Fire and Bone (Otherborn #1)(107)

The back of my neck prickles.

He closes his book, setting it aside. “And the wolf is very patient.” He stands and walks across the floor to where I sit. He looms over me for a moment, watching, and then he leans forward, gripping the arms of the chair, caging me in. “Once the beast has tasted what he craves, he will hold on to it forever. He has no choice. He won’t let it go.”

I don’t let myself look away or cower from him. I cannot give him any ground. “What do you want from me?”

“You aren’t foolish,” he whispers. “You know.”

I shake my head.

“Oh, but I know you wish for it too, my love. I hear your quick breath in the night; I feel your need through the walls.”

My heart falters.

“Yes,” he says, moving closer. “But it isn’t only your body I crave. I need more, I need loyalty.” He studies me for a moment, his silver eyes softening. He kneels to my level and says gently, “I seek love, Lily.”

A sharp pain hits the center of my chest. I search his face as disbelief trickles in. Surely he can’t mean it.

“We are both alone,” he says. His fingers move to brush my knuckles. “Why do you resist the hand wishing to hold you?”

My throat tightens. I have no answer.

His touch grazes my cheek, coming away damp with tears that I hadn’t felt fall. He leans in and gently kisses my brow. His lips are chilled as he kisses a trail to my temple, the tip of my nose, my salty cheeks. “Let me hold you for a time, Lily,” he whispers into my skin. “Take what you wish from me, I won’t harm you. I could never harm my own heart—”

I stop his words with my lips, reaching out to take his tunic in my fists and pull him closer. And as his arms wrap around me, his hands gripping me, his strength lifting me, I rise . . .

Days and nights merge together . . . Time slips past.

It holds. It builds. As the days weave minds together, a partnership in all things emerging, the nights weave spirits together into one.

Death merged with flame.

In the joining of my essence with his, I am blinded, thinking our growing power can allow for no enemies. That our secrets will never be known.

But I am wrong . . . An enemy already lurks among us. She seeks me out to destroy me. To destroy my king. She despises us with an iron will. And she won’t be satiated until we are ripped from each other.

She won’t relent until all the power is hers.





FORTY-FIVE

SAGE

I open my eyes. The smell of smoke lingers in the air. The familiar dark canopy of my bed hangs above me, curtains a sheer red. I turn toward the king. But the bed is empty.

He was just here. Wasn’t he? I sit up, disoriented.

A trickle of unease fills my chest.

Where is he?

“Hello?” I ask the silence.

But wait. When I fell asleep, I wasn’t here; I wasn’t in the keep. I was with the king in the wood, under the rowan tree. I was . . . why can’t I remember?

Something was wrong before I closed my eyes. The king had called to me, drawing me into the wood, and I’d found him resting under the rowan tree. He said there was something we could do to hide ourselves, hide our secret. Something that would save us from her. We argued because his plan was terrible, it was horrifying what I would have to do . . . but . . .

Confusion rolls over me again. Why can’t I remember?

I rise from the bed, wandering over to the fire. The embers have faded to nearly nothing. I snap my fingers, sending out my spark into the dying blaze.

The energy slinks over my skin but goes no further. The embers stay as they were. I blink at the coals and try again.

Still nothing.

Something is very wrong.

I reach for my pouch of lavender, to call my mother—

Where is it?

I look down. What . . . what is this? Am I wearing trousers? I pat myself and realize how strange my clothing is. And I’m wearing my torque—why would that be? It was taken off me soon after the Bonding. Am I a prisoner?

My heart begins to race as I look around again. And then I spot the painting over the hearth. It’s not the painting that was there before. It’s a portrait of me now. I stand on an icy bank, Fionn perched on my arm, ready for flight.

Fionn.

“It’s lovely, isn’t it?” a voice says from behind me.

I turn, nearly stumbling into the fireplace.

The young man grabs me by the upper arm, tugging me away from the flames, closer to him. “Take care,” he says. “You could catch your clothes on fire, and we wouldn’t want that, would we?”

I gape at him, lost. “Who are you?”

He smirks, his silver eyes full of mischief. “We’re not here to be coy, little doe.” He pulls me to the chair and releases me into it.

As I watch him begin to pace, confusion fills me again. He’s familiar, he’s so like the king. But I don’t know him.

Kieran whispers in my head. The name of my king’s brother . . . but he was just a boy the last time I saw him, fourteen winters old. This is a man.

The ground tips. A memory of this young man’s face, how he broke someone’s neck. The violent moment flashes in my head, and I grip the arms of the chair, panic hitting.

Faelan!

No.

Wait . . . who’s Faelan?