Page 27

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

B ryon had just tucked his shoulder and angled himself towards the door, meaning to drive himself into the old, gilded wood like a battering ram, when it swung open. He shot back upright with a growl that came from deep in his throat, but he strangled the sound into silence when a little whimper came from the half-open door.

“Princess?” he demanded, storming across the pretty prison he’d been moved into and ripping the door wider. He dragged air into his lungs, letting her scent settle there, just barely taking the edge off his murderous mood. “Where the hell have you been?”

“Don’t,” she muttered, stalking inside and giving the middle finger over her shoulder to the walking corpses who’d escorted her. Bryon stared at them a little too long and his stomach roiled, but the door was open, and here was their chance to escape. He lunged for the gap in the door—and shuddered in revulsion when a slimy, cold hand closed around his throat, choking off his air. These things were stronger than they looked. He’d assumed one swipe and they’d collapse into broken bones and a bag of mottled flesh, but he choked under their grip.

“Hey!” Maia snarled, racing back across the room and grabbing at the corpse’s wrist, throwing all her weight on it. The scent of her intensified, bringing with it the smell of sex and Azrail. Bryon raised an eyebrow.

“Don’t give me that look,” she muttered.

“I thought you were dead, and you were off screwing your mate?”

“Jealous, old man?” Maia asked with a strained breath, heaving on the rotting hand gripping his throat. Whatever these things were, they were oozing, looked like the dead dug up from their graves, and they stank.

Bryon threw his head back at the same moment Maia pulled on the thing’s wrist, and their combined effort managed to get him free. The next moment, she dragged him back inside and slammed the door shut.

“So,” she panted, sweat on her brow. “Escape attempt number one went well.”

“What makes you think it was my first try?” he grumbled, trying not to breathe too deeply. He could smell Azrail all over her, but there were the scents of Marszton there too, and right beneath, still there—him. The remnants of last night. That scent of him on her had been driving Bryon insane all fucking day.

“Great, you’re every bit as shit at escaping as you are at being friendly,” Maia grumbled, stalking across the room to the double glass doors that functioned as a window—locked—and then to the adjoining room—a surprisingly large bathroom with a sunken tub and tarnished fixtures. It had clearly been grand before going to shit. It was definitely a step up from their last cell. An upgrade for good behaviour, the bastard who dumped Bryon here said.

“What was that corpse out there?” he demanded, glaring at the door and picturing the rotting person-shaped thing that had grabbed him.

“Not a clue. They turned up to haul Azrail off, and then two more came for me,” she replied, testing the water from the bathtub and startling when it gushed out like a waterfall. It was beige-ish in colour; Bryon chuckled at the expression on Maia’s face. “What’s with the fancier prison?”

“A reward,” Bryon explained with a dose of bitter venom. “For the information we retrieved in Marszton.”

Maia gave him a steady look, assessing, her eyes brighter than they’d been this morning. Azrail had given her that hope. Bryon tried to be grateful instead of begrudging. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine, princess,” he sighed.

“No.” Her eyes sharpened. “Think about the question for more than two damn seconds. Are you okay?”

He sighed again, heavier. Was he okay? He kept hearing the panicked screams of innocents fleeing him, kept seeing the looks on the faces of people he’d killed to drum up that hysterical fear, to prime them to give him the information the Eversky wanted with as little bloodshed as possible. “I’ve been through worse. I’m no more fucked in the head than I was this morning.”

“That’s positive,” Maia drawled. A weight slid gradually from the tight muscles of Bryon’s shoulders, relief filling his lungs at the sound of her sassing him, at the sight of her in front of her. “Come on, run clear you fucker,” she growled at the water, and thumped the tap with a closed fist.

Bryon shook his head when the beige water turned something between opaque and clear, almost clean. That shouldn’t have worked, but Maia had a way of bending the world to her will. Even the water wanted to be in her good graces.

“And Az says violence isn’t the answer,” Maia said under her breath. She reached for her shirt and paused, giving Bryon a pointed look, her eyebrows raised. “A little fucking privacy.”

Bryon rolled his eyes and strode back into the bedroom, though he left the door open because even though his shoulders had lost some of their tension, his heartbeat was still rapid and he was jumpy. It had only been an hour since they were together, but he’d grown itchy and furious enough to start a fight with every saint in the continent.

