Chapter 53 Velvet and Violence
VELVET AND VIOLENCE
The quiet sounds of Mysthaven waking up play like a song that’s becoming increasingly familiar. I’ve memorized the tune. Know many of the words.
It’s been three days since the Council meeting. Three days since Lyra nearly ripped my mind apart and Lochlan carried me into the baths, admitting what a part of me has known all along: I belong here. I always have.
I trace the worn spine of the codex, skimming the familiar passage for the third time without actually reading it. The inky scrawl twists beneath my unfocused gaze.
A soft knock has me blinking as I turn toward the door.
Lochlan leans against the frame, sleeves rolled halfway up his muscled forearms, tie abandoned for the day. He keeps his distance, but I catch his thumb spinning the nullite ring he now wears on his middle finger. “I thought you might want some new reading material.”
I wait for him to mention waking up to me in his head.
Again. Over the past few days, I’ve slept nearly as much as I do when using my element, and rather than dreaming, I find myself in his mental space, sleeping on his couch and studying the view.
This morning, I took the opportunity to remind him I wanted the books on bonds he promised me in Portelina.
He doesn’t mention it. Neither do I.
I crawl out of my large bed, my muscles gradually feeling stronger, my energy a slow pulse.
My shorts are too short, my shirt too thin, but I’ve been a Daire and Griffin sandwich in the most platonic of ways, their bodies, elements, and warmth recharging me. I’m too tired to change, too stubborn to be embarrassed.
Lochlan smirks when I turn in the direction of the stairs, and gently wraps his hand around my elbow, turning me toward the rest of the wing—the wing that has their private bedrooms. His palm remains around me, warm and steady, leading me halfway down the hall before pausing at a solid door, second-to-last room.
He presses his hand to the side of the door and murmurs something too quiet for me to hear.
The door clicks, and he pushes it open, waving me to enter.
My heart skips, my nerves at a new high.
I’ve questioned what his space looks like a hundred times, and as I step in, I immediately know it’s his.
The space feels alive. Warm. Inviting. The entire back wall is covered with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, filled with worn leather spines, pictures, and trinkets that have me forgetting about my exhaustion as this rare opportunity presents itself.
I’m getting a front-row ticket to the most distant member of the Vestra.
I glance at the sunken sitting area that looks out over the lake with two chairs and a long couch before stealing a glance at his bed. It feels intimate. Personal.
“The books on bonds are all on the third shelf from the right, second shelf,” Lochlan says, making my attention snap back to him, my heart beating like I’ve been caught doing something I shouldn’t.
He releases a button at the neck of his shirt, and then another, inviting far too many inappropriate thoughts as my gaze strays to his unmade bed again, imagining him in it—imagining me in it with him, chasing pleasure.
I set my shields and pad across the smooth, cool wood floors beneath my bare feet.
Ancient texts. Handwritten journals. Titles in languages I can’t read.
“Have you come across the term Nexus being used interchangeably for Vestra?” I ask.
He steps closer, two more buttons undone. He rubs a hand across the length of his jaw. “Nexus?”
I nod. “In the codex, they use both terms.”
His brow furrows slightly. “No, but I’ll keep my eyes open for it.”
I nod again, unsure how to act, how to respond. The path between us is fragile despite the countless hours that seem like they should equate to a foundation far deeper than the curvy road we’ve managed.
“Maybe you should take a break from studying and just enjoy yourself. Read something for fun. Have one of those Grinch nights.”
I laugh. “Gremlin.”
Tiny lines appear at the corners of his eyes, a smile without smiling. “Gremlin,” he repeats.
I select four books, then tilt my head back, scanning the higher shelves, wanting to ask a million questions about the mementos on his tucked among them, wondering about their history and significance.
A polished stone, a vining plant, a statue of a dragon—I take in each one slowly, wondering their origins and significance.
I turn to the next shelf, and my heart stops, recognizing something before my conscious mind does.
My heartbeat falters. The world narrows to the curve of her smile, so bright, so casual, like she didn’t carve her initials into my skin.
The air leaves my lungs all at once, then rushes back, jagged and sharp.
The books in my arms crash to the ground, fire and ice racing through my veins.
“Bri?” Lochlan asks, wrapping his hand around my back as though preparing to catch me.
I pull away viciously, like I’ve been burned.
Worse.
Betrayed.
I take a step away from him and then another, already measuring how many steps I am from the door and the routes to evade him.
“What’s wrong?” He peers around, searching for a threat.
Tears collect in my eyes. “I’m the one who can’t be trusted?” I spit the words.
“What?” He turns, gazing around the space again.
I wrench the frame from its place, jabbing a finger at the photo displaying a younger, happier Lochlan hugging one of my greatest nightmares.
The blonde woman who burned, carved, and tortured me.
The person who promised to end me.
My breath breaks.
The scent of antiseptic and smoke floods my senses. Her voice echoes—soft and cruel, demanding answers I couldn’t offer, couldn’t even imagine before coming here.
“You recognize her?” He moves closer. “From where? When?” Urgency laces his tone.
“Who in the hell are you?” I demand. Another wave of heat. A flash of ice.
Lochlan raises his hands, palms facing me as though confused, as though innocent. “Your elements are unstable. Focus on your cindrel and take a breath.”
Fury becomes my heartbeat. I throw the frame to the floor. The crash of splintering glass is a whisper to the explosion of my heart.
He creates an air shield that prevents the shards from reaching me before extending his hand like he’s about to touch me again. “How do you recognize her?”
“Don’t touch me. Don’t ever touch me.”
He pulls his hand back. “Whatever you’re thinking, it’s not…” He shakes his head. “She’s my mother.”
That cool veneer that’s been so damn hard to grasp settles over me, a thick blanket of indifferent emptiness. “Of course, my goddamn nightmare is your mother.”
For the first time since Portelina, I feel my cindrel, my element, within reach, preparing for an attack. For pain.
“What are you talking about?” His words are a demand or maybe a threat. I can’t tell. More than that, I don’t care.
“Where is she?” I look over my shoulder, a part of me expecting to see her in a corner, waiting for me.
“She’s dead.”
She’s not. But the girl I was before is.
I skewer him with a glare. I want to hit him, but I know he’ll block it, and suddenly, I realize just how great of a threat he is, and it’s so much more than I’d previously assumed. “You’re a liar.” My words are steel. “What kind of sick game is this?”
“Bri, I swear to you—”
“Swear on what?” My words are sharper than a blade as I cling to the anger that has been unleashed, recalling all the suffering I experienced at his mother’s hands.
“She died when I was twelve.”
“Either you’re a liar, or she came back from hell.
Knowing you, probably both.” I stare at him, something in my chest aching, threatening to crack open and crush me.
I refuse to allow it. Instead, I shake my head.
“I can’t believe you accused me of being dangerous, when your hands are the ones covered in blood. Go to hell, Lochlan.”
I turn on my heel and walk out, each step steady despite the tremor in my hands.
I don’t look back.