Page 39

Bria

S taying hidden within the warm hood of the cloak, I crunch my way back to the inn through the ice and snow, thinking of what to say, what to do when I find him.

I have no idea if Evander went back there or not.

For all I know, he could have met back up with that girl.

She mysteriously disappeared shortly after him.

Some severe form of jealously rears its ugly head inside me at the memory of her possessive hand creeping up on him, acting as if she owned him.

I close my eyes, willing the image to leave and never return.

Because even though I had seen hurt in Evander’s eyes tonight, even though I caused it, I also experienced it myself.

Despite trying so hard not to, I am falling for him.

And no part of me knows what to do about it. Nothing is making sense anymore.

By the time I make it back to the inn though, my mind is made up.

I will go to him, explain what is happening with Silas, with the magic.

I can’t bear to travel a day and a half with him like this, to witness that coldness in his eyes, to have Quinn look at me the way he did tonight.

Whether it’s the right choice or not, I don’t care.

I will be truthful. Because at this point, I have nothing left to lose.

Nearing his room, I notice the uneasy twisting in my stomach resume. I push forward toward the end of the hall and stop at his door. The sconce at the back wall is out, and I lay my hands on the old wood, palms flat, inhaling before I lift my hand to knock lightly.

The door swings open before me, far faster than I anticipate.

He is swathed in shadows from the dim light of the room.

His hair is in disarray, and it looks as if he has been running his hands through it, tugging it out of place.

The tunic is gone, and the tanned skin of his chest is magnificent in the low light.

I can see the thick pink scar running down his arm and I remember how soft that skin had been beneath my fingers the other night.

Shit . Stop thinking like that and concentrate , I tell myself, forcing my gaze to lift from his chiseled body to search his face. His jaw is tight, and a long line of tense muscles run down his neck to his shoulders. He stands in the doorway, blocking my sight of the rest of the room.

“Are-are you alone?” I ask warily, trying to keep my tone neutral. I know that the hesitation in my voice is betraying my concern that he might not be alone—that he met back up with her .

His lip curls and he backs up, allowing me to view the full expanse of the bed. It’s empty. The sight comforts the anxiety welling up inside of me and I stifle the sigh that threatens to push past my lips.

“I told you,” he starts, his voice so low it’s almost a growl. “That girl meant nothing.”

I take in the anger in his tone, the indignation, and I chew on the inside of my cheek so hard I taste copper.

“Can I come in?” I question, holding my breath for his response.

He backs up further, stretching out his arm in an animated flourish to let me into the room before closing the door softly behind me. I walk a few feet in before turning toward him. He stands, crossing his arms over his bare chest, his upper arms flexing.

But I am undeterred by his attitude, and I unclasp the front of my fur-lined cloak.

His room is warm and the energy that began to build inside of me at the pub is causing me to overheat.

I slip the cloak from my shoulders and reach behind me to toss it onto his bed.

When I look back, he’s watching at me, his nostrils flared, jaw set.

Unsure of what to do with my hands, I straighten the fabric of my tunic.

Nervous under the intensity of his stare, I shift on my feet.

No one else in my life has made me this unsteady just by looking at me.

It’s unfamiliar, to be uncomfortable like this, to feel the need to explain.

The need to wipe the anger and the sadness and the hurt from him.

“What do you want, Bria?” he asks, his words clipped short.

“I want to talk to you...to explain—” I start, but he cuts me off, irritation growing in his voice.

“Couldn’t it wait until morning?” he questions, sadness flittering behind his eyes. “We have a long journey ahead of us. You will have plenty of time to talk...to whomever you choose.” He adds the last part not to inflict pain upon me, I realize, but because he’s giving up.

He’s giving up on me. It’s defeat in his eyes that I see now.

It throws me off guard—his tone, his eyes, and the lump that forms in my throat along with those words. But I shake my head, letting hair fall around me, hoping it will hide the grief I’m sure he can see spreading across my features. Hoping it will hide the anguish.

