by M. A. Grant
Roark’s rapier vanishes and he crouches, hands extended toward the earth. The temperature around us drops and I’m racked with sudden shivers. He whispers something, and the world in front of us explodes into a brutally jagged wall of ice.
The kraken slams into it as Roark adds more ice, creating a horseshoe of protection around us. The tentacles dip and tangle, cracking off the sharp points, trying to climb over and reach us.
“Go,” Roark says to me. He braces himself, as if he’s fighting the creature’s attack using the ice as an extension of himself.
No.
The ice begins to buckle and Roark pales. I haven’t moved from his side. His eyes dart to me.
“Run, you idiot,” he snarls. He’s protecting me, like he always has. It just took me a while to figure that out.
The ice cracks.
I push past the rising nausea and pain from my overuse of power and reach for the ley line. Roark panics when he figures out what I’m doing, but it’s too late. The heat of the line flows into me and I reach out to touch the edge of his ice shield.
Stronger. Protect him.
Raw power explodes out through my hand, shaping itself at the mere suggestion of my will. I picture impenetrable castle walls of dark stone surrounding us, walling us off from the creature—
It’s peaceful. Silent.
Safe.
A cool hand alights on my shoulder.
The ley line lurches as it retreats back into the earth. My body revolts and I hit my knees, dry-heaving as blackness steals my sight. A strong grip around my chest holds me up off the ground and Roark’s soft, lilting voice murmurs soothing words in a language I don’t know.
“Safe?” I croak around another attempt to turn up my guts.
“We’re safe, Smith.”
I don’t know how much time passes before the darkness fades. The first things to return are shapes and shadows. Then color. Then vibrancy. My eye muscles gripe at the movement as I follow the cloud of steam rising with my every exhale.
Roark sits a few feet off from me, still and thoughtful. Slowly, I adjust to the strange, bluish light.
We’re in an ice fortress. The moonlight filters through the thick bricks, bathing us in an unearthly glow. Outside, dimly, I can hear the thuds of the creature’s tentacles pulling against the ice in a vain effort to not freeze to this architectural monstrosity.
I asked the ley line to protect us, and it obeyed.
“Why did you stay?” Roark asks. He sounds perfectly calm, but his hands clasp and unclasp in his lap.
“I didn’t want you to get hurt.”
His fidgeting stops. He doesn’t respond, but with a hand motion and muttered phrase, a flame appears in his palm.
“It’s just a wisp,” he warns. “It won’t put off much heat.”
“Thanks,” I say gratefully, moving closer to warm my hands with it. I’m not dressed to hang out in an ice castle, especially with bare feet, and the temperature is dropping.
We sit so close I can make out his individual eyelashes. The long scar over his palm blurs every now and then when the wisp flickers. Roark’s beautiful, and all the want I’d felt at the fountain comes rushing back.
“Stop staring, Smith,” he says. “I’m not that interesting.”
“Wrong. I can’t figure you out.”
He makes a tiny noise.
“You have no problem facing down monsters, but the second I try to do something nice as a thanks for helping me, you bolt. What the fuck is up with that?” I fidget with the hem of my jeans, a little embarrassed now to have assumed he’d find a small farm pretty. “Was it really such a bad gift?”
His face shutters whatever he nearly exposed. “No.”
“If you want a different picture, you just need to tell me. I’ll find something else—”
“I liked the one you picked.”
Something uncurls behind my ribs. Those are the only honest words he’s uttered since he got back. “Really?”
“Yes. And I didn’t know what to do because it...it’s the first real present I’ve ever gotten.”
“You’re a prince,” I say, hoping for clarification because that statement doesn’t quite make sense to me.
“I receive gifts as a result of my title. Gifts designed to show off the giver’s generosity or skill or devotion. Never gifts given because someone thinks I may want them. Or because they want to do something...nice.” He shrugs, his flannelled shoulders rising and falling smoothly. “The thought that you had done that for me was unnerving.”
