Chapter 35 Trouble
TROUBLE
ELYRIA
Something wasn’t right.
Elyria wasn’t sure how long she’d been lying there, fighting against the lull of sleep.
She knew she should rest, should let herself fall into the void and hope that her nightmares didn’t find her.
But there was something on the edges of her consciousness that nagged at her, almost as if in warning: Do not fall asleep.
Beside her, Sid let out a low huff and tucked her nose under one paw. Elyria rolled over, curling her body around the cat, brushing her fingers through her fur. Sid felt unusually warm, and Elyria found herself shivering, coming to the rapid realization that the room around her had gone cold.
And not just cold but . . .
Too quiet. Too still.
Elyria’s brow creased as she trailed a path through the soft smoke at Sid’s nape, and she shook her head in an attempt to dislodge her thoughts.
It was the middle of the night. Of course, it was quiet.
Of course, it was still. The tavern downstairs had long since fallen silent.
The patrons had dispersed, the rest of their group retiring upstairs, the innkeeper and his assistants done with their duties for the night.
And yet . . .
It felt as though the entire room held its breath. Even the hearth that Elyria would have sworn crackled with low flames only minutes ago had gone cold.
The whole space was unsettling, and Sid’s rolling shadows and even breathing were Elyria’s only reassurance that she wasn’t trapped in some kind of bizarre dream.
Her own shadows, normally restless under her skin, stirred sluggishly at the edge of her thoughts. Like they indeed were dreaming.
Too quiet. Too still.
She should sit up. Check the window. Grab her staff. Should beckon her shadows, invite the thrum of magic into her veins, readying herself for whatever this was.
But her limbs felt leaden. Like a strange sort of pressure had settled over her body, weighing her down. Making her slow, sluggish. She blinked unevenly, sleep still pulling at her heavy eyelids, trying to lure her under.
She wanted to let it.
She would have.
If it wasn’t for the pang she felt behind her ribs—deep, sharp, sudden. A phantom string being plucked in the hollow of her chest.
Elyria bolted upright, one hand pressed to her sternum. The tether in her chest flared, ringing like a struck bell, slicing through the sleepy haze in her mind.
A mind that was consumed with only one singular thought.
“Cedric,” she breathed, shoving her blankets aside and slinging her legs over the edge of the mattress.
Not without effort, Elyria hauled herself out of bed.
She reached for where her staff was propped against the wall, planting it on the floor like a walking stick, letting it hold some of her weight.
What’s wrong with me? What is this?
Bare feet stumbling along the cold wooden floor, Elyria made her way to the door. Her clumsy fingers fumbled for the handle, and she swung the door open—only to step back in surprise.
Because standing there, right in front of her, was Cedric Thorne, his fist raised as though he had just been about to knock.
His chest rose and fell with shallow breaths, the ties of his loose black tunic tangled with his token. His hair was mussed, sticking up adorably on one side, and despite the fog in her mind and the weight on her body, Elyria found her mouth quirking up.
A flicker of relief broke across Cedric’s face, though his brow furrowed as he took in the state of her, shivering in nothing but her own long tunic and undergarments, halfway braced against the door, staff in hand.
“Are you all right?” he asked breathlessly, padding into the room on bare feet, the hem of his pants brushing across the floor.
“I was coming to ask you the same thing,” she said, rubbing her chest.
“What’s wrong?”
Elyria shook her head, rays of clarity breaking through the clouds there.
The bond between them pulsed again, softer now, and it was like his very presence helped pull her back to the surface.
“I don’t know. I just feel strange. Like I’ve had a few .
. . dozen . . . drinks too many.” She offered a halfhearted grin.
“Only, I swear to you I was sober as the day I was born when I crawled into bed, so I don’t understand.
It’s only this”—she tipped the staff toward Cedric, then back to herself—“that brought me out of it.”
“You felt it too. That tug.”
“I feel it often,” she said, and the only thing tugging at her now was her fear, having finally admitted to it.
Though there was much she suspected, much she thought about, when it came to this celestial-blessed—or celestial-damned—connection she and Cedric shared, she’d never openly acknowledged it. Never wanted to give it voice.
“I do too.”
A beat of silence passed between them, and for a moment, Elyria thought Cedric might reach for her. Instead, he said, “Tell me more about how you felt before I arrived. Feeling strange.”
