by Jayne Castel
The comparison drew her up sharply.
Gael, of course, had been bad news. Was this her curse? Would only dangerous men ever excite her?
Loneliness swept over Ryana in a cold tide, making her chest ache. She’d gotten used to going through life alone, had even made a success of it, but at that moment, as she walked next to a man she shouldn’t want but did, she wished her path had been different.
She wished she could have more faith in her own instincts, but they’d only ever gotten her into trouble.
Halfway up the hill, she stopped and turned to face Elias.
She knew how to warn him off, how to ensure he never wanted anything to do with her again. This wasn’t the right time or place to tell him, for they were alone. If he tried to attack her, she would have to fend him off without assistance.
However, she had to do this. It seemed important that he know who she really was.
When Elias halted, swiveling to her in surprise, she took a cautious step back and spread the fingers of her right hand surreptitiously behind her. It was best to be cautious.
“There’s something you should know,” she began, meeting his shadowed gaze. They stood alone on the wide street, the illuminated walls of townhouses surrounding them. “About your brother.”
Elias inclined his head, his gaze narrowing. However, he didn’t reply.
Drawing in a steadying breath, Ryana continued. “I killed him.”
Elias stared back at her, his body going still. “What?” There was no mistaking the edge to his voice.
Ryana swallowed. “He was about to murder a friend of mine … I had no choice.”
Silence stretched between them. Elias’s face was impossible to read. However, those dark eyes glinted. When he took a slow step toward her, Ryana’s heart started to pound. Instinctively, she backed up, beckoning the shadows that lay sleeping nearby. She would likely need their help in a few moments.
Ryana’s back hit the wall. She’d backed up farther than she’d realized. There was nowhere else to go. Elias was looming over her—so close she could feel the heat of his body enveloping her.
“How did you kill him?” he asked softly, his voice steel cloaked in mink.
“I gathered the Dark,” Ryana whispered back, her gaze never leaving his. “I threw a garrote and strangled him.”
Long moments passed, and all the while, Ryana’s nervousness increased. His stillness, his lack of reaction, made her instincts scream danger.
“What did you do with his body?” Elias asked finally. Once again, his voice was low, barely above a whisper.
Ryana wet her lips. She felt cornered. “I killed him in the foothills of the Shadefell Mountains,” she replied. “Once the battle was over … we retrieved his corpse and burned him on the pyres with those of The Shade Brotherhood.”
It sounded terrible—worse than in her head. Ryana wasn’t trying to enrage him, but she was well aware that she wasn’t helping her case.
And yet she wouldn’t apologize. She wasn’t sorry for killing Saul of Anthor.
“I think,” she eventually managed, her voice now husky with fear, “enough has been said … we should bid each other goodnight.” She started to edge along the wall, in an attempt to get past him.
However, she’d only traveled a few inches to the right when his hand shot out, blocking her path.
Ryana stopped abruptly, her pulse fluttering.
Stupid wench … you should have kept your mouth shut. Around her the Dark began to whisper, but Elias was standing too close for her to wield it properly.
She was trapped.
10
Witch
“LET ME PASS.” Ryana hated the tremor in her voice. She didn’t sound like herself—she sounded scared.
Elias didn’t move aside. Instead, he placed his other hand against the wall, forming a cage around her.
“I told you,” Ryana whispered. “Saul attacked my friend. I had to save his life.”
Still, he didn’t reply.
Ryana started to sweat. He was toying with her, letting her fear rise, before he reacted. She had to get away. Grabbing hold of one of Elias’s wrists she tried to pry his hand off the wall so she could get past.
That caused a reaction.
Elias grabbed her by the shoulders and threw her up against the wall. And before Ryana had a chance to fight him, he pinned her against the rough stone. Then his mouth crushed against hers.
The act was so sudden, so swift, that Ryana was momentarily stunned.
