The Sharpest Blade

He faces me and, almost reluctantly, meets my eyes.

“I don’t understand why you’re here,” he says. “You have the normal life you always wanted.”

Not breaking his gaze, I tilt my head to the side. “Don’t you know? I could never be a normal human.”

The smile that spreads across his face tells me he recognizes the words. He said them to me two months ago, right after the vigilantes attacked the inn in Germany. I was still fighting my attraction to him, still clinging to the hope that I was shadow-reading for a good and honest king.

“Look,” I say. “You said I needed time to understand the life-bond. It’s been almost a month. I get it. Kyol’s in my head, but we’re in the same world, and I’m not throwing myself into his arms.”

“You’re not,” he says, “but you want to.”

“God, just . . . just stop telling me what I want! And don’t give up on us so easily.”

“You think this is easy?” he says, agitation sliding into his voice. “Do you think I like knowing that he knows where you are every second of the day? That he knows when you’re in trouble, when you’re sad or scared?” He grabs my arms then gently pushes me back against a stone façade. “He knows when you’re aroused, McKenzie.” His head dips, bringing his lips closer to mine. “He knows when we touch, when we kiss. He’ll know if we make love. Do you want that? Can you handle hurting him like that?”

“I can control it,” I say, my gaze locked on his lips. “I’ll find a way to control it.”

He chuckles, low and sexy, as he eases closer to me, and whispers in my ear, “The last thing I want you to have when you’re with me is control.”

I’m not cold anymore. My body flushes with heat at his words. I turn my face toward him as he backs away. He’s still holding on to me, but any second he could let go and leave.

“Your lips are blue,” he says softly.

“There’s a solution for that.”

His gaze meets mine again, and my stomach flips. Even rain-drenched and in shadows, he’s gorgeous. He’s fully dressed, and the air is cold, but he looks like he’s just stepped out of a steamy shower. His hair is darker than normal, the wet locks curling slightly at the ends, making him look haphazard and sexy.

He swallows. “Please, McKenzie. I’m trying to do the right thing.”

That’s one of the reasons I love him. He’s trying to undo a past that he regrets. He’s trying to be a good man, and I think that might be why he’s pushing me away. Fae respect the sanctity of a life-bond more than humans respect the sanctity of marriage, and in his mind, even touching me is a violation of the connection I have with Kyol.

But Naito and Kelia didn’t care about that. Right now, I don’t either. I grab the top of Aren’s cuirass and pull him closer. “I am the right thing, Aren.”

I thought my lips were numb. They aren’t. They feel the firm, delicious pressure of Aren’s mouth. The magic he’s using to keep himself warm rushes into me, and chaos lusters fire across my skin, so sudden and hot, I lurch into him. I feel him shake, too, and he grips me tighter, one hand in my wet hair, the other moving down my back. His palm curves over my butt, pulling me firmly against him.

Jaedric protects both our torsos. I want so much to remove his, to run my hands over the hard planes of his chest and down the ridges of his stomach. I’ve seen him shirtless. I want to feel him shirtless. Naked and hot and lit by my chaos lusters.

He nips my lower lip, then sucks it between his teeth, but even as he does that, deepening the kiss in a way that draws a moan from me, I feel him holding back.

I reach up, intending to fist my hand in his hair, but he intercepts me, grabbing my wrist as he breaks the kiss.

“I can’t,” he whispers.

“We can, Aren. Please.”

“No, it would be . . . I just can’t. I’m sorry.” He wraps his arms around me and rests his chin on my head, ending any opportunity for me to reinitiate the kiss. My cheek presses against his chest, and I listen to the steady thump of his heart.

“I’ll find a way to sever the life-bond,” I tell him.

“There’s only one way for it to end, McKenzie,” he says, and the pain in his voice is like a sword through the gut.

I close my eyes and bite my lower lip as I soak in his warmth. His words can’t be true. I refuse to believe them because, if they are, then the only way to gain freedom from Kyol is for one of us to die.

TEN

AREN AND I don’t speak or touch the rest of the way through Tholm. Kyol fissures to the city when we reach the western edge of it. I don’t know if that’s a coincidence, or if he felt when I started searching for him. He’s not alone. Trev and Nalst, a fae I’ve worked with before, are with him. The look Trev gives me says he’s not here by choice, and I’m beginning to think his presence is a punishment from Lena. Whether she’s punishing him or me, though, I don’t know.

Kyol’s mouth tightens when he sees me. He knew I was cold, but seeing me shoeless and soaked makes him angry. Without sparing Aren so much as a glance, he holds out a cloak. It’s folded up into a square package that’s fat enough to hold a pair of shoes and dry clothes.

I hold the wrapped-up cloak against my chest as I scan the area for someplace to change. It’s not quite dawn yet, but the sky has a lighter hue to it. We’re within view of the city and several of the outlying buildings, so I’m not exactly comfortable with stripping naked out here. I’m not about to wait to change clothes, though. I need to get warm now.

“I can hold the cloak around you,” Kyol says, sensing my hesitation.

I make the mistake of looking at Aren. His gaze rakes down the length of my body, and the hunger in his eyes makes my stomach tighten. His expression goes neutral the instant he notices me watching him. Then, after a quick, curt nod, he opens a fissure and disappears.

No good-bye. No promise to see me again. My emotions are so tangled, I honestly don’t know if I’m more hurt or angry. It doesn’t help that, for Kyol’s sake, I’m trying not to feel anything at all.

I focus on the cloak in my arms and unhook the belt that’s holding it tight around the boots and clothing Kyol brought. If my clothes were dry, I could put the cloak on and figure out a way to wiggle out of them, but since they’re wet and sticking to my skin, Kyol’s option is the best.

“Okay,” I say, and he steps forward, taking the ends of the cloak and encircling me with them. His arms are around me, sort of. Not touching, but it feels intimate. He’s averting his eyes, though. I try not to focus or think of him at all as I loosen the laces on my cuirass. My numb fingers have trouble with them, but I’m not about to ask for help. I undo them as much as I can, then lift the armor over my head.

I shed all my clothes as quickly as possible then pull on a pair of dark gray pants and a double-layered black shirt with straps that cinch tight over my chest. Socks and knee-high boots are last.

“I’m done,” I say, taking the cloak from Kyol. I’m more comfortable, but I’m far from warm.

“Your hands,” Kyol says, reaching for them. He massages my fingers and palms, sending a magically charged heat into them. “I didn’t think to bring gloves, but it will be warmer when the sun rises.”