Chapter 20
The prince’s rooms were right next to hers. Although, for some reason, hers were far more guarded with nasty protective wards. They had Kiran’s signature all over them. He didn’t want to take any chances with the echo shield gone.
His rooms were still formidably shielded, as well.
No matter, her shadows hid her and unlocked the door. She wasn’t going to waste time respecting his privacy after all the disrespect he’d shown her.
Inside, the rooms were dark and smoky. She coughed.
The candles on the walls brightened and faded as she crept down the hallway, almost in tune with her breathing. When she stepped into the main room, Imani’s mouth gaped.
Everything in the room was in disarray, but her eyes were drawn to the blood. Hot, sticky blood covered the table and pooled onto the floor in a congealed mass of red liquid around the body of a servant. A dead servant. A fire popped and dimmed at her presence, the only sound in the room.
Sidestepping to avoid the mess, she moved closer to the table and saw a bowl and several herbs strewn about the top and on the floor. Imani ducked her head down to explore what else had fallen and that was when she saw the long, white wand, lying haphazardly next to broken glass.
Kiran’s wand.
He was never far from it, if he even let it leave his person at all.
Crouching down, she retrieved the wand, letting blood drip from it and onto the floor. The wand buzzed in her hand, its power radiating off of it, recognizing another magic user. It was much smoother than her own Draswood wand.
She took the end of her dress and tried to clean it off more, but it merely spread the blood around, tinting the normally pale wand red. Imani was tempted to test it out—the power was practically purring, asking her to cast something—but she resisted.
Because this was a bone wand.
How had she not noticed before? From what little Imani knew about them, they were made from flesh magic and not to be trifled with. It was why most magic users wouldn’t—no, couldn’t—use them, especially in Essenheim.
Even discussing bone wands was taboo in the Draswood.
Questions tumbled through her mind—not least of which was how he had procured such a powerful wand, but also why wasn’t he holding his most precious possession?
Where are you, Kiran? Worry ate at her chest. Imani gnawed on her lip, unsure of what to do next. She slipped the wand into her pocket. It zapped her skin as she let it go, but otherwise settled down.
Slowly taking in the rest of the room, she saw the door to the next room ajar. It was dark except for a slit of light from the main room.
Careful to not make much noise, she approached slowly. With a palm flat on the wood, she pushed the door open a few inches further. Too dark to see, but more smoke filled her nose, although this was more a peppery smell. Harsh magic.
Flesh magic.
There was no question now that this was a blood burning.
The whole room felt suffocating and made her dizzy—so hot she could barely breathe.
A chuckle made her snap her head to the remote darkness farther in the room. Someone was laughing, but it wasn’t a normal laugh. It started slow and crescendoed into a cackle. It quieted for a minute or so before starting again.
The hairs on her arm stood on end at the chilling sound.
She recognized the laugh as Kiran’s, but it sounded distorted.
Imani whispered an incantation, and the end of her wand lit up.
Lying naked in the bed was Kiran with his eyes closed. A sheet barely covered him, and a sheen of sweat covered his beautiful skin. Dried blood ran down his arms and chest, but the cuts were gone—he must have healed them before they scarred. She saw no sign of his brands.
Damn. She would have liked to see all twelve and his sigil.
He was unmoving now, and she could have sworn he was asleep.
But then a slow smile spread across his face and his chest shook, and she wasn’t so sure.
Soon, he chuckled again, which turned into a much louder laugh.
Then, with a jerk, he tilted his head to the side and moaned before quieting again. His eyes were closed this whole time.
Imani was now relatively sure he was laughing in his sleep and that he’d just conducted a nasty blood burning spell on himself.
After a moment of hesitation, she approached the bed.
Her hair fell in a curtain around her face as she hovered over his body.
With one clammy hand, she reached out and brushed his silken hair from his brow.
The coldness of her fingers contrasted so intensely with his hot skin that she almost ripped her hand back in surprise.
Kiran’s eyes flew open. Wide and alert, they bored into her own, as if seeing straight into her mind. He snatched her wrist out of the air with surprising strength for someone whose arm was trembling.
