Chapter 12
Killian
It had been another long day—one that could only be remedied by a warm bath and a mug of ale.
They’d made it to Levoy right after sundown, after trekking for nearly five hours.
They had, at least, been able to commandeer a carriage, though the long, bumpy journey had been spent mostly in silence.
Manny and Sera had taken turns sleeping on each other’s shoulders while Killian tried his best to avoid Elyse’s haughty gaze.
Levoy wasn’t as large as Sevhella, but it was still sprawling and filled with the same raucous energy.
That was where the similarities ended. A wide river bisected the city, and sandstone bridges connected the two halves every few blocks.
The weather was far milder, courtesy of the northern climate, and the air tasted cleaner—not like the stench that plagued Sevhella in the summertime.
The city had a sort of charm that Rhodan’s capital lacked, a level of sophistication that came from the stylish stone architecture and a well-planned layout.
Upon arrival, they’d stopped the carriage at the first inn they’d found, paid the driver a handsome wage, and acquired three rooms for the evening.
Sera had inquired about the location of the bizarre bird attack and discovered it was in the opposite corner of the city from where they were staying.
It was late enough that they’d decided to investigate in the morning.
Killian and Manny had conducted their nightly training, now under Elyse’s tutelage.
Though, tutelage was far too benevolent a word to describe how she taunted them, sneering at every mistake.
Killian was wholly convinced that the only reason she had offered to train them was so that she could abuse them—both mentally and physically.
Now, Killian soaked in the tub in his private room.
A mug of ale sat on a stool beside him, its contents already half-drunk.
He let the warm waters soothe his back and hips, which were angered after sitting in the cramped carriage for so long.
He slipped deeper into the tub and savored the feel of the heat on his shoulders, the way the tension seemed to evanesce.
As he closed his eyes, he pretended he was anywhere else.
He imagined the way things could be between him and Elyse, if she weren’t a soulless wretch, and if they weren’t burdened by a demon whose motives were impossible to determine.
Months ago, they had glimpsed that normal life together.
Killian had worked at the palace during the day while Elyse ran the Emporium.
Then he would meet her in the evenings, and they’d share dinner over candlelight.
Sometimes they would skip the meal altogether, their hunger for one another overpowering their desire for food.
They’d spent countless hours in Elyse’s tiny bed, exploring one another’s bodies.
As glorious as those hours were, they hadn’t been Killian’s favorite.
He preferred the moments when he could watch Elyse—quiet moments when her focus was honed in on something else.
The way she bit her lip as she studied one of her ancient spellbooks.
How her face lit up when a potion simmering in the cauldron turned a precise shade of green.
The pinch of her brows as she tried to cook them dinner—a dinner that, more often than not, ended up being inedible.
Those were the moments he cherished most. But now, each time he stole a glance at Elyse, she was scowling. Or she was nowhere to be found. And as it stood, they were as far away from getting Elyse’s soul back as they were from tracking down Lazarus. Which was very, very far.
He heard the doorknob rattle, but he didn’t think much of it. The door was locked, and whoever it was could wait. But when he heard the undeniable click of the lock and the creak of the hinges, he opened his eyes.
Water sloshed around him as he moved to cover his body. He shouted some indiscernible noise at the intruder, but the door swung open anyway. Elyse stepped into the room. Her dark eyes went straight to him, a smirk forming on her lips.
Words evaded him, fear stealing them from his throat.
Elyse looked at him with a sort of brutality that made him squirm.
She was merciless, and that look could mean a hundred different things.
Perhaps she hadn’t berated him enough during their training, and now she was there to continue.
Perhaps she’d decided she had no more use for him and was there to end their alliance—violently.
Killian had no clothes, no weapons, no warning to protect himself.
Nothing but the little pink crystal wrapped around his wrist, the very one that Elyse had gifted him in a past life.
