Chapter 11
Ciana had magic, and it was beautiful.
That was Sebastian’s only thought as Ciana’s breathing slowed, as her body relaxed against his.
The image of her—kneeling in the sands, tears falling freely down her freckled cheeks, golden curls lifted on a twisting, violent breeze—was emblazoned in his mind.
An incarnate image of soft power and broken pain.
He’d always suspected she had a gift. Too many times, when she was angry or frustrated or terrified, the winds would stir around her.
For some reason, though, she’d always kept it tightly shackled, forcing it back down whenever it threatened to emerge.
Even when she’d stopped wearing her sautoire, that little ring made of deistair, she hadn’t let it out.
Sebastian knew she didn’t fear Mariah; he was beyond sure that his queen would shield her from the priestesses if they dared try to take Ciana.
Still, her whispered words to him echoed: I don’t want to talk about it.
There was something else that made Ciana hide her strength—even from herself.
She nuzzled deeper into his chest. His arms tightened instinctively around her.
Dangerous. All of this was dangerous. He was a weak fool for giving in. He couldn’t be what she needed; not right now, not after all the ways he’d failed.
But as her sweet honeysuckle scent wrapped around him, as her hair tickled his chin and her soft curves fit so perfectly against him, he struggled to remember why it all mattered.
No. He knew why. Visions of blood—both red and black—flashed through his mind. Screams of innocents rang in his ears. The scent of burned flesh and dragonfire and pain drowned out Ciana’s sweetness.
Sebastian didn’t deserve this. Not with someone as bright and golden as her. Even if he did, he wouldn’t risk losing his best friend—not if fate later decided this wasn’t their path. The thought was enough to drive the stake of resolve into his chest.
Slowly, reluctantly, he untangled himself from her. She mumbled softly in her sleep as he gently pushed away, rising to his knees. He tucked the blanket around her shoulders, making sure she was settled comfortably on the pallet.
He raised his gaze to the flaps of the tent. The night beyond sang, and the distant murmured voices from the Onitan campsite could be heard amongst the insects of the oasis.
Alarm quickened Sebastian’s heartbeat as he listened to the night.
Closer than the sounds of the dying camp, footsteps stomped through the sandy underbrush. No one should be coming this way; not this late; not unless they were either lost or moved with a darker intent.
They were a dead man’s footsteps.
Sebastian shook his head. No, he was not a killer. Not until justice had its turn.
That didn’t stop him from grabbing his sword and scabbard and belting it around his waist. From rising to his feet and, with one last look cast back at Ciana’s peacefully sleeping form, slipping from the small tent and into the night beyond.
Sebastian had to admit—the kid had balls.
Balls that he would like to slice from his spoiled body and roast over the fire, but balls nonetheless.
It was the only explanation for why Ciana’s foul pig of a stepbrother was now creeping through the brush toward their tent, hunting dagger in hand. Sebastian had made a wide circle and now trailed him, years of training masking his footfalls behind the boy’s trudging steps.
Boy felt wrong. Monster, maybe? Rodent? Sack of shit?
It didn’t matter. He would be dealt with, regardless.
The boy tripped over a collection of fallen branches, a heavily slurred curse slipping past his lips.
Ah, well that explained it. He didn’t have balls after all; he was just drunk.
Sebastian’s stomach curdled at the thought of all those nights in the past. When this monster had gotten as intoxicated as he was now and sought out a girl who’d only ever wanted to feel safe in her own home.
Had he used a hunting knife then, too?
Sebastian forced back the growl of rage threatening to crawl up his throat.
The boy’s stumbling steps had slowed him significantly; he was still struggling to stand, swaying slightly as he wiped sand and debris from his travel-worn—yet still fine—clothing.
Sebastian crept closer and leaned against a nearby tree, crossing his arms in the image of casual ambivalence.
Beneath his skin, his blood boiled.
“Didn’t your father ever tell you that it’s rude to disturb a lady when she’s resting?”
The boy whirled, nearly losing his balance. His dark eyes were blown wide in the dim moonlight, ruddy cheeks stained with a drunken flush. His lip lifted when he saw Sebastian, raising his knife between them.
Sebastian didn’t even blink. “But I suppose your father must be just as much a monster as you, so you simply never learned.”
The boy snarled. “Who the fuck do you think you are?”
“No one, really.” Sebastian shrugged. “Just someone who’s here to ensure you never touch Ciana again.”
