Chapter 24 Sid #2
“For her name. Obsidian. It’s a mouthful, I know, but she looks a bit like the rock, don’t you think?
Black as night. A little bit, er, shiny.
” He tapped his chin. “She would have blended right in during the Crucible, I think.” The shadowcat hissed at Elyria again, then turned to gaze up at Cedric and meowed. “Just as volatile too.”
Elyria tensed, a weight settling in her stomach.
The memory of that wild, uncontrolled surge of power when her shadows met the obsidian ground during the Trial of Magic raked across her mind.
She could still see Cedric’s body being blasted back, could hear the sickening splash as he sank into that lake of fire. “Stop it.”
“What? I think it’s perfect. We can call her ‘Sid’ for short.”
“That isn’t funny.”
“Who said I was trying to be funny? That’s Tristan’s bag. Thraigg’s. Occasionally yours.” He smiled. “But you’ll never find me claiming to be a comedian. Isn’t that right, Sid?” He scratched under the creature’s chin, eliciting a gentle purr, shadows misting off its back.
“I said, stop it. You’re not calling her that.”
He looked up, confusion washing the grin off his face. “Whyever not?”
“Did you ever think I might not want to be reminded of that obsidian island?” Elyria raised her voice, and the cub bristled. “That I don’t like thinking about that stars-forsaken trial and the fact that I nearly killed you?”
“You didn’t—”
“My power launched you into a lake of fucking fire. It’s only by the grace of your own power that you emerged unscathed. You survived because of the raw magic surging through your veins—the same magic you now refuse to master. You barely even try. Why don’t we talk about that?”
Cedric dropped his hand from where he was scratching Sid—fucking hells, she was already calling her that—between the ears. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I know better than anyone else! I’m the only one who does!” she yelled, jumping to her feet so quickly that the cub startled, dispersing into shadow with a poof.
Just like that, she was gone. Elyria had no time to analyze how she’d accomplished it, nor why doing so left her feeling suddenly bereft.
Not when all she could see was the crestfallen look now etched into every plane of Cedric’s fucking beautiful face.
Was it because the stupid cat had disappeared? Or due to her callous words?
Fuck it all, why did she care?
“This is pointless,” she said, sneering. She needed to feel something else, anything other than the echo of his disappointment against her ribs. “Don’t you have a mission to finish preparing for? I’m sure the lord paramount needs his beloved victor by his side as final arrangements are made.”
Cedric lifted his eyes from the spot where the shadowcat had disappeared to meet Elyria’s glare. He got to his feet, his melancholic expression shifting into something sharper. Colder. “Everything is being taken care of,” he replied icily.
“I’m sure it is. I can only imagine the way the servants must clamor to do their precious Lord Victor’s bidding.”
“You know I hate being called that.”
She smirked. “Oh, I know.”
“Well, no need to fret your pretty head about the state of things around here any longer, my lady,” he said pointedly, taking a step back, his eyes darkening.
“I’m done trying to convince you to talk to me, done trying to force you to face this.
So, you win. Another night’s sleep and you’ll be free of me. Just like you want.”
Shock—and maybe hurt?—flickered through her. Her eyebrows jumped up her forehead, her eyes widening. From the way Cedric’s own brows rose and the small part of his full lips, she thought he might have found her reaction just as surprising as she did.
The feeling pooled in her chest, soaking the edges of her roiling shadows, and her voice was quiet when she said, “That’s what you think I want?”
His jaw ticked. “Isn’t it?”
Her voice was nothing more than a whisper when she admitted, “No.”
“What do you want then?”
She bit her lip, looking up at him through her lashes, debating. She couldn’t say it. Didn’t want to think it.
“Nothing,” she said. Cedric had been right when they were at The Keg. She was a fucking coward. “I don’t want anything from you.”
And she strode toward the door.
Cedric shook his head as she passed him, something like disappointment echoing off him with every swing of his neck. “Liar.”
It was so quiet she wasn’t sure at first if she’d heard him correctly. She paused. Turned slowly, eyes narrowed.
“Say again?”
He puffed his chest, moving toward her with such speed, such confidence that it had her backing up until she nearly hit the wall behind her. “I called you a liar. Again.”
Heat burned in her cheeks. “Bold words for a man who lies to himself about who he is—what he is,” she hissed.
And then he was there, strong arms boxing her in, flexing as he flattened his palms against the wall on either side of her face.
He wasn’t touching her, but she felt him anyway.
The heat coming from him. The tension, so thick she thought it might have become a tangible, physical thing, pressing her against the cold stone.
“Maybe,” he said, anguish in those golden-brown eyes. “But I’ve never lied to you. Not about this.”
Her chest heaved, her breaths coming too fast. “And what is this?” she whispered.
Cedric bent his head, his forehead touching the wall next to her, his breath on her neck. Her breasts grazed his bare chest, the touch sending a spark through the thin fabric of her blouse directly to her core.
“Do you truly not see what you do to me?” he said. “Sometimes, it seems like you don’t. Other times, I think you must torture me on purpose.”
Her brows drew together, the corners of her mouth turning down. “Torture you? I—”
“I can’t—I can’t think when you are around.
The instant you walk into a room, I can barely breathe.
You steal my very air, consume my every waking thought—the dreams I might have, were I able to sleep.
I see only you. Think only of you.” He fisted his right hand and pounded it against the wall. “It is enough.”
Despite the heat radiating off him in palpable waves, Elyria shivered. Her thoughts were muddied, tangled, the shadows in her chest flaring, tugging at her. Warmth of her own making blossomed deep in her core, tightening behind her navel.
“Please,” he said. Begged. “Put me out of my misery.”
His other hand fell from the wall, latching onto the side of her hip, grazing the thin band of skin between her blouse and waistband. His touch lit her up, every nerve on fire, yearning, needy.
Elyria didn’t want to fight anymore.
She simply wanted.
So, without another second’s thought, she reached up and gripped the back of Cedric’s neck, pulling his face to hers.
And they ignited.