56. THE ARROGANT BASTARD
A strange sense of calm settled over me as I stood there. Fae moved all around me, migrating to and from the dancing area, leaving me feeling like a boulder that was seriously misplaced amidst an otherwise well-flowing stream. But I didn’t care. I couldn’t stop staring at Nivelle.
Normally, at three drinks in, I’d be scouring the crowd for a female that piqued my interest—someone to take to bed for a good time and then depart from in the morning. A stranger.
That didn’t sound even remotely appealing now.
None of the passing females drew my attention from the one I watched with something akin to fascination.
Beneath the fascination, though, there was a thrumming, low and barely recognizable.
It was there, tucked underneath the thump of each heartbeat.
I placed a hand to my chest, as if I would feel it vibrating, or make it stop if I pressed hard enough.
It felt like an ache. Not one of hurt or pain, but of longing or yearning.
In life, I’d longed for battle and brutality, spitting lightning from my fists, and slicing my blade through my enemy’s flesh for the betterment of the realm.
I had never longed for another being. There had never been a time when I wanted simply to hear someone’s laughter, or see the joy in their eyes when they smiled, or feel their skin at my fingertips.
But here I was. Longing. Not for combat, but for a different sort of fulfillment.
For Nivelle.
For a witch from The Neveshir Isles who could flay my heart with a single look.
What would her skin feel like beneath my calloused hands? Did her eyes brighten when she spoke of something she loved?
Why the fuck was I suddenly swarmed with all these thoughts and feelings?
I tried to shake them from my head, but somehow the seeds had taken root, and I couldn’t free myself from them.
It wasn’t until someone bumped into me, knocking me out of those thoughts and nearly spilling the drink I still held in my hand for Nivelle, that I blinked myself back into focus.
The fire-wielding fae had moved onward through the crowd, but Nivelle remained standing alone at the outskirts, bouncing flames between her palms. My feet moved of their own accord, taking me straight toward her.
She spotted my approach and her hands halted, fire burning in her grip without any evidence of hurting her.
The flames reflected in her eyes as she watched me draw closer and closer.
A look of uncertainty crossed her face, and her chin lifted. Not in defiance—not this time. It was more like she was caught in a moment of hesitation. A doe caught between fleeing and being frozen in place by fear.
Her knees flinched.
She was going to flee.
I held my breath, slowing my steps. As if that would make a difference.
The flames in her hands winked out into smoke. And . . . she stayed.
Suddenly my mouth was drier than Benmoor’s desert. I forced a swallow as I extended the drink to her. She took it—thank the gods. Muscles that I didn’t realize were tense relaxed, and I lowered my hand, clearing the rasp from my throat as I said, “It’s ale. Vahrenhall’s finest.”
A slow nod. Silence. Then she sipped.
“I, uhh, I saw your fire.”
She lifted her free hand, flexing her delicate fingers. Then, she snapped the green flames back into existence and let them gently flicker atop her fingertips. “It might be one of my favorite things to harness.”
“Does it burn?”
She shook her head. “It’s just like having my hand next to a hearth.”
In a blink, the flames pulsed, and then blue light crackled, fizzling between the webs of her fingers and arcing over her palm.
My lightning.
Our eyes met.
“How are you able to wield the lightning?” she asked.
“I don’t know. I was just born with the ability.” I raised my own hand and let my power manifest just like she did, but mine was white—the true manifestation. “Even if there are no storms, I can feel the energy from the atmosphere. It’s always there, I just have to harness it.”
“Does it hurt you?”
“No. Believe it or not, it manifests according to the intention I have behind it.”
She let hers fizzle out as she watched mine. “I don’t understand.”
“Do you remember how you used it in your home to restrain me? Or how you bound Ramil to the chair in the temple?”
She took her bottom lip between her teeth as she nodded.
“You only intended for it to be a shackle. Therefore, it didn’t burn. But it can. You could have commanded it to transfer its energy to me or to him. It’s all about the intention one has when wielding it. It can stop someone’s heart if I command it to.”
The lightning arced from my hand and reached out toward her. She flinched in surprise, then fell still as the bolt of energy zipped along her skin.
“It’s . . . quite beautiful, actually,” she said, watching the light as it branched out over her arm.
It was beautiful. And dangerous. Just like her.
