Chapter 5
Chapter
Five
“Easy, Starling.”
Araya shuddered, soft silk sheets rasping across her brutalized flesh like sandpaper. Jaxon’s hands were on her, spreading something cool and wet on her raw, over-sensitive skin. It stung, then burned, sinking into the marks Kai had carved into her body.
“Shh.” His touch skimmed her collarbone. Her cheek. Brushing her tears away. “It’s all over now, Starling. You did so well.”
Araya jerked her head to the side. “Don’t,” she rasped, the word thick with the taste of blood.
“Don’t what?” His touch followed her, tracing her jaw before tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear. “Hurt you? I would never. Not unless you make me.”
Lie. Lie, lie, lie—
Araya laughed, the sound tearing from her chest in a broken sob.
She rolled onto her side, wrapping her arms around her knees like she could shield herself from whatever came next.
Everything hurt. Every breath a reminder of how they’d pinned her down—how they’d strapped her to the table and cut into her flesh, scarred her body with iron and magic until the only thing she knew was pain and terror.
“Shh, none of that.” Jaxon knelt beside the bed, his palm smoothing over her hair, down the curve of her shoulder. “You’re safe, Starling. I’ve got you.”
He drew her into his arms, tugging her against his chest. She was too weak to fight him, her head falling against the soft linen of his shirt as he pressed soft kisses to her hair.
“It’s all right, Starling,” he murmured. “Do you remember what I told you? You’re mine, and I take care of what’s mine. Let’s get you cleaned up.”
Araya squeezed her eyes closed as he manhandled her body, positioning her the way he wanted.
Some distant part of her realized she was naked, her skin slicked with her blood and his.
Her fingers twitched, desperate to cover herself—but her body wouldn’t answer her commands.
Her head lolled back against the pillow, her mind spinning as Jaxon draped fresh linen over the throbbing wound between her breasts.
“Almost there,” he murmured. “You’ve been so strong, Starling. So good for me.”
The words washed over her, meaningless through the fog closing in. He moved around her, the air of the room cool against her fevered skin. She shuddered, fresh tears rolling down her cheeks as soft warmth swaddled her from head to toe.
“There,” Jaxon said softly, tucking the blanket in under her chin. “See? Better already.”
Araya kept her eyes squeezed closed. If she didn’t look, she didn’t have to admit it was happening—not even to herself.
But she could still hear. The quiet thud of his shoes as he kicked them off by the door.
The rustle of fabric as he undressed. His bare feet padding across the soft carpet to the other side of the bed.
“Sleep, Starling.” The mattress dipped beside her, his lips brushing feather-light across her temple. “You’re home now.”
Araya woke to the deep, even sound of Jaxon’s breathing.
His arm slung across her waist, heavy in sleep, his body pressed close enough that she could feel the slow rise and fall of his chest against her back.
For a split second, she sank into it. How many mornings had she woken just like this, safe and warm in his arms?
And the whole time, Loren had been in iron, right beneath her feet.
The illusion shattered.
This was the same man who had tortured Loren and forced her to heal him—who had pinned her down and drained her power, leaving her broken and crying on the floor.
He had slaughtered twenty-three fae females and tossed their bodies into the Shadowed Sea for no reason other than they bore a passing resemblance to her.
“Starling?” Jaxon stirred against her back, his voice rough with sleep. “You need to rest. Go back to sleep.”
Araya forced herself to still, counting each breath and willing her heartbeat to slow. She could feel every inch of him—his hand splayed across her ribs, the faint scrape of stubble against her bare shoulder. Every muscle ached, her flesh throbbing where they had cut into her.
But there was no cold weight at her wrists. No suffocating collar around her throat. For the first time since they’d dragged her back to the Shaws’ estate, she was unbound.
“I need the bathing chamber,” she whispered.
Jaxon made a low sound of protest, his arm tightening briefly around her before he sighed and rolled onto his back. “Do you need help?”
“No.” Her voice cracked. “I can manage.”
He grumbled, the bed creaking as he settled again. “Call out if you need me.”
Araya slid out from beneath the covers, her bare feet sinking into the thick carpet—its softness almost obscene against her raw, abused flesh. Each movement sent a fresh bolt of pain through her battered body. She caught the bedpost, willing herself not to fall. Not to need him.
Finally, the room stopped spinning around her. She moved slowly toward the bathing chamber, one careful step at a time, her breath catching as the door came within reach. Throwing caution to the wind, she scrambled through and closed the door behind her.
It was almost enough to make her believe she was safe. The solid weight of the door at her back, the silence on the other side—as if there was any world where a thin slab of wood could keep him out.
But then she caught sight of herself in the mirror.
Her breath hitched. Her body was a map of bruises and raw welts where the straps had chafed against her skin, a swath of white linen covering the space between her breasts.
Terrified, yet still needing to know, Araya peeled it back, sucking in a sharp breath at the dark spiral of runes inked between her breasts.