Yet as Elyse moved closer, there was a glimmer in her eyes—one that didn’t quite align with the monstrosity that Killian feared. With each lithe step she took, he realized she was looking at him with desire. Hunger. A sort of possessiveness. And that made him fearful for a different reason.
He swallowed and tried to ignore the way his body responded to her, and how utterly aware he was of his nakedness. He tried to ignore the way Elyse’s smirk meant she, too, was thinking of his bare skin. She sat on the side of the tub and trailed a finger along the water’s surface.
Speak, he commanded himself, but he didn’t know what to say. He knew he should tell her to leave, but his throat refused to cooperate. His body was betraying him in the most infuriating ways.
Elyse spoke instead, her voice a seductive drawl. “I thought you might like some company.”
Killian drew a steadying inhale. “It’s rude to enter someone’s room uninvited.” He wanted it to sound cool, impartial, but his words wavered at the end.
Elyse let out an arrogant humph and cocked her head. Her hair spilled down, dangling like a sheet of soft silver, and Killian had to look away. His chest tightened as he resisted the urge to run his hands through that hair, to grasp it at the scalp and pull her face closer.
“Leave me be, Elyse,” he said quietly. It was as loud as he could manage, as if his heart had tried to stifle his words.
He knew it was a terrible, terrible thing that Elyse was in his room, that she was so enamored by his body.
He wanted nothing to do with this devilish version of Elyse.
A version who cared only for revenge, and apparently carnal motives.
She grazed a finger along his neck and Killian jerked in surprise. Her touch didn’t falter as she stroked the skin from his jawline to his collarbone, the movement slick from the water. He’d expected her touch to be cold, like her heart, but instead it was warm. Inviting even. Tantalizing.
She was here. She’d sought him out. Clearly, she wanted him.
Maybe it was a sign—that she remembered what they’d shared together.
Maybe somewhere, even in the absence of her soul, she could learn to love him again.
She could become his again. As Elyse dragged her finger across his shoulder, Killian felt a spark of hope.
He lifted his gaze to hers and realized how wrong that hope was. Her smile was cool and wicked, no trace of love there. Only lust, undiluted by anything like shame or even nervous butterflies.
“Elyse,” he chastened, moving her hand away from him. He couldn’t bear to feel the sensuality in her touch, knowing there was no sincerity behind it.
She didn’t mind his rejection. She seemed to relish it instead, like a challenge. “You used to enjoy my hands,” she purred. “Why deprive yourself?”
Killian’s nostrils flared as he pushed away thoughts of exactly how much he’d enjoyed her hands—of how he’d nearly lost himself each time she’d grasped him, and how he’d felt so fucking lucky to be touched by her. “I don’t want you,” he said through gritted teeth..
Elyse laughed, sharp and cavalier. “Of course you do. I’ve seen how you look at me, like you’re disgusted with yourself for wishing to defile me.” She bit her lip, letting the words “defile me” hang in the air between them, like a command.
“No,” Killian managed to say. “I want the old Elyse. The one who had a soul, who cared, who…”
Who loved me, he thought, and he’d never felt smaller.
Elyse’s eyes narrowed, her lids lowering until her pale lashes nearly brushed her cheeks.
She sat up straight, her gaze pinning Killian in place, and lifted a hand to her tunic.
Slowly, her fingers worked at the top button until the fabric released, spilling aside to reveal delicate alabaster collarbones.
Killian’s heart pounded against his ribcage, as if it yearned to escape its prison of bones and throw itself at Elyse.
She continued to unbutton her tunic, one slow movement at a time.
A lump the size of his fist formed in his throat, making it impossible to breathe.
All he could do was stare at her, helpless and unwilling to make her stop.
When she freed the final button, she rolled her shoulders back and let the tunic glide down her arms. It fell to the floor in a seductive whisper. Elyse sat proudly on the edge of the tub, letting Killian take in everything. And devil help him, he did.
Her chest was still covered by a thin undershirt, though it did little to hide her shape.
