Chapter Thirty-Six
Ace
I entered Cyran’s tent. He sat hunched over a dimly lit map, his fingers tracing possible routes, each one a potential march to his death, but I didn’t think he cared. I knew what he was feeling. I remembered knowing that no one would stop me from saving Emelyn.
He didn’t even look up as I sauntered over to the desk, until I tapped on the wood.
"Kade's awake," I signed, and his body snapped up, eyes igniting with a feral glint.
He surged to his feet, knocking the wooden stool over with a clatter that echoed off canvas walls.
"We can go now. He can Hollow us, get us to Ember, and we can save Rhet,” he growled, moving past me.
My hand shot out, latching onto his arm to stop him.
"Wait," I urged, feeling the coiled tension in his muscles beneath my palm.
"Ace, let go," he hissed.
"Kade just Hollowed the entire rebellion to camp a few days ago," I shot back. “He’s going to need his rest before trying to Hollow for a little while. Besides, we need to be smart about this. Ember somehow knew our plans, knew where Rhet was, and took him. We have to be careful.”
"Careful?" Cyran spat out, wrenching his arm free at last. He stepped back, putting space between us.
"Careful," he repeated, more to himself than to me.
With a bitter chuckle that sent chills down my spine, he faced me again, his expression twisted in a grimace.
I knew what was coming. "That’s just peachy coming from you. When Emelyn was in trouble, you—"
"I was wrong," I interjected sharply. The memory of Maeve's lifeless eyes seared into me. "Because of me, Maeve is dead, and it could have been all of us." My breath hitched. "I will live with that the rest of my life, and I refuse to let you make the same mistake."
The air between us thickened with unsaid words and shared grief. Cyran's gaze locked onto mine, his soul laid bare in the depths of his tear-filled eyes.
"He's alive—" His voice broke. "And they’re probably doing the same things they did to you."
My torment after being captured by Valla crept back into my mind.
I knew the agony, the despair, the darkness that threatened to consume one's very essence in her presence. But Rhet was her brother, and he was a prince of Ember. I’d been nothing but a means to an end.
Surely, a prince would have better odds than I had.
That was what I kept telling myself anyway.
"Fuck, Ace, I almost lost you. You've been the closest thing to a brother to me since you came to the rebellion, and now that we got you back, I can't bear the thought of losing my mate to that fate."
The raw anguish in his tone cleaved through me, and without hesitation, I reached out, my fingers coiling around his forearm and pulling him into me.
"Easy," I signed, and he laid his head on my shoulder. His labored breaths were hot and quick against my neck. He was on the verge of a panic attack, and I needed him to calm down. The bracelet on his wrist, an intricate weave of metal and leather, radiated heat that seeped through the fabric of my tunic. A curious warmth, like the embers of a hearth fire. It seemed to grow hotter, and slowly Cyran’s breathing steadied.
Moments passed, and we just stayed like that. I refused to move first or leave him like this. When Cyran finally pulled back, his eyes were still full of emotion but he wasn’t crying anymore.
"I'm sure he's alive," I signed with conviction. "He is one of Ember's princes after all."
Cyran lifted his gaze to mine then. He raised his arm, the one adorned with the bracelet.
"I know he's alive. He's my mate. I'd know if he was gone.
" The bracelet seemed to pulse between us.
I could almost feel it in the air. "But also because he gave me this." He touched the bracelet reverently, the warmth from the metal seeping into his skin. "It’s imbued with his fire. He told me as long as it’s warm, he’s alive.
He gave it to me as a comforting thing before he left. "
Cyran's fingers curled around the bracelet, holding it like a lifeline as his voice softened. "I haven't taken it off."
Something so simple but so touching. My chest tightened, the weight of everything pressing down, but before I could sink too far into it, I let out a shaky breath and gave a crooked smile.
"You know," I signed lightly, "once this is over, maybe we should all get matching bracelets. Real rebel vibes."
The corner of Cyran’s mouth tugged upward despite himself. Trust me to break the heaviness with a joke, to remind him that we were still standing, still together, and that we would get through all of this. It was just going to take a little more time.
“We will save him," I started. "We'll wait until Kade has his strength back and gather as much info as we can between now and then. We just have to be patient."
Cyran's jaw clenched, and for a moment, he looked like he might argue, might let his desperation to act override sense. But then slowly, he nodded. His eyes lingered on mine, a silent thank you before I turned on my heel and left.
The night air clung to me, cool and moist, as I navigated through the maze of shelters that housed our rebellion.
I made it to my tent and pushed open the flap, not expecting Luana to be back yet, but she was.
In the muted light, I could see the rise and fall of her chest, the gentle curve of her hip, the untamed curls of her hair splayed across the pillows.
This woman was a constant reminder of what I was fighting for, and she was fully naked and waiting for me.
"Too much?" Luana asked, her lip catching between her teeth. My cock was straining against my trousers.
"Never," I signed as a growl crawled from my chest. The scent of her skin, heady and sweet, lured me closer. I sank to my knees at the foot of the bed. I wanted to worship her with my lips. I kissed her ankle, tracing upward to her calf.
Her upper thighs welcomed me next, one side then the other, my stubble grazing her skin, eliciting a soft hum from her.
That sound—so filled with pleasure—was lightning in my veins, igniting a fire no darkness could smother.
My need for her was relentless, consuming; it was the pulse of the earth beneath us, the thrum of life itself.
"Luana," I signed, groaning against her skin, "you undo me." And she did. Every curve, every breath, every defiant spark in her eyes—she was beauty incarnate, a light in our twisted world. She was mine.