“No, Ev. It can’t.”

He moves away from the door toward the edge of the bed.

I turn, following him as he moves silently through the room, noticing his feet are bare and his trousers are unbuttoned.

He wasn’t expecting me when I knocked on the door and was probably getting ready to sleep.

As he sits, he drags a hand through his tangled hair and lets loose a long breath.

“Get on with it then,” he says quietly, looking up at me, his eyes glimmering in the low light of the room.

His hands are clasped together, falling between his legs as he leans forward.

There are specks of dried blood on his hand and his knuckles are bruised and busted open, but I think better of asking him about it.

I know he has a tendency to become aggressive when upset.

Fist fights and punching walls were not unknown activities to Evander.

I could leave. Just go now, cross the hall to my room and be done with it, let him think what he wants of Silas and me.

It won’t matter in a few days or a few weeks anyway.

So why do I stay? Why do I need him to understand?

Because every fiber in my being wants him.

It’s a different kind of pull than what I feel with Silas.

Something in me is still drawn to Evander no matter the circumstances, no matter the pain or the fate I hover closer to.

He is under my skin, in my bones and my blood.

And I’m not giving up on him this easily.

“Whether you want to be around me or not, you’re stuck with me for at least another few days,” I begin, tentatively at first but as his eyes lock on me I know I have to keep going.

“I know you don’t understand what’s going on, but I need you to try,” I continue, taking a steady breath as the words pour out. “There’s some sort of link, some bond that lies beneath the surface of all those with power. It connects Nimai to me, and Silas. Or that’s what Cato told us.”

I pace the short distance between where I had been standing and the small dresser a few feet away. I feel his eyes follow me with each step, the skin on the back of my neck prickling.

“He wasn’t sure at first. But the other day, when we trained, it became clear.

” I stop at the dresser and spin toward him, instantly lowering my eyes from the vehemence in his gaze and tugging up the sleeves of my tunic.

I shove the fabric as far up my arms as I can manage.

I yank at the neck, pulling it away from my body.

It feels like I’m burning up. The swell of energy from when Silas came to protect and strengthen me is still bubbling up in my body, threatening to erupt at any moment.

He remains silent, staring. And fuck if that quiet isn’t jarring, but he’s merely waiting for me to finish my rant.

I roll my shoulders, trying to move the heat around in my body.

If I could just get the energy out, if I could cast shadows or go for a run or douse myself in a cold bath… Anything to snuff out the flames.

“I know-I know Ash told you about the dead. And no matter how much I practiced I could only raise and control one warrior. I just didn’t have the energy in my body to do more than that.

” My hands are wringing together as I breathe through the flash of heat, hoping he can understand. Hoping he cares enough to try.

“It was draining me. I was exhausted each night and I could barely get up in the mornings. Every muscle in my body was sore and throbbing from the effort. And then, I showed up for training the other day and Cato had Silas with him.”

I slide my eyes to him as I say the name and watch his jaw tighten reflexively. His hands curl into fists and I can just make out the white of his knuckles where he grasps them together.

I don’t know why he has such a strong reaction to Silas, why he bothers Ev so much.

Some of it might stem from his job and his want to protect me, but I can’t let myself believe this is all about me.

Perhaps something happened at the village or during the travel back that set this dislike in motion.

A part of me, a very dark and slightly disturbing part, wants this reaction to be wholly because of my connection to Silas.

Because that means he truly does care about me, enough to be jealous and enough to fight for this.

What we share means more to me than he will ever know.

Evander is the only person aside from Ash who has made me feel like a normal person in the last five years.

Made me feel like something other than the Prophecy.

I want to hold on to that feeling, to be consumed by it—to be consumed by him, even if I already know of the girls back at the capital and that I may mean little more to him than any of them did.

None of that lessens my want, my need for him.

So if he feels even a sliver of the jealousy I had coursing through my veins tonight, I’ll take it.