“She’s mine. She has always been mine—”
“No. She’s not. She never was. Ciana is, and always will be, her own. From now on, she gets to decide whom to let into her life. And I hate to break it to you, but you will never be allowed in again.”
The boy swayed but held his tongue. Anger and hate and all kinds of maliciousness swirled in his expression, his knuckles around his knife white.
Sebastian drummed his fingers on his arm. “What’s your name?”
That disarmed the kid, if only a little. His glare faltered, his knife dropping an inch before he hoisted it again. “She’s obviously told you about me. Told you about all the love I gave her. She surely gave you my name.”
Rage blackened Sebastian’s vision as he fought to keep his composure. “Is that truly what you think you gave her all those years?” His voice was deadly soft. “That wasn’t love. That was all cowardly hate and hungry fear.”
“You’re wrong,” the boy seethed. “Let me see her. I’ll prove it to you—”
Sebastian unsheathed his sword in a single smooth motion, the finely honed blade sparkling like stars in the moonlight.
He used the pommel to deftly knock the knife from the boy’s hand.
It clattered to the sand as Sebastian’s sword arched through the air, sharp, singing edge halting at the soft skin of the boy’s neck.
“You seem to not be understanding, so I’ll say it again.
” Sebastian leaned in, close enough to smell the liquor on the boy’s breath.
“If you so much as breathe in her direction, I will carve your organs from your body and make you watch as I feed them to the desert. The vultures circle above every day looking for stragglers; I would love to give them a fresh meal.”
A bit dramatic, Sebastian had to admit, but effective. The lingering anger drained from the boy’s face, replaced only with abject, unadulterated fear.
Sebastian always strove to do the honorable thing. He didn’t like to wield violence to achieve his ends. But this? This felt fucking delectable.
“I’ll ask one more time,” Sebastian said softly. “What’s your name?”
The boy swallowed. “Lucas. Lucas Blaise.”
Sebastian released him, shoving the boy to the ground.
Lucas fell flat on his ass, and unfamiliar satisfaction again flared through Sebastian.
“Thank you, Lucas. I greatly appreciate your cooperation.” He picked up the hunting knife, slipping it into a loop on his scabbard.
“I’ll be keeping this as well. You’ve proven you can’t be trusted with it. ”
Lucas was already pushing himself to his knees, moving slowly. “Why do you need my name?” he spat. “Why do you care?”
“Because, Lucas.” Sebastian stepped around him, sword still unsheathed and hanging loosely at his side.
When he’d firmly blocked the path to their tent, he turned back.
“Her Majesty will require a name when she hears what you’ve done—and tried to do again—to a Lady of her court.
You’ll have a chance to plead for mercy, but…
” Sebastian shrugged. “I highly doubt she’ll be inclined to give it. ”
The fear and panic tightened in Lucas’s face. “But…but I haven’t done anything!” He blubbered, still struggling to rise to his feet. “She wanted me, always. And she liked it. Ask her! She loved the way I made her feel—”
Sebastian couldn’t stop himself. In a flash, he hauled Lucas to his feet and pinned him to one of the trees, blade pressed against his throat.
“I’m going to let you in on a little secret, Lucas,” Sebastian growled.
He didn’t know he was even capable of such a sound; he wasn’t known for being dark and menacing, but he slipped into it at that moment like donning a second skin.
“If a woman asks you to ‘stop,’ that tends to mean she doesn’t want it. ”
Lucas struggled beneath him, dark eyes flashing again with hate. “She didn’t know what she wanted. But I knew. She was always so wet for me, so ready—”
Sebastian slammed him again into the tree, snarling. Lucas’s words died in a pained wheeze. “One more word, and I won’t bother waiting for my queen to decide your fate.”
Lucas stilled, something in his expression shifting. The haze of intoxication cleared somewhat, and his eyebrows lifted with realization.
It made Sebastian’s skin prickle.
“You want her, don’t you?” Lucas chuckled. “That’s what this is. You want to be inside her, and you’re jealous because she won’t let you. That I know what it feels like, and you never will.” His laughter grew louder, a wheezing sound that rang through the still desert night.
“Go ahead then,” Lucas said, a laugh still in his throat.
“Slit my throat. See if that convinces her to open her legs. But I’ll let you in on a little secret of my own.
” He pushed against Sebastian, dark eyes glimmering.
“She only likes it when it’s forced. No matter what she says, that’s what gets her going.
As long as you keep playing the good guy, you’ll never know the feel of that sweet little puss—”