know people with the most powerful Strengths in the realm. Yours is comparable to theirs, Eira. Even more so now that I know you haven’t been training it all these years, that it had all been just instinct. That kind of power is truly impressive. And coveted, too. That’s why—” He abruptly stops, as if catching himself before saying too much .
I straighten, raising an eyebrow at him, curiosity piqued. “That’s why what?”
Mathis shifts in his saddle, clearly uncomfortable. “Just... that’s why you need to be careful,” he says, the lightness in his tone replaced by something more serious.
The seriousness of his words hangs between us for a moment, but then I decide to steer the conversation in a lighter direction before he shuts down completely. “What about you?” I ask, shifting the focus. “What’s your Strength? Is it water?”
“Yes, but it’s nothing as fancy as yours,” he says lightly, as if trying to deflect. But I’m not so easily swayed.
“I saw what you did during the attack,” I press, keeping my voice gentle but insistent. “The way you wielded that water… I wish I could learn how to do that.”
Mathis chuckles with a modest shrug. “It’s nothing special; most with Water Strength can do it with some training,” he admits. “But it’s useful. I’ve found it does come in handy.”
I grin, leaning a little closer. “Useful, huh? For something other than taking down a band of bandits?”
Mathis laughs, shaking his head. “I’ll let you in on a secret,” he says, lowering his voice conspiratorially. “It’s mostly for impressing unsuspecting women. But don’t tell anyone. People might think I’m a charming rogue.”
I can’t help but giggle at that, easing the tension that’s been pulling my shoulders taut all morning. “Your secret’s safe with me. Though, I might have to see you in action again before I’m convinced.”
“Anytime, darlin’. But I’m not sure my ego could take the beatings you like to dole out,” Mathis teases, winking at me.
I throw my head back and laugh. It feels good to shake off some of the heaviness in my chest since Rylan stormed out of the room. But before I can respond, Rylan rides up next to us, his presence immediately casting a shadow over the moment of levity. His eyes are hard as he looks between Mathis and me.
“Quiet, you two,” Rylan says, his tone bordering on admonishment. “There might be more bandits around, and we shouldn’t be drawing more attention than necessary.”
Mathis doesn’t seem the least bit ashamed. Instead, he just winks at me and leans in, mouth close to my ear. “Well, I guess I’ll have to save the demonstration of my powers for later,” he quietly jokes, unfazed by Rylan’s scolding. They really must be old friends.
Rylan, on the other hand, lets out a low growl. His gaze lingers on me as I search his eyes for some meaning. What I would give to know what is going on behind those dark eyes, to read what humanity there is left in him. The urge to poke at him, chip away at that icy armour, takes over. I cock my head, giving him a look of exaggerated concern. “What’s the matter, Rylan? Worried someone might think you’re actually capable of having a laugh?”
He narrows his eyes, and his jaw twitches. For a second, I almost feel bad for having purposely needled him. But then the memory of his unnecessarily harsh tone this morning hardens me to him again.