The bedroom was every bit as extravagant yet worn as the bathroom, the huge bed canopy held aloft by four posts carved with animals and stars, the edges softened with time and wear. Gauzy green curtains sagged, barely clinging to the frame. With a rough sigh, needing to work off some of the restless energy, Bryon set about straightening them. Not because he was trying to make the room nice for the princess. Definitely not because she deserved real finery, not this decayed shit.

Rustling came from the other room, and then a soft splash, but Bryon resolved not to look.

You didn’t even ask how she was. The poor woman could be traumatised.

“Fuck,” Bryon whispered, pinching the bridge of his nose. He knew Maia wasn’t exactly fine, but hearing Nimara chide him about it made it too real. His wife had been lecturing him sporadically since he got to this room. That, or Bryon was really going mad. He wouldn’t be surprised.

“You okay, princess?” he called in the vague direction of the bathroom door, approaching the balcony doors when the bed’s curtains were straightened.

“It’s a bath, Bryon. I’m hardly going to die.”

Her drawling voice brought a smile to his face, and since no one was here to see it, he let it stay. “Not because of the damn water. Because of Marszton.”

“When you sacrificed your peace of mind and a handful of innocent people for me, you mean?” Maia replied, sharper than a moment ago.

“Was I supposed to let you die?” he grumbled, shaking his head. If Maia was going to try to make him feel bad for saving her, she’d find him unrepentant.

“I was fine,” she snarled, startling him so much that he just stared at the bathroom door in confusion. “I know my wings were dark, and my soul was poisoned, but I was handling it.”

Bryon scoffed under his breath. Not quietly enough judging by the vicious snarl that came from the bathroom. “It would have killed you,” he said, explaining it as patiently as he could. “I know Marszton was a shitshow, and innocents were killed, but I’d sacrifice the whole fucking town because I don’t know those people. I know you.”

Maia’s laugh was quiet and throaty. “You’re a bastard, Bryon.”

“I’m a bastard?” he demanded with his own rough laugh. He was stalking towards the open door before he could stop himself. How dare she be angry with him for saving her life? Did she know what iron poisoning would do to her? Let alone fucking blackiron. It had spread through her wings, into her body, and it was only a matter of time before it reached her heart and killed her. “I’m a bastard for sparing you a horrible, painful death?”

“Yes!” she snapped. “You shouldn’t have killed people to save me. Are you fucking insane?”

He was moving again, propelled by outrage. “Am I insane, you ungrateful—” His words died when he swung around the open doorway and everything inside him ground to a halt.

“Ungrateful? How fucking dare you?” Maia demanded in a snarl.

Bryon barely heard her. A loud screaming wind filled his head as he stared at the expanse of her back, at the faded red scars, the puckered slashes, the old, white marks that etched pathways across her golden skin. He couldn’t get his lungs to function, couldn’t remember how to fill them with air.

“Who did this?” he croaked, all the anger drained from his voice, his fiery emotions smothered until he was freezing cold. He staggered forward a step, everything inside him still. “Who did this to you? Who scarred you, Maia?”

She jerked, her head whipping around to stare at him. “Get out.”

“Who did this?” he repeated, his voice deeper. The shock was wearing off, and oh there was a storm building, electric and furious. His hands started to shake; he curled them into fists. He’d never seen her naked, had never thought to expect scars on a princess. Even when they fucked, she’d only stripped off her trousers, and he’d probably been too fucking horny to notice any marks on her legs.

“That’s not your business,” she muttered, her back hunching as she curled over her knees.

Bryon flexed his hands, once, twice, then stalked across the room in a rush of motion. He knelt on the cold tiled floor beside the tub, trembling with barely-restrained fury. “I’m your fucking mate. It’s my business.”

Maia’s eyes flew up to meet his. Bright, flickering gold held battle-hardened green. This was one fight she wouldn’t win; he didn’t look away. “I didn’t think you’d ever say it directly. Only hint at it like a coward.”

“I have been a coward,” he agreed. “Losing the only people that matter to you will do that to a man. Now tell me who did this.”

“Ismene’s pet psychopath,” Maia answered in a tired, joyless voice, hunching into a tighter ball. “Etziel. I pissed her off. She had me tortured. I never disobeyed again. And we all lived happily ever after.”

Bryon sank his hands into her wet hair, silver-white strands sliding between his fingers as he cupped the back of her neck. “I’ll add his name to the list.”