The kiss was forceful, possessive. He ravaged her mouth, demanded she open to him, and then his tongue slid between her lips.
Shock pulsed through Ryana, followed by a wild heat that made her gasp against him. Everything she’d been fighting, everything she dared not want, bubbled to the surface. It was idiotic to want this man.
And yet she did.
Shadows. He tasted good. The rasp of his stubble against her cheek, the scent of warm male skin, of leather, overwhelmed her senses. The hardness of his body against hers made her ache to rip those leathers off him.
His dominance, his anger, unleashed something equally ferocious within her.
Elias kissed her with near violence, but she matched him. She devoured him. She bit down on his lower lip, her fingernails digging into his biceps.
Elias tore his mouth from hers. His fingers reached up, loosening the bun that held her hair up. He then tangled his fingers in her heavy waves, pulling her head back so that her neck was exposed to him. His lips left a trail of fire down her throat, before his teeth sunk into the tender skin where her neck joined her shoulder.
Ryana whimpered.
Elias kneed her thighs apart and ground his pelvis against hers, pushing Ryana harder still against the wall. Gasping, she writhed against him while he slid his hands down her back, cupping her buttocks. Then he hooked a hand under one of Ryana’s knees and lifted her up against him so that the pulsing heat between her thighs was pressed up against the hard ridge of his erection.
Slowly, he let her slide down its long heavy length, and as he did so, Elias bit her neck once more.
Ryana cried out, the sound echoing across the empty street. Her body convulsed against his, taking her by surprise. The excitement that thundered through her veins turned into madness. She didn’t care that they were in a public place. She wanted him to turn her around, tear down her leggings, and take her savagely against the wall.
She wanted it so badly, she felt sick with need.
But he didn’t take her.
Breathing hard, Elias yanked himself away. His eyes were dark pools, his face all savage angles. He stared at Ryana, his chest heaving. She could do nothing but gaze back, longing for him to touch her once more.
Elias didn’t move. Long moments passed, before he took a step away, and then another.
Ryana’s gaze slid down his body, to where his erection tented the tight leather of his breeches. She longed to reach out, to trail her fingertips down it. However, the hard look on his face stopped her.
“Witch.” The word fell heavily in the stillness of the street. There was no missing the accusing edge.
Ryana swallowed the urge to laugh. It was ridiculous that the first man she’d wanted in a long while had just insinuated that she’d cast an enchantment over him. As if that was the only way she’d ever get a man to touch her.
If the notion hadn’t been so ridiculous, she’d have been insulted.
Wisely, she didn’t laugh, nor did she reply. She couldn’t speak anyway; lust had completely scattered her wits.
Elias’s expression darkened as if Ryana’s silence damned her further. Turning his back on her, he moved away. He then disappeared down a side street, the shadows swallowing him.
Ryana sank against the wall, her legs trembling.
She should be relieved. Elias hadn’t tried to kill her. But what he’d done instead had completely disarmed her. There was no good denying it. She ached for him. The tender skin between he
r thighs throbbed and need pulsed in the cradle of her hips.
Her body knew what it wanted, even if her mind was convinced otherwise.
Glancing around, Ryana wondered if anyone had heard them. She was aware that she’d cried out. Yet the street was as quiet and deserted as it had been before Elias had pushed her up against the wall.
Ryana’s gaze shifted to the alleyway where Elias had disappeared.
Well, that’s it, she thought as both relief and disappointment swamped her. I’ve seen the last of him.
Elias was enraged with himself on two counts.
The first was that he’d kissed the witch in the first place after learning her secret. The second was that he’d not just given his instincts free rein and plowed her against the wall.
His groin ached now, making it uncomfortable to walk. He’d kept off The King’s Way, intending to travel up to the palace through back stairwells. However, now that he was out of sight of Ryana, he felt like a prize dolt.
The woman tells you she strangled Saul, and you react by sticking your tongue down her throat.