For a moment, she was so close their breaths mingled as they stared at each other.
Another slow, serpentine smile spread across his face, and he laughed again loudly at her. The wild look on his face made Imani want to recoil, this madness too much, even for him. Imani tried to pull her hand back, but he clamped his fingers tighter.
“Imani.” He chuckled. “I was just thinking about you.”
She didn’t know how to respond to that statement, and her nostrils flared as she tried to even her breathing.
Finally, she swallowed and found her voice. It came out as a raspy whisper. “Why were you thinking about me?”
With his other hand, he curled a piece of her hair around his finger. Then he threaded his hands through the strands, smiling at his work with a vague look on his face. Then he laughed again and tugged her closer, his grip rough against her scalp.
“Isn’t it obvious?” He bared his teeth. There was some blood still on them, marring their perfection.
Imani shook her head. “I don’t pretend to know your mind, Kiran. Why were you thinking about me?”
His eyes slid shut. “I’m always thinking about you,” he said simply. Then those depthless eyes opened again, studying her face.
He went back to playing with her hair again, seemingly content to not speak anymore, his eyes glazing over with the bliss of whatever he was feeling in the aftereffects. Blood was caked in his fingernails. She’d never seen him so out of sorts.
Imani used her other hand to grab his wrist and stop his ministrations. “Kiran, what happened here?”
Pulling his hand back, he lightly traced his fingertips down her cheek and neck then shook his head. “One of my secrets.”
“Why did you cast the blood burning on just yourself?”
“I cast it on myself all the time. I need it.” He grabbed her face between both hands, holding her roughly. “I need it, all the time, you see.”
Imani’s breath was shaky at how forthcoming he was being. “No one needs a blood burning all the time, Kiran. The magic lasts for a year, and with a root binding, even longer.”
“Not for me. Not anymore.” He pulled her face closer. “So lovely,” he whispered with a smile, running his nose down hers and into the crook of her neck, breathing her in. “Such a beautiful, precious thing for me in exchange.”
“In exchange for what?” Imani’s voice stayed even as he kissed up her neck but stopped near her mouth.
“For everything,” he said cryptically. Then his lips skimmed hers.
She longed to kiss him back but forced herself to keep him talking.
“What was the blood burning for, Kiran?” she asked, teasing him with her own mouth, nipping his lip a little.
He groaned and buried his face in her neck.
“Do you think my markings hid themselves for twenty years with silly illusion spells and simple flesh magic tricks?” He kissed her hair, running his hand down the back of her spine and pulling her closer.
“Every month, I need it, my darling. For twenty years.”
Shock rolled through Imani. All she could do was blink.
What would it be like to drink the blood of an entire person? She had to imagine the power would be intoxicating—addicting. Kiran had been murdering someone and using a monthly blood burning for twenty years?
She didn’t know what to say or think. It was barbaric, and a line she wouldn’t need to cross with the Drasil in her hand. If she didn’t find the Drasil, though, was it a line she’d cross?
He was an addict. Looking around the room, she saw all the signs there; she just hadn’t wanted to see them before.
How adept he’d been at conducting it before, how she had never seen even a hint of his brands …
He might have needed blood burnings to hide his markings at first, but now he was a slave to them.
Distracting her, Kiran pressed his mouth against her neck again, then his sharp teeth—not enough to break, but enough to tell her what he wanted. Of course, the blood burning made him want to feed.
And with the way he slipped his hand up and down her bare thigh under her dress and looked up at her with that disheveled hair and beautiful eyes, she wasn’t sure she could resist.
Moving onto the bed, she hiked her dress up and straddled him. She then rested her hands on his chest, and he looked up at her, his eyes blown wide with wonder.
“You want me … more than you’ve wanted anyone else. And that scares you,” he murmured matter-of-factly.
“You want me just as much … and it scares you, too,” she hit back.
He didn’t deny it.
In this moment of pure honesty, Imani claimed his mouth. Kiran made a sound that opened a chasm in her. Her body ached.
But what was she doing? They couldn’t do this again. They had just fed. They didn’t need to … well, Imani didn’t need to.
Something was changing between them.
