by Alex Lidell
Jealousy was not an emotion a good quint commander indulged in. River knew that. Agreed with it. Which did nothing to stop his heart from clenching rebelliously at the thought of Shade bringing Leralynn pleasure last night.
River hadn’t brought a female pleasure in three hundred years; he wasn’t even sure he knew how anymore.
“How long until Klarissa puts an end to this freedom?” Coal asked, surveying the Citadel’s manicured grounds as if walking through a battlefield. It was early enough in the morning that most of the trainees and guests were still finding their way to breakfast, and only the occasional quint strode along the walkways. With each quint unique in both its needs and timing, the council issued specific training instructions for each group instead of hosting a one-size-fits-all curriculum. “I half expected to wake to a demand that we attend a lecture on Citadel power and law.”
“I do not know.” River clasped his hands behind his back, his face a careful mask of mild interest despite the blood in his veins screaming for Lera. In truth, River was surprised he could do it—walk beside her, talk, breathe. Perhaps it was something he could thank his bastard of a father for, training his body to control itself no matter its needs. To have a shred more self-possession than that damn wolf shifter.
Shade. As if the five of them didn’t have enough problems in the Citadel without a half-feral and possessive wolf threatening to take over a trained warrior’s common sense. A small growl escaped River’s throat, making Leralynn flinch. Bloody wonderful. He made himself swallow a second growl that was already rising in his chest. River would deal with Shade later, when River could be certain that it was his brain and not his cock that was restoring discipline.
A hand clamped onto River’s wrist a second before the back of his head connected with a nearby tree trunk. An iron fist blocked River’s return blow.
“If you can’t train the mortal today,” Coal said mildly, even as the dull thud of impact still echoed through River’s body, “this would be a good time to say so.”
River raised his chin, his voice calm despite his pounding pulse. “Is there a specific reason for this new concern, or have you simply gone too long without attacking something?”
Coal snorted, releasing River. “You just made the earth tremble and didn’t even notice.”
River’s gaze jerked to the courtyard to find the few passing fae staring at him. Leralynn watched him with wide eyes, the fear there making his heart clench. An academic in long robes picked up books that River’s jolt of power had knocked from her arms. Bloody cursed stars. So much for that self-control.
Coal raised a brow, his blue eyes twinkling.
Stepping away from the tree, River picked up his pace toward the practice arena, his face hot. “Let’s move, Leralynn. The sun isn’t waiting on anyone today,” he called over his shoulder, leaving Coal to stand outside the arena and do what Coal did best: make anyone who wished to approach decide to do something less suicidal instead.
Leralynn made the climb up the stone steps and down the ladder rungs with little change to her breathing, something she never could have done before Coal’s work with her. An odd pair if there ever was one. River had smelled blood on the girl more than once after one of Coal’s “light combat” sessions, and yet Leralynn trusted the warrior. Certainly, she considered Coal more of a friend than she did River.
Leralynn considered everyone more of a friend than River.
His chest tightened. For Leralynn, the next few hours would be an exciting exploration of newly discovered power. For River, they’d be the first time he truly shared something with the girl, and his palms were as moist as a silly lad’s. His breath quickened as he watched her turn about the sand, her eyes brushing the arena’s circular wall, which rose fifteen feet into the air.
“So this is what standing at the bottom of a well feels like,” Leralynn murmured.
“Remember that the walls are warded to ensure that whatever happens in here doesn’t destroy the rest of the Citadel in the process.”
“Convenient.” Leralynn’s chocolate eyes touched River’s, sending a jolt of heat through him without even trying. “Can you set such wards anywhere?”
“Me? No.” River squinted at the stone, inlaid with intricate runes. “Like many of the Citadel’s wards—including the runes on your neck—these are much older and more powerful than we can create today. But if you are asking about wards in general, it is a studied art. Craftsmanship. Autumn is quite skilled, but I’ve never had the knack or the training for it.” River trailed off, his gaze on Leralynn as a new worry bubbled inside his chest. She was small and perfect. And fragile and precious. Whereas the training . . . After the initial excitement wore off, it would be no less grueling than Coal’s adventures with a blade.