Elias stopped, halfway up the staircase he was climbing, and muttered an oath.
Ryana had drawn his attention from their first meeting, and tonight he’d been unable to stay away from her. He’d drunk and diced at three different taverns before returning to The Black Boar. It had taken a while, but eventually she’d emerged.
And during the entire walk back, all he’d been able to think about was kissing her. Learning about Saul should have ended that desire, yet instead it had released the beast in him. It had taken every ounce of will he had to step back from her, to feign disgust, and to walk away.
Letting out another curse, Elias dragged a hand over his face.
His self-control hung by a thread. When Ryana was near, he forgot about his purpose here in The Royal City, about the promises he’d made. He’d hoped to use her to his own ends, but the woman had turned the tables on him. He needed to keep away from her.
Time was passing, and Ninia was still alive. He had to do something about that.
Ryana reached the House of Light and Darkness and let herself inside. It was late, just a few hours till dawn, and the corridors and stairwells of the building were empty. Reaching her chamber, Ryana crossed to where the window shutters still hung open. The sleeping city tumbled down the hillside beneath her. The sky was overcast, clouds drifting across the silver face of the moon.
Closing the shutters, Ryana shifted over to her sleeping pallet and sank down on it. A low fire still glowed in the hearth, illuminating her chamber in a soft light. In daylight, the room was austere and cell-like, but firelight gentled it.
With a groan, Ryana lay back on the pallet and stared up at the rafters.
The walk up to the House hadn’t eased her frustration, hadn’t cooled her blood. She still longed for Elias.
Lust had a way of chasing away good sense. It had been years since Ryana had felt so reckless. Elias freed something in her that she’d suppressed for too long. Yet she knew what the consequences could be of giving into it. Hadn’t Gael made her feel the same way once? Time had faded many of her memories of her first love. However, Ryana couldn’t remember feeling quite as desperate as she had tonight.
She reached up to her neck, her fingers exploring the tender spot where he’d bitten her. Breathing quickening, she let herself remember how he’d kissed her and the way he’d ground his hips against hers. His touch had set her on fire.
When Elias had pulled away, she’d felt as if she could die from want.
Stop this. Ryana squeezed her eyes shut. Reliving the encounter wasn’t helping.
She tried to relax her body, willed her limbs to sink into the coverlet. She was exhausted, but sleep wouldn’t visit her now; her nerves were stretched taut, her senses still too alert.
She’d done the right thing in telling Elias about his brother, Ryana reassured herself. She needed to distance herself from the Prince of Anthor and everything he represented. It was a folly that would only end badly for her. She wouldn’t be used and abandoned again. She wouldn’t throw herself into the abyss.
Aye, she’d done well to push Elias away. But that didn’t give her solace as she lay alone upon her bed.
11
A Lone Wolf
GAEL GROUND HIS jaw and resisted the urge to grab the man before him by the scruff and slam his face into the ground.
Teaching was harder than he’d expected.
He stood at one end of the lichen-encrusted courtyard, surrounded by blank-faced enchanters.
And yet their eyes weren’t as empty as their expressions. Many of their gazes were sharp, watchful, and one or two gleamed with malicious pleasure. This show of willful stupidity was for his benefit. The enchanters of Veldoras didn’t want him here—and this was how they’d chosen to defy him.
Drawing in a deep breath, Gael dredged up the last of his patience. Despite that the day was cool and the sky overhead dull grey, he was sweating heavily. He could feel heat creeping up his neck.
Flustered. This insubordinate bunch had actually gotten under his skin.
“Let’s try that again, shall we?” he asked Marik, the enchanter before him. Middle aged with greying dark hair cut short, the man had a deep groove etched between his eyebrows.
“I don’t want to do it,” Marik replied with a sneer. “Make someone else.”
Again the urge to respond with violence surged through Gael. But he couldn’t lose his temper now. Not during his first session with the enchanters.