I considered saying as much, when Niall’s voice suddenly cut into my thoughts like a war horn in the dead of night. You look like you need this, he said just as a stranger approached, carrying a tray of drinks. When she offered one to me, I took it, nodding in thanks.
Using compulsion again, are we? I silently spoke back to Niall.
When it suits me. He chuckled. Good luck with whatever you’re about to do. There was a smirk behind his voice.
I glanced around the surrounding area, but I couldn’t see him. Wherever he was, though, he had a clear view of me. Mind your own business, would you?
His laugh echoed in my mind again, then he went silent.
I blinked, realizing Nivelle was no longer focused on my lightning. She was watching me now. The longer I stared back, the more I fumbled for words. And I was usually never the one to be at a loss for them.
The inked markings on her face seemed natural here, in the presence of the fae who so frequently painted runes on their skin. They accented her features and made me want to reach out and trace them.
“It’s . . . dangerous . . . the lightning,” I said, calling my power back into my veins. This was all starting to feel dangerous in a different sense now.
“And what about you?” she asked, quieter this time, like she was nearing a boundary of her own making, or wary of what I might say.
“Niall didn’t make me the commander of his army simply because I can restrain our enemies.” Light humor. It was the only thing I could think to resort to when I didn’t know how to answer her.
Apparently, it wasn’t what she was looking for. Something in her eyes dimmed, and I could tell by the way she turned her sights on the contents of her mug that she was putting that wall back up between us. My thoughts scrambled, desperately trying to find another way to respond—
Then it dawned on me, what she’d meant.
Silas said she was afraid of losing herself. What if she was also scared to get close to anyone, afraid that they would take another part of her away?
I took half a step forward. “I—uhh, what I meant is . . .”
The truth. Tell her the truth.
“Yes. I am dangerous.”
She lifted her head, listening.
I’m dangerous, but not to you. I wanted to say the words, but I couldn’t quite get them to form right. So I tipped my ale back and drank.
The atmosphere slowed around us as the music changed, dropping to a quiet melody that had many onlookers taking the hands of another and leading them to a dance.
I pushed out a breath, realizing this might be my chance to make something out of this.
Get your shit together, Roirdan.
Slowly, I bent to set my mug on the grass, and when I stood, I offered Nivelle my hand. “Would you like to dance?”
Her brows pinched, almost like she was offended by the offer. Or perhaps she’d never danced before. She had stormed away before I got the chance to ask her the other night. And if she declined me now, I might as well let go of any hope that she would ever accept.
My thoughts faded as she, too, lowered and set her mug on the ground beside mine. When she stood again, I thought my stomach might plummet right out my ass.
“All right,” she said.
She hesitated, but the moment she placed her hand in mine, my breath stuttered. Her hand felt so incredibly delicate that I wasn’t sure she was really even touching me.
I gently wrapped my fingers around hers and forced my feet to move.
I didn’t walk far, just enough to give us some distance from the mugs we’d abandoned.
Then, I was pulling her toward me. The rigidity in her movements and the uncertainty of her steps told me she probably had not danced before.
So I took her free hand in mine and brought it up to my shoulder. “This goes here,” I said.
Her fist unfurled, and her fingers spread, lightly gripping at my collar. I didn’t correct her, I simply moved my hand down and placed it against her waist. She sucked in a breath, but allowed it.
“Just follow my lead.”
When I moved, she moved. My hands guided her, keeping her close. I’d never been the greatest dancer. The waltz was about all I knew how to do—aside from swaying back and forth, which was what I was doing now.
My frame was hulking compared to hers. I felt like a hunter trying not to spook a deer on approach. I didn’t want to overpower or intimidate her.
Fates, dancing wasn’t complicated, but my mind was making it out to be the most stressful thing ever.
With each breath, her chest swelled beneath the neckline of her dress as she watched our feet, anticipating the next move.
“It’s probably easier if you look up,” I offered, not just because it would be easier, but because I wanted to see her eyes.
The hand at my collar tightened like she was trying to lift herself off the ground before each step, but her eyes found mine and remained there.
“I’m not going to step on you,” I said, chuckling.
“I . . . That’s not—” She pushed a breath out of her nose and closed her mouth.
“What are you afraid of?”
Her hands loosened. “Who says I’m afraid of anything?”
Shit.
Slipping. She was slipping away.