Chapter 38
To share even one singular quality, ability, or trait as the creature who possessed Mal’s mind made Maeve sick.
Physically sick. She knew it was time to get to work.
She knew it was time to hone the gifts granted to her by Shadow Magic.
But each time she tried, all she saw were long pale arms, with skin flapping off the bone, forcing Mal into submission.
And when she wasn’t thinking about the state of mind and well-being of the man she’d sworn to protect, she was thinking, infuriatingly so, about Reeve.
Moments of soft laughter and hesitant touches in the darkened halls at Sinclair Estates.
Slowly remembering his hands, his lips—
She slammed the bottle of liquor down on the solid ground next to her, shattering it instantly. Her feet dangled off the edge of a high-sitting balcony at the topmost point of the Celestian Palace. The entire city of Crystalmore glowed effortlessly below her in the dark night.
Her fingers traced the railing above her, where she’d slid between a tiny arch to enjoy the Aternian Absenthine she’d stolen from Reeve’s bar. She looked down at the broken bottle as liquid poured from it, coating the smooth surface beneath. It didn’t matter. She had another.
She messily poured more of the numbing liquid into a small glass and groaned as Reeve appeared behind her.
“I did not invite you,” she said without looking back at him.
She couldn’t look at him. Not when every time their eyes met, she remembered something new.
The memories weren’t some foreign idea buried in the back of her head.
When an image of Reeve lacing their fingers together with a wicked smile surfaced, she felt his warm hand on her own.
When she watched him lick his bottom lip at her in her old home, her stomach actually flipped.
With a frustrated groan, she stood, holding her full glass in one hand and running her hand over her forehead with the other. She moved farther down the balcony in retreat.
“You’re drunk,” said Reeve plainly. “Very.”
Maeve kept walking, ignoring him completely. He was in front of her in a mist of Magic before she could make a sharp remark about minding his own business.
He whisked the glass from her hand. “We’re not doing this,” he said, eyes on the glass.
“You said I could do whatever I wanted here—”
“I said we’re not doing this,” he repeated.
Maeve tried to snatch the glass of Aternian Absinthine back, but it vanished. She scowled up at him, prepared for a taunting remark. But his face was solemn.
She shook her head. “There is no we. You can’t tell me what to do,” said Maeve as she took a step towards him, wobbling slightly.
He didn’t counter a step, but his eyes narrowed slightly. “Is that what you think?”
The warmth radiating from him was like nothing she’d ever felt. It seeped through his clothes, pulsating towards her. A welcome feeling after so long feeling cold. Carved out.
He stood to his full height, lording over her, forcing her neck to crane back to meet his stare. With their chests nearly pressed together, more memories flooded her system, and she had to admit they felt . . . good.
“It’s not a punishment, Maeve. I want to help you,” he said.
“I don’t need your help,” she said coolly.
A lie. A bold-faced lie.
“My mistake,” he said, looking down at her.
He finally countered with a step towards her, catching her off guard, as she quickly attempted to step away.
She lost her balance as one of his hands rolled gently off her chest, sending her backwards.
His other hand swiftly cradled the back of her head before it collided with the crystal wall of the palace.
She sucked in tightly, and her breath halted in her throat at their contact. She was suddenly very aware that her skin was too dirty for his Holy hands.
His hands moved to either side of her frame, blocking her in.
“Since you don’t need my help, you can go stay elsewhere.
I can recommend a lodging down on Svin Square.
A rather shady part of the capital city, but they accept other forms of payment besides gold.
Since you don’t have access to any of your gold.
And even if you did, they don’t accept gold mined on Earth. ”
Maeve let out a laugh that didn’t meet her eyes. “I suppose you expect me on my knees thanking you for your generosity in hosting me.”
That damn smile blossomed across his face. “It would be an honor to see you on your knees, Maeve,” purred Reeve.
A playful glimmer danced across his firelight eyes as his head cocked to the side.
Maeve wouldn’t let herself think about those eyes.
“Move,” she said.
“No.”
“Move.”
“Make me.”
Maeve rolled her eyes. She sighed and relaxed against the wall.
Something shifted in Reeve’s expression as her body softened.
She closed her eyes for a moment and then looked up at the ornate ceiling overhanging the balcony.
It was much like the painted ceilings at home.
Plant life and fire-breathing creatures of lore decorated the landscape above.
Swirling vines danced together in shades of green, intertwining much like the creatures.
She’d give anything to see the painted tapestries at Sinclair Estates. To push open those double doors and be greeted by soft-blue eyes.
“How do you do it?” she asked. “Why do you do it? Turn into one of them, I mean.” She nodded up at the ceiling.
Reeve was silent for a moment, his arms still caging her in. Then, “You really want to know?”
“Mmhmm,” she hummed.
Reeve’s own eyes never left her until she returned her attention to him. His playful demeanor was gone, but his voice was calm.
“Then you’re in luck. I am traveling to the very place I first transformed tomorrow.”
Maeve’s chest rose and fell. She squinted one eye as her vision of him blurred beneath the effects of alcohol. “And you’ll take me with you?”
“I will on one condition,” he answered, his brow raising.
“And what’s that?”