Gael had always been a lone wolf. He’d never gotten on with the other enchanters at Mirrar Rock’s House of Light and Darkness, and when he’d allied himself with The Shade Brotherhood, he’d deliberately kept to himself. He was at ease in his own company and had never needed anyone else—until now.
He had to get these enchanters to cooperate with him.
“Just try,” Gael ordered between gritted teeth. He spread the fingers of his right hand, and the shadows in the recesses of the surrounding portico started to whisper. “This time … gather the Dark and attack me.”
This caused some of the surrounding enchanters to share surprised looks.
Marik didn’t answer for a moment. At this point, Gael started wishing that the enchanter would defy him again. The Dark be damned, he’d enjoy using his fists on Marik.
But then Marik smiled, his thick lips twisting. “Alright then.” He stepped forward and began to gather the Dark with his right hand.
“You’re not testing bathwater,” Gael snapped. “Gather the Dark with purpose, man. Like you mean it!”
Marik swore under his breath, his gaze narrowing. A moment later a great wave of shadows roared out from under the portico. It rushed toward Gael, gathering momentum as it swept across the courtyard.
Watching it approach, Gael smiled. Finally, he had something to work with.
Gathering his own enchantment with a flick of the wrist, Gael raised a shield from the shadows behind him. The wave shunted off it and deflected straight into Marik. An instant later the man was lying on his back upon the pavers, groaning.
Around them, the watching enchanters shuffled back, their gazes wary.
Gael surveyed them. “Marik’s the best of you, is he?” When no one answered, he continued, gesturing to where the man had sat up. His face was milk white as he cradled the back of his skull. “Sloppy, undisciplined … lazy.” Gael was enjoying himself now. Mysandra had done a better job with this group than he’d expected—but Gael wasn’t about to let any of them know that. “No wonder the people of this city spit at you.”
One or two of the surrounding faces tightened. They were a prideful lot and tough. They’d had to be strong to survive their isolation in this city. Few folk in Veldoras sought out the healing skills of the Light these days, and fewer still visited the House to request a charm from those of the Dark—yet these resilient few persisted. They traveled around the city in groups these days, for safety, still l
ooking to help those who didn’t revile them.
“From now on, you’ll get up at dawn and meet me here for training,” he instructed.
“What’s the point of this?” A woman named Tena spoke up. She was around Gael’s age, tall and thin with wild brown hair and slightly bulbous eyes. Out of all the Veldoras enchanters, she’d been the most hostile. “None of us are apprentices … we don’t need training.”
Gael favored her with a cold smile. “You do … if you’re to stand beside the enchanters of Mirrar Rock in battle.”
Tena’s lip curled. “And who says we will?”
Gael let himself into his chamber and went straight to the wine decanter. He then poured himself a tall goblet and drained it in one go.
The wine was rough and vinegary, but he welcomed its punch.
The morning’s training had felt endless. Instead of earning the trust of the enchanters of Veldoras, they now disliked him. Gael didn’t care about being unpopular. However, he did mind that they weren’t cooperating.
Slamming down his goblet, Gael poured himself another.
His jaw and temples ached, and he seethed with frustration. There had been moments this morning when he almost regretted the grand plan he’d embarked on and the boasts he’d made to the king of Anthor.
All morning he’d resisted the urge to whip up a tornado of Dark and smash the skulls of this rabble against the columns encircling the courtyard. But he couldn’t do that—he needed them.
Grasping his fresh goblet of wine, Gael stalked over to his desk in the opposite corner of the chamber. Then he reached under the collar of his leather tunic and pulled Shade out, placing her gently upon the desk.
“You were quiet this morning,” he accused.
The rat sat up on her haunches, those unnervingly sharp red eyes fixing upon him. I didn’t want to put you off.
“You could have offered some assistance. Do you know how close I was to losing my temper out there?”
Aye, but you didn’t. Have patience, Gael. It’ll take time to gain their trust.