“In the future, when someone does something nice for you, running is not the socially acceptable response.”
“Noted.”
The wisp twists and dances between us, so light it nearly matches Roark’s eyes. I clear my throat. “To clarify, you weren’t trying to run away from me?”
His lip curls a little, a gentle sneer. “A few nights back I had my tongue down your throat. No, Smith, I’m not trying to run from you. Even if I should be.”
The world doesn’t change. It’s more that everything shifts a little and I scramble to adjust, reworking thoughts in my head because that really wasn’t supposed to be his response.
He gets up, ignoring me again as he paces the edge of the wall. There’s no question that the conversation is over. Normally, his feigned ignorance would drive me insane. This time, I know that no matter how much he pretends otherwise, I’ve gotten under his skin. Roark doesn’t want to want me, but he can’t walk away.
“We don’t need to worry about the creature,” he says over his shoulder to me when I rise to join him. “It froze to the ice a few minutes ago.”
“Nice. So, exit strategies?”
He taps at the ice wall, scowling as he inspects it. “I honestly don’t have any right now.”
“That’s unfortunate.”
I watch while he stalks back and forth. The light catches in his hair, shadows the sharp lines of his cheekbones, and highlights the play of his muscles under his jeans. Too bad the worn flannel he’s wearing over it hides his back from me. I’ve become a connoisseur of his back, replaying all those shirtless moments around our apartment I didn’t know I’d been hoarding in my memory until recently. There’s nothing more I’d rather do than stand here all night and watch him, but it’s officially too cold for me. Time to cut our little interlude short.
I find the nearest wall, one that hopefully doesn’t have a monster attached to it, and place my hand against the ice. Gritting my teeth against the cold, I search for the ley line. It’s farther away than I expected, but comes when I call. This time, I don’t ask for anything specific. I let it flow from my hand like water from a hose, spilling over the ice with raw heat, shivering at the contrast of steam and warmth on half my body and dry cold on the other.
Roark doesn’t notice until I’m nearly done. “What are you doing?” he asks, rushing over to my side. “Are you stupid? You’ve overtaxed yourself already.”
“’s fine,” I reply, wishing I hadn’t just slurred my words. “Ley line’s heat. Heat melts ice, right?”
“Dammit, Smith—”
A crack rends the wall. I lose my balance from surprise and my control wavers. A pulse of power crackles up through the ice, gold glittering through it like Tinkerbell sneezed everywhere.
“Oops,” I mumble, pulling my hand away. And, after consideration, I close myself off to the ley line with a mental apology for not explaining myself well.
Too late. The damage is done. The entire ice castle lights up, illuminating Roark’s full-body frown.
“Move.”
Can you get frostbite from someone’s voice?
Apparently I’m not moving fast enough for him, since he bodily resituates me to the side. He closes his eyes, takes a breath, and flicks a wrist toward the half door I’ve melted. The ice stalagmite he creates slams into the crack, busting open a hole in the side of the castle. He points. “Out.”
“Grumpy much?”
I cough w
hen the outside temperature and humidity return to my lungs. It doesn’t matter that I’m slightly taller, Roark clamps a hand around the back of my neck and drags my face down until it’s almost even with his.
“What the fuck goes on in that tiny brain of yours?” he asks. It’d be funny if he were yelling. But he’s not. He’s viciously controlled. “Have I been wasting my breath lecturing you about control and not burning yourself out because you get complacent?”
“That wasn’t me being complacent. That was me trying to protect someone I...don’t want hurt.”
His eyes narrow, but it’s the soft caress of his thumb against my jawline that leaves me dumbstruck. “Smith, before acting in the future, please remember that there may be people who don’t want you to get hurt either.”
I manage a shuddery nod.
“Now, let’s go home.”
Roark
Smith grins the entire way back to the apartment. I should have let the monster eat him.
I’m not sure what happened back there. We talked. Which was bad, because something I said made Smith giddy. Now he keeps sneaking glances at me. His smile lights up his entire face.