Kiran tried to deepen the kiss, but she resisted. Once again, she shifted to put some space between them.
In a burst of frustration, Kiran yanked open her dress, buttons flying everywhere, and sought what hid beneath. The round peaks of her breasts met his fingertips.
Imani slipped her palms into the waistband of his pants. What she wanted was just out of reach, so she determinedly shoved her hand deeper and grasped the length of him. He moaned and pressed his mouth to hers again.
“Yes, my darling,” he breathed against her mouth, kissing her again.
At that, Imani’s control slipped.
Being above him gave her enough leverage to grind against him. He was so hard that it almost hurt to ride him through their clothing.
Imani buried her fingers in the thick strands of hair, which were like silk.
Beneath the haze of desire, Imani was dimly aware of another sensation spreading through her that had nothing to do with the physical.
There was that sense of rightness again.
That feeling of being complete, as though she’d been half a person all this time.
Imani fought the sensation. She was Imani, whole and finished, no matter what the magic of the blood burning wanted them to believe.
Imani’s defenses, which had been a pile of dust and rock around them, rebuilt themselves.
She struggled to remember why she’d come in here in the first place—the frustration and distrust she’d felt toward this elf only this morning instead of the all-consuming passion driving her now.
With his hands on the hem of her ruined nightgown, Kiran ripped it over her head, revealing her naked body underneath. Unlike him, her sigils and brands stood gleaming against her skin amongst the bindings she’d placed there.
“Your flesh magic is gone,” he whispered.
She nodded.
Taking her arm, Kiran watched her face as he placed a tender kiss over her sigil—her real sigil—and her mysterious heartmate’s.
“So perfect … so dangerous for anyone to know. Keep these heartmate sigils one of your most guarded secrets, aomagho ruya.” Then he moved up and placed another, and another, on all her brands, and she forgot how to speak for a moment.
Imani picked up his wrist and kissed him where his sigil should be. “What do you have to hide that’s so much worse?”
He ignored her, placing himself just below her entrance. Then he slammed into her, and they both groaned together.
“I’ve missed you,” he whispered so quietly she almost didn’t hear him.
Lost in the sensations, Imani could barely think. She bared her neck so he could feed, and the blissful feeling never stopped, amazing as he moved inside her. On top, she had more control, but with his hands on her hips, he sped them up, and she felt herself coming close.
Leaning down, she placed her forehead against his. He kissed her and moaned into her mouth.
“You feel so good, my darling,” he murmured.
A loud bang made them both freeze. Their panting was the only sound in the room, except for the footsteps they heard coming down the hall.
“What do we have here?”
Imani yelped and covered her breasts. Kiran grabbed the sheet and shoved it around Imani then pushed her off of him, positioning himself to hide her.
Ayla stood in the doorway with a small smile on her face. She crossed her arms and sighed. “I thought you might be more discreet than this, mate.”
At the term mate, Imani almost jumped out of the bed and attacked her, but Kiran pushed her back down.
“After our last intimacy, I had to find other means.” Kiran’s voice was cold.
“Well, I expect you to get over this aversion soon, because I won’t be accused of not pleasing my mate.
” Ayla sighed and curled her lip in disgust at the state of the room.
“And take better care to hide your disgusting habit in the future. If we’re to be sharing rooms, I never want to see this again. ”
“I understand,” was all Kiran said.
Imani glared at him, hating that he actively slept with that viper despite him telling her he would continue to do so.
“What about us?” she whispered.
“There is no us,” he countered with a snarl.
Imani reeled back as though he had just slapped her. Ayla grinned like a smug cat.
“Cover your tits and get the fuck out of my sight, Imani.” His gaze slid over her with disdain, and something inside of Imani closed down.
She was not nothing.
“Now, Imani,” he practically shouted.
“I truly hate you most days.”
“I can live with that,” Kiran said offhandedly, as if they’d just been discussing the weather.
Imani took out his wand and threw it at his head. He reached his arms up to block it at the last minute. “Maybe you should take better care of your things—or risk losing them, you bastard.”
Imani wrapped the sheet around her tighter then shoved past the other Norn elf while carrying her ruined nightgown and wand.