There wasn’t a choice on that score, not anymore, not with the damn runes tattooed right over her pulsing artery. The Citadel’s magic had no back door, no escape route from the training grounds, bar the trials. Leralynn had to learn or die. And River would never let the latter happen, no matter how much she might come to hate him in the process.
They hadn’t even started and he was already fretting. Bloody brilliant. River spread his shoulders, opening his mouth to issue his initial instructions—
“About Shade,” Lera said.
River’s mouth snapped shut.
“I realize you are angry. Can we—”
“We are not here to discuss Shade.” River’s hard words echoed from the circular walls.
Leralynn flinched—but didn’t back down one bloody millimeter. “Right, let’s pretend nothing happened. Good thinking.”
“We are here to harness your magic so that you can stay alive, not discuss your bedmate choices,” River snapped with more force than he’d intended. He stepped away toward the other side of the arena. It was bad enough that he had to smell Shade’s scent all over her and deal with a feral wolf this afternoon. He didn’t need the girl dragging Shade into their private training session too.
“Yes, about that magic . . .” Leralynn wrapped her arms around herself, her tunic’s open neckline sliding sideways to reveal the top of a delicate shoulder and supple skin. “We’ve a small problem there. Namely that I no longer have it.”
“What?” River blinked. “Of course you have magic. I saw you use it. It no more appears and disappears than an arm does.”
“Disappearing arms or not, I still don’t feel it, River. Not like I did in the arena yesterday. I promise you, I’ve looked. There is nothing there.”
“Look again.”
Leralynn closed her eyes, the small movements beneath her lids suggesting that she was indeed looking. As if her magic was a toy someone had hidden from her in the darkness.
River waited. Seconds. Minutes. More than enough time for even a child to locate her own power—provided said child was paying attention. “I want you to focus on the well of power inside you,” River said finally. “Let it nip you. Embrace its presence. Then tap it gently.”
Leralynn opened her eyes, quirking one brow.
Making a quick motion with his hand, River parted the arena’s sand to draw a line down the middle. “Your magic has an earth-based affinity, same as mine,” River continued, his voice level. Even as he spoke, he quietly spiraled down into his own well of magic and readied himself to parry the inevitable disaster. Novices were prone to explosions, no matter how many times one told them to go easy. “Your task is to push a few grains of sand across the line. Precision, not strength.” River readied his shield and braced himself. “Start now.”
Leralynn closed her eyes again.
Silence rang through the arena.
“I said start,” River pressed.
The girl’s eyes finally popped open, brimming with frustration. “There is nothing to tap, no matter how much you wish it were otherwise.”
River’s jaw tightened. “This isn’t about what I wish. This is about your body. Twenty-five pushups, then try again.”
Leraly
nn let out a puff of air but lowered obediently to the sand. Her gorgeous body, its curves plain despite the oversized tunic, rose and fell to River’s count. A shudder ran through him when she finished, sitting back on her knees in a way that gave him too good a view of the tops of her breasts. Stars. He forced his eyes away. If he wanted that body of hers to survive the trials, he needed to concentrate. He needed for them both to concentrate. “Get up,” he said, jerking his chin toward her. “Feet shoulder-width apart, breathing steady, picture the magic inside you rumbling in its well. Tap the well, Leralynn. Grab hold of one strand.”
Leralynn’s furrowed brow provided little encouragement. The fact that nothing happened provided even less.
“Twenty-five pushups,” River said, when Leralynn’s eyes opened again with nothing but wasted time to show for the effort.
Another quarter hour of trying. Another set of pushups. Another cycle of growing frustration.
“I don’t have magic,” Leralynn growled finally, refusing—actually refusing—to follow his latest order.