His joy almost makes up for the fishy stench clinging to my clothes. Almost. By the time we get home, it’s all I can smell, and my mood is even fouler.
Smith doesn’t seem to care. “Since you’re back early, are we going to be able to train a little tomorrow?”
“Only if you don’t drain yourself like you did tonight,” I snap.
“I didn’t mean to do that. And even if I’m tired, I really do need to practice.”
“Why the rush?”
The briefest hesitation before he admits, “I’d like to figure it out so I can help my parents around the farm.” The way he says it whispers there’s more to that statement.
“That’s all?”
“That’s all that matters.”
“Unlimited power at your disposal and you want to be a farmer,” I gripe, swinging open our door. I turn to him, waiting for an actual answer, when we’re greeted by a blast of subzero air.
My mother stands in our living room, the light reflecting off the pale skin exposed by her black dress. She’s carved from ivory and dressed in shadows. She wears her worry like a weighted cloak.
When she sees me, those lines vanish from her face. And then she spots Smith behind me.
Her shoulders set and her spine stiffens. Beside me, Smith’s entire body tightens and the ley line slashes up through him with the violence of a snake strike.
“Leave us,” I order him calmly.
“No,” my mother demurs. “He can stay.”
Shit. Either she intends to goad him, or she considers him unworthy of her attention. Neither is a good sign.
I let Smith into the apartment, careful to keep my body between him and Mother. The ley line sparks and flares and the furious energy puts my teeth on edge.
“Why are you here, Mother?” I ask politely.
“I tried calling, but couldn’t get ahold of you.”
“We were out.”
Her gaze flicks over us, cataloguing our destroyed clothes. “I see. You had an eventful walk around campus?”
“Yes.”
The temperature in the room drops again and Smith’s teeth chatter faintly.
“You’re...safe?”
I blink, confused by her question. “Safe?”
When she’s uncomfortable, my mother becomes more proper. Her royal airs gain a precision that has been mistaken for centuries as tightly leashed control. Only my brothers and I know it’s the opposite.
“Your magick lit up,” she tells me. “You used so much power, I assumed there had been another attack.”
I can count on one hand the number of times I’ve been rendered speechless. Most of those have happened thanks to Smith. This shortage in my brain is twofold. She can sense when I channel Smith’s power, although she doesn’t associate that fluctuation with him. I had suspected that, but needed confirmation. But the second thought is what ruins me. I don’t think my mother has ever blatantly expressed her concern for my safety.
She waits while I stammer and fall silent, unable to form a coherent sentence.
Warmth at my back. Smith’s lips brush my ear when he whispers, “She was worried about you.”
Thank you, Smith. I figured that out. “I—”
From the corner of my vision, I see Smith straighten. Even if he puts on a show of bravado, the ley line cowers until it nearly vanishes back into the earth. “He wasn’t attacked. I was. He defended me. The magick you felt was—”
“When I finished the creature off,” I finish smoothly, terror lifting the lie to my lips too quickly.
Her brow quirks the tiniest amount and I mentally curse Smith for speaking in the first place. Mother’s presence in our apartment is wrong—a polite invasion, but an invasion nonetheless. And now she’s intrigued.
“I had no idea you were that powerful, Roark,” she says and the discomfort I felt at her unexpected arrival transforms into genuine fear.
Miraculously, Smith doesn’t say anything else. He has some survival instinct at least.
I glamour myself, imagining how I would appear if I were slightly embarrassed. “It took me by surprise. I assumed our enemies were coming for him, only to discover it was a creature from the Wylds. I may have overreacted.” Hopefully she reads that as an unspoken confession that I was too worried about Smith to control myself.
“You look much healthier than last time. I suppose all turned out for the best,” she says. “You and the human are safe, which is what matters most.”
Thank the Goddess she accepted it.
I deliberately pick at my dirtied shirt. There’s no need to fake the way my nose wrinkles at the odor rising from it. “Was there anything else you needed, Mother?”