Elyria’s brows drew together. “You don’t?”
“I feel normal, same as I always have. Or, well, same as I have since meeting you, I suppose.”
Elyria didn’t know if he meant it as a compliment or a complaint, but she supposed it didn’t much matter. “What do you think that says, that I end up all woozy and you get to stay your vigilant, normal self?”
Cedric huffed a low laugh, raking his hand through his hair. “Damned if I know, Trouble.”
Elyria blinked. “What was that?”
Cedric gave a sheepish grin. “Trouble. You know, because I’m always the one in trouble, whereas—”
“I am trouble. Yes, I recall. Cute.” She shook her head, trying her damnedest not to let her amusement show. As far as nicknames went, she’d had far worse. “I thought we determined that we have more than enough monikers between the two of us already.”
Cedric shrugged. “So what’s one more?”
“You have an uncanny way of diverting my attention, Sir Thorne.”
“Listen, if you get a shiny new nickname—”
“Courtesy of yourself,” she interjected.
“—then it’s only fair you start calling me Ric. Besides, I think we’ve long since moved past such formal address, wouldn’t you agree?”
Elyria’s grin was downright devilish. “Oh? You don’t like it when I call you, ‘Sir?’ ”
The color suddenly flooding Cedric’s cheeks made her chest light up, the thread between them shimmering with something like delight. With every word they exchanged, Elyria woke up more. Her mental fog continued clearing, her body slowly feeling stronger, surer.
Sid, too, seemed to become suddenly alert, her tail flicking warily as she stretched across the bed.
Elyria closed the door and wandered over to give the cat a reassuring scratch under her chin, no longer needing the support of her staff to keep her upright, though she kept one hand tightly clasped around it.
But with her renewed strength and control, came renewed questions. “You really didn’t feel it?” she asked Cedric, who had followed her over to the bed, his face still flushed. “Not this”—she turned and put her hand over his heart—“but the strangeness?”
“I—sort of? I felt something, like a kind of . . . I don’t know how to describe it.
Just being ill at ease?” He placed his hand over hers, holding it against him.
“But it wasn’t coming from me. I think it came from you.
” His scar twisted as he pursed his lips, dropping his hand.
“It made me nervous. To the point where I had to come check on you. What do you think it means?”
Elyria hesitated, feeling the beat of Cedric’s heart under his tunic. Ba-bump. Ba-bump. Something told her he wasn’t just referring to the strangeness of her room.
Elyria trailed her hand up Cedric’s chest, to where the neckline of his tunic was just wide enough to reveal the thin, crescent-shaped line above his collarbone.
What does it mean? The question echoed in her head, feeling like it came from somewhere outside herself. After all, it’s not like she didn’t know. Try as she might to deny it, there was clearly so much more to this than she ever could have expected.
Ever thought she deserved.
She didn’t know what would happen if she were to voice it aloud. Were to speak the words.
You’ve already claimed him, you selfish idiot, screamed her thoughts. Why deny it any longer?
As though reading her mind, Cedric’s words were soft when he said, “You don’t have to say it. Maybe this is just the stars’ way of telling us to embrace our last night together.”
The room got even colder. “Our last night,” she echoed. “I hate that it is.”
Cedric rested his forehead against hers, his hands going to her hips. His heated touch warmed her skin, her bones, the very air between them shimmering. “I do too,” he murmured. “But if it’s going to be, even if it’s just the last one for now, shouldn’t we make it count?”
Elyria’s grip slackened on her staff as Cedric tilted his chin down to place a gentle kiss on her lips.
He pulled back, just a fraction, his gold-ringed eyes questioning, waiting.
The staff slipped from her fingers entirely as she threw her arms around his neck, pulling his mouth back to hers.
She didn’t even hear the sound of it hitting the floor.
Not when her ears were filled with Cedric’s needy groan, his hold tightening on her hips, pulling her against him.
It was as though his heat traveled through her, carving a line straight to Elyria’s core as her lips parted, opening herself to the exploration of his tongue, the sunlit taste of him.
His charred sandalwood scent was all around her.
She tried pushing him back toward the bed, but he broke away, breathing heavily.
“Elle, what I was trying to tell you earlier”—he sucked in a breath like he meant to draw strength from it—“it’s about Tenny and me. Our shared history. There’s nothing to it anymore but—”