Chapter 17 #2
I swallow hard. “I don’t know, is it? If you can bring back my family, why won’t you do it?”
“I told you.” His voice softens. “If you do bring them back, makhair, they won’t be the same people you once loved.”
“But some souls remain unchanged,” I insist.
“If they stay in this world, yes. Not if they cross. Remember that. And remember that both the king and Phaethon want the gates to open. They only want it so they can conquer other worlds. Knowing that, do you still think it’s a good thing?”
I shake my head. I don’t want logic, I want the pain of their loss to end. “What about the attack on my home? Does that ring any bells? Weren’t you there? Did you or didn’t you slaughter the people I love?”
His frown darkens. “No, I wasn’t, I… I can’t remember.”
“You can’t remember?” The chill in my blood turns to fire. “What does that even mean? One doesn’t just forget committing a massacre.”
“I don’t… recall everything about the past. Listen, Rae—”
A knock comes on the door and it swings open. Servants appear, carrying buckets of steaming water, going to dump it into the bronze tub by the window. More servants follow, carrying trays with food and clothes, but although the aromas make my stomach growl, the last thing on my mind is eating.
We stay there, still like statues, until they’re done. They retreat, giving us slight bows, their expressions tense, surely reflecting ours.
Once the door is shut, I take a shuddering breath. “You want me to forget what you’ve done, but that’s not possible. The king was right.”
“The king, the king.” He lets out a dry laugh. “Is this what this is about? You let the king put his mark on you. Does that mean that you want to be with the king? Don’t tell me you have feelings for him?”
I jerk away from him, fury simmering in my chest. “I think so.”
“What the fuck…?” He groans, spearing his fingers through his dark hair. His face spasms as if I’ve stabbed him through the heart. “You’re toying with me. Why would you…?”
“I’m not toying with you.” I look away. “I love him.”
“You love the king?” All the light seems to go out of his pretty dark eyes.
And then his lips peel back in a snarl. The shadows whip up around his feet, rising to envelop him as he whirls about, grabs a chair, and throws it at the wall with a roar.
The shadows crash against the walls, reminding me of the dinner where he had terrified the fae nobles.
He had also terrified me.
Fury. Sorrow. Shadows dripping off the walls like blood. His black hair lifts as he slams into the table, then grabs it and throws it, too.
“Stop!” I yell. “Jai, stop! What are you doing?”
He drops to his knees. His head bows, hair falling in his eyes. He’s panting harshly. Blood drips from his bandaged thigh to the floor.
This is breaking my heart.
“Jai.”
“You don’t know the pain of losing a mate twice.”
“But I’m not—”
“Eos.” He lifts his head and gold glimmers in his eyes.
No. Not now. I can’t deal with Phaethon now.
But Jai clenches his jaw and slams his fist on his thigh – his wounded thigh, smearing his hand with blood. A hissed curse escapes him.
The gold fades from his gaze once more.
I swallow a sob. “Jai…”
Slowly he climbs to his feet, his movements clumsier than I’m used to seeing from him. He staggers a little. He rubs a hand over his eyes. “May the Gods help the king when I see him again because I won’t be fucking accountable for my actions.”
“What do you mean?”
“I won’t stand by and watch him touch my mate—”
“Your mate is dead!”
He growls. Reaches for me, his rough palm cupping my cheek. “Is she? I want…” His chin dips and he draws an uneven breath. “Fuck, what am I doing? You’re right, I don’t know you. You’re finnfolk. This is crazy, impossible, and I should go before—”
“Jai… don’t.”
His long dark lashes lift. “What do you want?”
“Don’t go.” The words are jagged. They hurt me even as I speak them. “Please, stay.”
He sighs. “Gods, Rae, what you’re doing to me… Dammit it all. Are you mine?”
Am I his?
What I am doing? He’s been in my thoughts through every moment of every day and night and he complains? What is this constant tug on my senses when he’s around? Why does he feel so… dear?
I’ve been distracted from even saving myself in the games because I’m so aware every moment of where he is, if he’s okay, and then the moment he’s near me, my body goes tight and hot, needing him. Despite everything. Despite him being a walking hazard, a living testament to my tragedy.
He says he can’t remember, but is he the man who killed my family? Is he the villain? How can I forget him saving me in the arena, holding me in my bed at night?
“Fuck it.” His strong fingers close over my chin and he walks me backward. “I can’t think from wanting you so fucking much. I can’t think of anything else but you.”
My back hits the wall.
He puts his hands on either side of my head and cages me but I don’t want to get away. I want him to press closer, to overwhelm me, take me.
His head dips toward mine, lips parting, dark lashes like lace against those sharp, marked cheekbones, and I’m lost. His scent torments me, his powerful, hard body pushes into mine as if trying to merge with me through our clothes.
His lips brush over mine and send a jolt like lightning through me, shaking me to the core.
“If you want to kiss me,” he breathes, “then kiss me. Take what you want. I won’t take from you what you won’t give. Tell me. Command me.”
Every word he speaks ignites me. I want, and I want, and I want him. In every way, in every form. Any way I can have him.
“Holy fuck,” he breathes, “you want me. I can taste your thoughts. I can taste your desire.”
“How is that happening?” I whisper. “Why did I hear you in my head when you called down the drak?”
“I heard you, too. It’s…” He grimaces. “Rae—”
“Please…” I lift my hands to cradle his face, his hard jaw an unforgiving line against my palms, the stubble scraping my skin. I brush my fingertips over those designs on his cheeks, over his thick brows, the butterfly-beating of his lashes.
“Kiss me,” I whisper, “pleasure me, lie with me. Make me yours.”
“You’ve been mine from the moment I met you,” he growls, and then he’s kissing me, his mouth as hard as the rest of him, not punishing but intent, eager, unleashed. He lifts one hand to slide long, callused fingers over my shoulder, up my neck until he cradles my head, controlling the kiss.
And I fall into him the same way I fell into the deepest ocean—with a wish, and a grudge, and a burning desire, strong enough to challenge death.