“No, darling.”
She softens when I manage a real smile for her. “I’m sorry for my abruptness, but I want to change.”
The ley line quiets a little when I place a hand on Smith’s forearm and push him away from the door. “I’m sorry I worried you.”
She nods and sweeps toward us. To his credit, Smith doesn’t flinch too badly. Mother’s hand lifts, but with Smith there as a witness, she frowns and doesn’t touch me. “Stay safe, mo leanbh.”
“Of course.”
She leans in and I drop my hold on Smith. Just in time, it seems, since her glamour wraps around me like a familiar blanket. “Be careful, my son. I will ensure your safety above all others’,” she whispers.
The threat makes my pulse skip. “Yes, Mother.”
I’m not sure how much time passes after she leaves the apartment before Smith finally decides it’s safe to speak. “You lied.”
“I do that, Smith.”
He stares at me, and I feel like a puzzle being put together. “You lied to your mother.”
“Unless you’d prefer she know it was your power, I’d stop complaining.”
He ignores my bile and crosses his arms over his chest. “I wasn’t complaining. I’m just trying to figure you out.”
I snort. “If you haven’t managed that after six years, it’s never going to happen.”
A sly smile grows on his lips. “I don’t know about that.”
And the bastard reaches down and grabs the hem of his shirt. I freeze, unable to look away as Smith peels the shirt higher and higher, exposing the shifting musculature of his abs and ribs and pecs. The cold makes his nipples hard, a dusky pink that blends with his tan, with the hair that dusts his chest and leads lower, lower, until that line and the sharp V of his hips points toward the band of his jeans. Once he’s free of the shirt, he drops it casually on the floor, and his nervous smile blinds me.
“I think I’m figuring a few things out,” he says.
He reaches for the button of his jeans and the noise that escapes me is so raw, so unexpected, he stops. Watches me.
“You want me.” A statement, not a question. Words rin
ging with a surety that terrifies me.
“I can’t.” It hurts to swallow. The motion tugs at my clenched jaw, but can’t fully relieve its tension.
“You keep saying that.” He searches my expression as if what he sees there might help him understand, and frowns at whatever he finds. “Can you tell me why?”
Not an order. An offering of his trust. Maybe he has figured some things out, or figured me out at least.
Maybe it’s enough to admit, “I’ll lose you.” The rest of the words I want to say catch in my throat.
He shakes his head. “You won’t.”
Finn stands there in front of me with his bone-deep conviction. I’m not a fighter like him. I never have been. In a few weeks, I’ll walk myself to slaughter. But tonight, together, we can turn this surrender into victory.
“Tell me again,” I rasp. “Make me believe you.”
“You won’t lose me, Roark.” He shudders when I reach out and press my hand to his chest. I trail my fingers higher, up his throat and along his jaw, until I can grip his chin and tilt his face down toward me. He trembles and shakes, but his voice never wavers. “You won’t. God, I promise you won’t—”
The way he sighs when our mouths collide almost convinces me.
Chapter Fifteen
Phineas
This is what it’s supposed to be. How it’s supposed to feel.
He tastes like winter and, God, he feels so right under my hands. I shouldn’t be able to breathe because we’re devouring each other but I finally can—
Roark kisses like he’s trying to crawl into me. I cling to the front of his shirt and his fingers somehow bury themselves in my hair. I need more, more bare skin and heat. My hips jerk against his and I groan because he’s as hard as I am, which means this isn’t a dream or a trick or a lie.
He pushes me back a step, hard enough I brace for the punch. But he doesn’t swing. He stands there, lips swollen, chin reddened from the scratch of my stubble, hair mussed, light eyes flashing like quicksilver.
“Roark—”
He makes a slashing motion toward the front door. Ice crackles and cements the door shut, but I barely have time to note that before he’s on me again. Hitting the wall doesn’t hurt. His mouth doesn’t hurt, even though his teeth are sharp on my lower lip.