It was tight, hugging the gentle curve of her waist and lifting her breasts ever so slightly, creating a delicate line of cleavage above the rounded neckline.
The nearly translucent fabric blended with her skin, except for the rosy hue of her nipples, which he could see perfectly.
He noted they were hard, pushing against the fabric, announcing her arousal—as if the delicious pout of her lips didn’t already do that.
Killian realized he wasn’t breathing. He exhaled through his nose, refusing to open his lips.
He was afraid his mouth might betray him—either by kissing her, or asking her to kiss him.
He was paralyzed, the two halves of his mind battling inside him.
One screamed at him to run away, the other pleaded with him to stay and play and explore. To forget and remember, all at once.
Elyse didn’t wait for him to make up his mind.
She leaned forward, but she didn’t press her lips to his.
Instead, she blew out a breath along the moist skin of his neck, sending a shiver through him.
She dragged her teeth down his shoulder as her left hand cupped his neck.
Killian tried and failed to stifle the groan that rumbled through his throat.
At the sound, Elyse gripped his neck tighter, her nails pressing into his skin.
It prickled slightly, a tinge of pain, but it was nothing compared to the pain he would feel if he let things go further.
“Elyse,” he tried to protest, but the words died in his throat as she moved her lips to his jawline.
Agonizingly, wonderfully, she made her way closer to his mouth.
Killian cursed silently, even as inexplicable bliss filled him.
Elyse’s lips teased his mouth, their skin barely touching, until Killian couldn’t take any more.
He freed his hands from the tub, water splashing at the movement, and grasped the back of Elyse’s head.
Their mouths crashed together, lips tangling and tongues slipping against one another.
It was effortless, their skin and lips meeting as they had so many times, moving in a synchronized push and pull, give and take.
He broke away to look at her, finding an intensity in her eyes that he’d never seen before. A single thought consumed him: he could convince her. He could bring her back, restore her soul. He could fuck her until she remembered how much she loved him.
Distantly, he knew it was a ridiculous idea.
There was nothing romantic in the way they kissed one another, their breaths sharp with lust and nothing more.
That didn’t stop him from lifting a hand to squeeze her breast and delighting in the soft moan she emitted, the delicious friction of the wet fabric.
It didn’t stop him from biting her bottom lip just to hear her hiss a breath.
He gave a sharp tug of her hair, and she seemed to melt in his hands, a wicked, sultry smile sliding across her face.
That smile, though, wasn’t the one he wanted to see. He yearned for the demure smile, the one that seemed to slow down time. The one that made him pray for a lifetime to worship Elyse.
She leaned closer, but Killian sat still. His mind was whirring, infinite thoughts spinning. It grew louder like a rumble of thunder that filled him with dread. He exhaled and tried to piece his mind together, but the dissonant hum only seemed to intensify.
“What’s that?” Elyse breathed, sitting straight—as if she could hear the same pounding that filled Killian’s head.
With a blink, Killian realized she could hear it. That the clamor wasn’t in his head. It was in the streets outside. And it sounded like—
Wings.
An enormous black bird crashed through the window, glass shattering in its wake. It spread its wings as it soared in an arc around the room and headed straight for them. Its malevolent eyes were as dark as its feathers as it streamed closer.
Elyse flung her hand at the creature, and it dropped from the air. It landed in a feathery heap at the base of the tub, leaving Killian to wonder whether she had killed it or simply stunned it.
Elyse was on her feet in an instant, racing to the window.
Onyx blurs rushed past, barely distinguishable from the dark of night.
Killian hopped out of the tub and reached for his trousers without bothering to dry himself in a rush to meet Elyse at the window.
Screams were now pouring through the shattered pane, but Killian still couldn’t make out anything aside from the winged shapes that shrouded the night, turning it into a living nightmare.
Elyse was entirely still, her fists clenched at her sides. Her eyes were narrowed, her gaze adhered to something in the distance. He couldn’t see what it was she stared at, but he knew.
Lazarus had come.