The Bound (Ascension #2)(93)

“Not that you can’t care, but I would think you’d be a Doma-tarian,” he said, making up a word on the spot. “And, as far as I’ve read in the history books, that makes you a warrior.”

He twirled her in place and then drew her back to him, but by then, she was fuming. She couldn’t even help it. She just couldn’t believe that he would say those things. As if she couldn’t care about humanity when she had spent her entire life thinking that she was human. The very distinction between Doma and human had created a war and extinguished an entire race and all magic.

The dance ended, and Cyrene abruptly dropped her hands. Her magic fired under her fingertips as her emotions battled inside her. It wasn’t as erratic as the last time it had happened after Dean’s fight to become Captain, but she was upset.

“Excuse me.”

And, without ceremony, she turned and walked off the dance floor.

She needed a drink. Something to cool herself down. Creator, she just missed the mountains and the cold and the snow. She grabbed a flute of some icy liquid and tipped it back. Her head spun, and she shuddered. Whatever that was…was not punch. And it was much stronger than the wine they drank at court. Also, it was a very bad idea. She needed control tonight. If she were on edge and lost control of her magic, many people could suffer.

“What’s going on?” Avoca whispered, grasping her forearm in the crowd. She was in a shimmering green Eleysian dress that fit her like a glove.

“Nothing.”

“This isn’t nothing, Cyrene.”

“I have it under control,” she spat at Avoca.

For the first time since they had been connected, she wished that Avoca couldn’t feel her powers or know what was running through her. “Just let me be for one night. I’m fine. Nothing is going to happen.”

Avoca steeled her with a sharp glare. “I have a debt owed to you, Cyrene.”

“One I did not ask for.”

Avoca looked hurt, and Cyrene instantly regretted her rash actions.

“I understand.” Avoca let go of Cyrene, and before she could say anything more, Avoca rushed into the crowd.

Cyrene groaned. “Avoca,” she cried, following after her.

“Leave it, Cyrene,” Avoca said, brushing her off and disappearing effortlessly into the crowd.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered in despair.

Cyrene shook her head and then exited out onto a balcony overlooking the courtyard below. It was blissfully cooler here. She didn’t feel like she was burning up from the inside out. Even if there weren’t snow or mountains, it was quite beautiful. It just wasn’t home.

Ache hit her in the pit of her stomach. She needed to stop this. Picking fights with Dean and Avoca wasn’t going to get her back to Byern—if she could ever go back to Byern. Basille had said that it was impossible for her to return, and that coupled with how strongly she missed her favorite holiday celebration only made everything worse. This magic was a curse, not a blessing. One she couldn’t ever hope to control.

Dean walked out onto the balcony. “Cyrene?” he whispered.

She wiped a tear from the corner of her eye but didn’t face him.

“Why did you leave? Did I upset you?”

“No,” she said. But it was a lie. She was upset with him, with everything really.

“Tell me what’s wrong, so I can fix it. I thought we were just having fun.”

“We were,” she agreed.

“But…”

“But there is so much about me that you don’t know.”

“Then, tell me,” he insisted.

“I’m not a warrior,” she spat the word. “I never want to be, yet I’m so conflicted. Affiliates started out as warriors for the Dremylons during the war. They killed Doma. They killed my ancestors. Yet I’m one of them.”

“I didn’t know,” he admitted. “We don’t study Byern history as thoroughly as our own, except for learning that Affiliates and High Order were created. I didn’t know that would trigger you.”

“Creator! It’s not even that,” she said, turning to face him. “It’s everything. What am I even doing here, Dean? I’m getting nowhere. Maybe I should just go home.”

Dean reached out and cupped her cheek in his hand. He tilted her chin up until she looked at him, and the affection in his eyes nearly stole her breath away. “You could leave, but I don’t know how I would bear it.”

Under his careful hands, her magic diminished until it was nothing but a soft simmer under her skin. Or is that the heat from his hands?

“Dean—”

“You’re not a warrior. You’re not a humanitarian. You’re not even an Affiliate,” he said. “You aren’t a label, Cyrene. You are everything you want to be and more. I see it in your conviction in everything you do. And though I know you could be anything you wanted, all I can possibly want is for you to be mine.”

No response was necessary.

Dean covered her mouth, and it was like the heavens opened up over them. His lips were soft but commanding, prying life out of her willful mouth. His hands were rough and callous from endless hours with a sword in his grasp, but he treated her so lightly, as if she might break.

But she did just the opposite. She latched on to his shirt and drew him against her. A tide broke between them, and she couldn’t seem to get enough of him. She had been waiting weeks for this moment. She hadn’t even known it at the time, but every touch and nudge and gentle caress had been stoking a fire in her veins. And the feel of him awakened her body and calmed her magic to a gentle thrum while also calling it forth between them.