The black ink shimmered faintly with bound aether, the edges of the marks still swollen and inflamed.
This was more than just two runes—a lot more.
Some of them she knew. Marks of control. Of suppression and restraint. Obey. Bind. Submit. Others she’d never seen before, all of them swirling together to form a command she couldn’t understand beyond one simple truth.
Whatever the Arcanum hoped to gain through them…it wouldn’t be good for her.
Araya used the facilities in a daze. Washed her hands.
Her face. Then she wet a towel, dabbing gingerly at the inflamed marks on her chest. Kai’s father hadn’t been wrong to describe him as an artist. The wounds were already closing, the edges of the runes crisp and clean.
Araya laughed, the sound coming out in a soft hiccup.
At least her disfigurement was technically proficient.
Finally, there was nothing left to do. Araya closed her eyes, half-afraid of what she would find as she turned her attention inward.
Her magic answered her, a spark of power in her blood flaring bright—but then it flickered, guttering out like a candle burned too long. Useless.
Araya let out a shuddering breath. She’d spent weeks in iron, her power drained to the bare minimum to keep her alive.
It would take days—maybe even longer—for her aether to recover.
Even then, the ly’ithra rune would only leave her access to as much power as Jaxon deemed necessary.
He would take what he wanted from her, just like he always had.
And the Arcanum would take the rest.
Her throat tightened. The thought of stepping back into that room, of lying down beside him again—it was almost more than she could bear. But she had nowhere else to go. He wouldn’t let her hide in the bathing chamber forever.
Araya eased the door open, swallowing her sigh of relief at the sound of Jaxon’s steady breaths. He was still asleep, his face slack, one arm flung out toward her empty place—reaching for her.
Once, the sight would have warmed her heart. But now she knew what that face looked like twisted with cruelty. She’d seen his skin streaked with her mate’s blood. Had felt the same hands that once caressed her hold her down while she begged him to stop.
That was the future she faced now. A body she had no claim to. Her bond with Loren turned into a weapon. And the man who had twisted her love—who had used and broken her—would use both to destroy the prince who had won her heart.
Unless she did something to stop him.
A flash of metal on the nightstand caught her eye—Jaxon’s dagger. The blade gleamed against the dark wood, catching the weak light of dawn.
For a heartbeat, Araya held her breath, just staring at it. Three steps—no, two, if she moved fast enough—and it would be in her hand before he could even stir.
It wouldn’t free her. It wouldn’t save Loren. But Jaxon Shaw would never touch either of them again.
She took that step, then another, forcing herself not to tremble. She held her breath as her fingers closed around the hilt of the knife, its metal comfortingly cold against her fevered skin.
She stood over him, the point of the blade hovering just above the hollow of his throat. His pulse beat lazily beneath the skin, as slow and steady as the rise and fall of his chest.
All she had to do was press down—
Magic surged under her skin.
Araya’s teeth slammed together, her strangled cry caught behind them. Blood flooded her mouth, her back bowing as her own magic raged through her veins like molten metal, violent and wrong.
Jaxon’s eyes snapped open.
“Oh, Starling.” He gripped her wrist, carefully prying the dagger from her fingers. “That was a bad idea.”
She couldn’t answer him—couldn’t even try to pull free of his grip as he sat up, dropping the dagger carelessly back on the nightstand.
“You didn’t think I trusted you, did you?” He traced the curve of her collarbone, his eyes hot on her exposed skin. “You’ve been so different since you came back. Defiant. I knew I’d have to protect you from yourself.”
His hand drifted lower, running between her breasts to the fresh runes carved into her skin. They answered to his touch, and she collapsed like a puppet with its strings cut, only Jaxon’s grip keeping her from falling to the floor.
“So beautiful,” he murmured. “Even when you’re fighting me.”
“What—” Her voice caught, the word little more than a rasp. She swallowed, tasting blood. “What did you do to me?”
“I fixed you.” He smiled, uncaring of how she flinched when he brushed her hair back from her face. “I fixed us. You can’t disobey me anymore, Starling. It will be so much easier for you.”
“You didn’t compel me.” Araya jerked her face away from his touch. “I would have felt it.”
Jaxon chuckled, pulling her back into the bed. “You were always so perceptive. I had Kai carve this command right into your skin—I had a feeling you would need the correction sooner rather than later. Now your own magic will punish you if you try to harm anyone with Shaw blood.”
Araya stared at him, her heart pounding so loudly it was all she could hear. “You’re a monster,” she whispered.
“Your monster.” Jaxon tucked her back against his chest, his breath stirring the hair at the nape of her neck. “It’s not as bad as you think it is, Starling,” he murmured into her hair. “You’ll see. This was for your own good.”
Araya lay rigid in his arms, her heart hammering against the cage of her ribs. Jaxon’s hand traced slow circles over her stomach, every brush of his skin against hers a promise.
“Fight me later, Starling,” he whispered into her hair. “Right now, you need to rest.”