“We are not debating reality.”
The girl frowned. “You not wishing to debate the existence of my magic doesn’t actually change the fact that it’s not there.”
River’s jaw tightened. She wasn’t trying, not truly. Wherever Leralynn’s mind was just now, it clearly wasn’t in the arena with him.
Most likely, it was still in Shade’s bed.
Before he could tell her as much, Leralynn stalked toward him, her boots impertinently smudging the line in the sand that River had drawn. Tipping her head back, she glared at him, the heat from her body saturating the air between them. “I don’t have magic, River,” she said, her full lips enunciating each word as if it were him who was having trouble understanding reality. Stars. If defiance had a scent, River was certain it would reek of lilac. Leralynn tapped his chest, sending a jolt of heat through him. “Whatever you think you saw in the arena, it wasn’t me following in your bloody magical footsteps. So you might as well demand that I wag my tail or wiggle my horns for all the good it will do.”
River’s heart pounded against his ribs, fire simmering in his veins and rising to his face. He longed to grab the girl and shake her. Or kiss her. Or both. His breath quickened. “In the past week, you’ve tricked the quint into a full connection, singlehandedly accepted the Elders Council’s demands, and are now arguing with me over known facts because you find them inconvenient,” he growled instead, returning the reckless sprite’s glare with enough ire to make most fae warriors blanche. “You’re stubborn, you know that? A damn stubborn mortal.”
Not that it had any effect on her, stars take him.
Grabbing the hand Lera was jabbing him with, River leaned down until his face was inches from the girl’s. Their breath mixed, her stray pieces of hair tickling River’s neck, setting every nerve in his body alight. “You’ve a brash streak wide enough to make Tye pale in comparison, and so little sense of self-preservation, it’s a bloody miracle you’ve survived as long as you have. And just now, I’m fed up with it.” His words came hard and fast, a staccato of cold command. “Move. The. Sand. That’s an order.”
Leralynn narrowed her eyes, twisting her wrist free of River’s grasp. Her heart was beating hard enough to make the skin beneath her runes pulse, the coiled storm in her glare matching River’s own. “You want the sand moved?” Leralynn’s soft voice sent a warning shiver down River’s spine. Before he could answer, she stepped back and kicked the ground, her boot sending a fountain of sand all the way to River’s chest. “It’s moved. Magic.”
The tether River had on his temper snapped.
15
Lera
Lightning flashes through River’s gray eyes, his large body somehow bigger, more deadly than it was moments ago. His muscles coil against his deep-red shirt, the outline of lean power filling the arena. Pulsing through me.
For a heartbeat, I think I feel the magic he demanded, but then my eyes widen to reality as a whirlwind of sand rises from the arena floor at River’s silent command. The grains spin, faster and faster, each rotation building on itself as the male steps away, his chest heaving.
The sand rises, reaching my calves, my shins, my waist. I bring up my hands, warding off the grains now pelting my skin, and glare at River from the heart of the whirlwind. “Stop it,” I shout at him.
“You stop it,” River barks back at me, his shoulders rising and falling with harsh breaths. His face, with its angled cheekbones and strong jaw, is focused on me and nothing else. Centuries of dominance back each word he throws into my face. “This isn’t a dance, Leralynn. You have three runes on your neck now, and they will dissolve only through trials or death. Don’t like sand pelting you? Shove it back. Throw up a shield. Send out a raw bloody blast of magic to the sky itself. Do something.”
I open my mouth to shout right back at him, only to have the sand coat my tongue at once. My pulse races, mixing with my rapid breathing.
Bastard. Bastard. A royal princely ass who is so certain of himself, he can’t be bothered to consider that I may not fit into his rules. His world. Because I don’t fit. There is no magic inside me, no matter how impossible River claims that to be. The well of magic I felt in the trial arena isn’t empty—it’s gone altogether, leaving not even a shadow of what I once controlled.
