Chapter Ten Arion #3
She touches the cord tentatively, her body trembling as another explosion of water showers her in cold, wet salt.
“I’m aware.” She examines her fingers, how they glow in the cord’s silver light, before releasing it to scrub the blood from under her nails.
“I’m trying to decide whether killing you is worth losing my own life. ”
Though I spread my feet in preparation for a fight—she usually gives much less warning—she sighs loudly and says, “Don’t worry, warlock, I value the world too much to throw myself away.
It will be a dark day for all when Zephyra of the Syl no longer exists.
” She throws her hair back with a confident shake, forcing a grin.
“Besides, I have a lot of enemies. I’d prefer to watch them suffer before I do so myself. ”
“I’m shocked.”
She glares at me. “You’re on that list, you know.”
“I could guess.”
“Hmmph.”
“Do you always require having the last word?”
“Do you always require having the last word?” she parrots back at me, infuriating as ever.
Perhaps instead of choking her at the end of this, I’ll start with cutting out her tongue.
I resist opening my mouth to tell her just that, instead watching as her tail flicks to a divot in the rock.
To the water within it. The movement seems absent, almost lazy, as if her tail also has a mind of its own—until Zephyra’s hand slowly creeps down to join it.
Though her gaze remains distant, clouded, she soaks up the salt and sea with a breathy exhale.
A small sigh of contentment that I’m not even sure she heard herself.
I heard it, however.
The sight, the sound, sets my body on edge.
My hands curl into fists. Even my wings contract, shifting away from her.
Fresh revulsion shudders through me, followed by a flicker of something else.
Something worse. Something I dare not name as her turquoise eyes sharpen and snap to mine, as the silvered cord pulses with sudden molten heat.
Fuck. This is—unexpected. I meet her gaze unabashedly, refusing to acknowledge it.
Refusing to submit to the sickening twist of shame that follows.
Zephyra of the Syl is beautiful, yes. It would be senseless to deny what anyone can see. But she is also a demon. A thief. A liar.
And—despite her breathy little sigh—she holds no power over me.
Magic still blisters under my skin, unsatisfied.
Unable to stand the sight of that tail for another second, I dry the salt water from her scales one at a time—with individual, concentrated bursts of warmth, heat, and then cold—until they’re gone.
Until she looks almost like a human being again.
If humans grew thick, lustrous pink hair down to the sinful curve of their waist.
I scowl at the unwelcome thought.
Zephyra’s gaze widens as her legs appear. Though she tensed when the process started, as if waiting for me to fillet her instead, she relaxes now, albeit slowly. Wiggling her toes, then her ankles, she says in a shocked voice, “That didn’t hurt.”
I avert my gaze. “Were you expecting it to?”
“I was expecting you to torture me, yes.”
Too irritated to answer, I finish drying the salt from the puddles on the island, turning it from ocean water to fresh water in seconds flat.
My stomach churns from the exertion, and a slight taste of ash coats my tongue.
I ignore it. There’s no time to rest, no time to contemplate this abhorrent partnership for another second. I need that fucking heart.
“I won’t need to torture you if you don’t betray me.” Unable to think of anything else to do—and grinding my teeth as I do it—I offer a hand to help her off the ground. She stares at it as if it’s diseased. Repressing a snarl, I say, “Get up. We’ve wasted enough time here.”
“And if I don’t want to?”
“I don’t care what you want.”
Her eyes narrow as if in challenge, and I pray to Mortem for fucking patience.
Just as I move to rescind my hand, she snatches it back, and the cord—it twirls around my arm first before shooting from my fingers to hers.
She gasps as it strings itself around her body.
Flames engulf my own from the barest touch of her fingers, stoking my pulse faster, harder.
Without permission, my body bows toward her like a mast caught in a hurricane, as if I have no control over this desire, and—and this isn’t right.
This isn’t natural. Even as the thought forms, however, it feels very far away.
Very unimportant. The bond pulses as blood roars in my ears, as I bend to my knees to sink in front of her, to touch more of her—
No.
I yank my hand away at the last moment, and the sight of her wide eyes, her flushed cheeks, is like a bucket of ice water overhead.
Scrambling away from me, she darts to her feet on her own, brushing her hands on her ruined tunic.
Then—finally—she nods once, twice. Three times.
More to herself than to me. Her cheeks are still pink.
“Fine. This is fine, and I’ll play nice.
For now.” She grins then, collecting herself with alarming speed, and it’s like staring into the gaping maw of a great white.
“Until I break this fucking bond, that is. Then you’re on your own. ”