“No complaining. Not about how heavy your body feels, or the pounding in your head, or how your body feels like someone rang it out like a rag—”
“I will be fine tomorrow,” she argued, shifting on her feet.
A small chuckle vibrated in his throat. “You’ll be hungover tomorrow,” he corrected.
“You could fix that with a snap of your fingers,” she said, tilting her chin up at him.
“But you don’t need my help,” he hummed. “Right?”
Maeve couldn’t help the smile that pulled at her lips. She shook her head and looked away, her eyelids feeling heavy. Damn his charm.
He angled his head to the side, forcing her to meet his gaze once more. “No drinking yourself into nothing. That is not the path I intend to see you on.”
The violet flames dancing along the walls rippled across his face, across the strong features that suited him as the warrior he was. One she knew didn’t hide from the front lines in battle, and had very little interest in court affairs beyond protecting his home and his people.
Nothing quite so striking had ever shown her so much warmth. Mal had always been icy, cool, and refreshing. This was something begging, pleading, to be awakened in fire.
The darkness inside him lay a moment away, ready to snap to action at his call. The raw power of the gods. A storm ready to be unleashed.
She wondered what his skin would feel like against hers. What her pale hands would look like against his tan cheeks. Would she at once feel shame and fear as their skin made contact? Would a hundred baths not be enough to erase the grime from her?
But still, even if it meant those things, she yearned to know what that scarred Vexkari felt like against her own. Her arm was heavy as she raised it boldly. Reeve didn’t protest as she grazed her fingertips across his face.
He released a long breath that, had Maeve been sober, she would have caught.
His skin had truly been kissed by fire. It pulsed through her fingertips, down her arm, eventually spreading to her toes. She smiled. A small sound of shock escaped her lips at the feeling. Her smile faded as she spoke.
“I’m sorry.”
The words came out, barely above a whisper, before she even realized she had said them. She didn’t withdraw her fingers from his face.
Reeve’s head tilted slowly, positioning his lips to her fingers, and pressed them against her soft skin. He watched her closely, ensuring that she remained relaxed despite his movements.
“Why are you sorry, Maeve?”
Honestly and vulnerability came quickly beneath her intoxicated state. “Because. . . everything I touch falls to ruin.”
Another tender, slow kiss across her knuckles. . . his lips barely touching her skin.
His voice was smooth and dark. “I am still standing.” Her fingers shook against his cheek. “I will stand by you until the end.”
Maeve’s arm grew weak and began to fall to her side. Too quick for her eyes to detect, Reeve grabbed her wrist. He held her gently, not with greedy force, and placed one last tender kiss on her fingertips, before lowering her arm smoothly to her side.
A long moment of silence passed.
“I won’t drink anymore,” she said.
“You can drink if you want, Maeve,” said Reeve. “It’s the lowering of your heart rate to a creeping pace I won’t allow. If you want to drink, I need you to be responsible—”
She sighed hotly. “I don’t want to drink. I hate feeling like this.”
“I know you do,” he said softly. Reeve pushed off the wall, pulling away from her.
More honesty poured from her as she kept her gaze averted from his. “How am I going to master Shadow Magic when the only one like me alive wants me dead and is. . . possessing someone I love?”
If the admission wounded him, he did not show it.
“The same way you have overcome each and every obstacle this far.”
She ran her hands across her face, her legs begging her to give them a break.
“Bed or bath?”
His question caught her off guard. Her cheeks flushed, and in her drunken state, she mistook his genuine question for another one of his flirtatious word games.
“I—” she stuttered. “With you?”
Reeve grinned and let out a low laugh.
“My, my. Your mind is in the gutter, it seems. But if you’re offering—”
Maeve frowned as she pushed off the wall and made to shove him, quickly losing her footing as her head spun.
A dark chuckle filled the air as she headed straight for the ground.
Just before she planted face down, the smooth stone below wheeled out of view.
Reeve held the back of her knees with one strong arm and her waist with the other.
Warmth filled her bones once more, freely flowing. Pure white Magic rippled into her.
Maeve groaned as everything spiraled like she was trapped in a sphere.
“So which is it?” he asked as he carried her into the palace.
Maeve clamped her eyes shut, feeling a wave a nausea coming.
“Just take me to my chambers,” she said weakly.
“Bet you’ll never drink Aternian Absinthe again, will you, kitten?”
Maeve didn’t answer. She draped her arm over her eyes and groaned.
It wasn’t long before she felt the cool satin sheets of her bed. She didn’t fight him as he set her down. She took a deep breath as her focus settled. Reeve stepped back, but Maeve’s hand shot out towards him, gripping the hem of his shirt.
She shifted her knees beneath her on the edge of the bed and tugged him towards her.
He yielded the step, but his hand moved slowly to her fingers and peeled them away from the fabric, holding them in his large hand.
He caressed the tops of each knuckle. She looked up at him, her mouth parted and her eyes inviting.
He scanned her face for a moment and shook his head gently. “Not like this.”
Maeve swallowed hard and tensed. The rejection slammed into her like a punch to the gut. She yanked her hand from his. Reeve’s face was soft as he took her chin in his hand and held her firmly, forcing her gaze up at him.
“Do not misunderstand, Maeve. I want you to remember every little detail when I bed you.”
His fingers pressed against her temple, and a warm night's breeze sent her to sleep.