“Do you know how little effort this is taking on my part?” River shouts while I struggle for each breath, the sand scratching my eyes. “I could do this all day. All night. Keep the sand pressing just enough to trap you here. No one can engage your magic for you, any more than they could take a shit on your behalf. So I highly recommend that you pull your head from Shade’s bed, or wherever it’s been for the past hour, and start fighting for yourself.”
Shade’s bed. I bare my teeth, heedless of the resulting sand coating my tongue. Blood rushes to my face, the skin on the back of my neck stinging from the onslaught. So that’s what this is. Retribution. River shoving his bloody weight around because he’s unhappy with Shade and me. Because he wants his damn orders followed, for the whole bloody world to do as he ordains.
I’m done playing this game.
Turning my head away from River, I find the ladder rungs worked into the stone a few feet away. The male can throw his magical tantrum all he wants—I don’t need to be around to witness it.
Keeping my face to the wall, I slide against the rock toward the footholds, each step a fight against wind and sand. My eyes water, the bits of sand in them irritating the sensitive tissue. A small whimper escapes my lips, but my hand closes over the first ladder rung in resounding victory.
Sand covers the metal rung at once, making me slip.
I fall to my hands and knees. My mind roars. Reaching inside myself, I claw for anything to block the assault. But there is nothing. No well of magic. No preternatural power. Only a little bit of pride that erodes more with each blast of sand in my face.
“I can’t!” I shout, my voice raspy. I can’t, the words echo inside me. I can’t tap into magic, can’t be what River wants, can’t be enough of a quint warrior to escape the Citadel.
River crouches beside me, just outside the sandstorm. “Yes, you can,” he says. So confident and certain that I want to punch him. “And when you truly want this to stop, you will.”
16
River
River let Leralynn climb out of the practice arena ahead of him, so she wouldn’t see him smash his fist against the stone wall. A disaster. There was no more accurate way to describe the morning, the vast rift that had formed between him and the girl. River’s head swam, and in the momentary privacy of the arena, he let his forehead press against the cool stone.
The last time River recalled failing so utterly was when he went to tell Daz about his newly forged quint bond, to beg the female he’d been in love with for years to stay with him. Daz had said no, and there was nothing in Lunos or the stars that River could do for it. And now, three centuries later, he was here again. Abou
t to lose the most precious thing in his life. A cold spike of fear stabbed his spine.
Maybe he was jealous. Shade was Leralynn’s first true mate, and Tye was the one she trusted and played with. Even Coal had a tether with the female, something deep and primal that only the two of them shared—for good and for ill. And River . . . River had wanted to be her first too. The first to guide her through the magic simmering in her veins, to watch her face light up when she discovered the new ways her magic let her speak with the world.
“River,” Coal called over the wall.
With a final deep breath, River straightened himself, summoning the calm mask that his father’s upbringing had taught him to wear. By the time he’d scaled the wall and come down on the other side, he was as certain that no one could read his thoughts as he was of the hate in Leralynn’s eyes—red and irritated from the sand.
River glanced at Coal, whose face revealed nothing, and felt another stab of pain. Coal could do it. He could put Leralynn through violence and hell and leave her better, stronger, more trusting. River, it seemed, could only break and destroy. When she went into the arena next, would she even remember her own strength? Or only his antics?
“I’m going ahead,” River said, skirting around Leralynn and Coal to beat the two to the suite. Now was about undoing the damage he’d just done—and the last thing Leralynn needed was more time in River’s company.
“Shade!” River called as he banged open the door, relief flooding his senses when the wolf appeared. With his tail down and nose close to the ground, Shade looked very much like how River felt. River sighed. “Could you shift, please? I’ve no intention of discussing the mating just now.”
The wolf hopped up on the couch, laid his fuzzy head on his paws, and blinked yellow eyes at River.
“Please?” River said through clenched teeth. “Leralynn is a few steps behind me. It . . . it was a rough training day.”