Maia shuddered for a moment, just long enough for him to notice until she locked her body and killed her reaction. “What list?” she muttered, giving him a glare with a little sideways look that lit his soul on fire.

“The list of people I’m going to kill for you.”

Her response was a soft growl that made him smile. “Seriously? More killing? Wasn’t today enough?”

“I’m not going to apologise,” he said in the rough voice that usually got him called a grumpy bastard. “Tell me about Etziel.”

“Fuck you.”

“Not in the bath, Maia. We wouldn’t both fit.”

Her sudden laughter was bright and loud, tugging his lips into a smile. She arranged her features into a stern expression. “Don’t make me laugh, I’m pissed off at you.”

His smile deepened, one side hooked up into a smirk. He didn’t mind Maia being angry at him; anything was better than that dead look in her eyes after Eosantha. At least she wasn’t staring through him right now.

“What are you doing?” she demanded when he cupped some water in his other hand and ran it down her hair.

“Getting rid of these knots so my fingers stop getting caught in your tangles.”

“Or you could keep your hands out of my hair…” she suggested, her back hunched, the look she shot him suspicious.

Bryon just laughed. No fucking chance. If he was looking this mate bond in the eye instead of tiptoeing around it, if he was accepting her, claiming her as part of him, he would allow himself to obsess over all this gorgeous hair. Even filthy and matted, it drew him like a moth to the flame.

“Great,” Maia said under her breath as he cupped more water, letting it run through her hair until the strands turned silver, “I’m locked up with a man who’s gone insane.”

“It happened years ago, princess,” he chuckled, working his fingers gently through a knot until the strands laid flat and perfect. “That’s old news.”

“Why are you washing my hair?” she whispered.

“Because I want to,” he whispered back in a conspiratorial tone. “Are you going to stop me?”

“Well,” she muttered. “No. It feels nice. And I was never the one in denial about the bond, so I’m not about to turn down attention from my—”

He waited for her to finish as he got through the worst of her tangles. “Mate,” he said gently when it became clear she wouldn’t. “You can say it; I’m not running anymore.”

Maia’s loud snort was so welcome he almost groaned. “Running. Sure. Our last abode was really conducive to running. I bet you ran for miles.”

He tugged a strand. “Smartass. Tell me about the man who did this to you so I can plan exactly how I’m going to murder him.”

Maia sighed, her back heaving with the rough breath. “I’m mostly over it. It’s just being locked up that’s unlocking all my memories.”

He stayed silent, waiting for her to continue, making sure he’d done a good job of untangling her hair before he scanned the bathroom for any sort of hair tool, lotion, or potion. It was hardly his area of expertise but he knew what they looked like.

“That’s what my nightmares are about. Him, and that cell, and the—the times he cut into me.”

Bryon went still, nostrils flaring as he breathed through the rage, but his vision flickered. He had to move his hands before he fisted Maia’s hair and caused her more pain.

“He always knew how deep to cut, or how much blood I could afford to lose before I’d die,” she continued with a soft laugh. “I waited for it at the end, in the last few days. I wished for it.”

Bryon forced a breath out, then sucked air back into his lungs, though his whole body shook with suppressed wrath. He wanted to find this bastard and rip him limb from limb with his bare fucking hands. Instead, he forced himself to get to his feet and search the little cabinet on the opposite wall, digging his fingernails into the wood so hard he left dents among the carvings of rabbits and foxes and woodland.

“I know how that feels.” He forced the words through gritted teeth, holding himself tightly because he wanted to rush over there, scoop her out of the bath, and hold her as tight to him as possible, and that would only freak her out. He’d been in denial about being her mate, but now that he’d taken his head out of his ass, he was all in, all the fucking way. “I was taken for two weeks in the middle of a brutal battle between Sainsa and Vassal.”

“Jesus, how old are you?” Maia muttered.

Bryon shot her a look and tried very, very hard to keep his attention on her face. Partly because he was greedy for the sight of her tits, partly because any more scars and he’d erupt. “Old,” he said dryly, holding up a crystal bottle with pearly liquid sloshing inside. “This shit’s probably as ancient as the castle—do you want to risk it?”

“It’s the difference between having clean and filthy hair, so yeah I want it.”

Bryon’s lips curled at the edges.

“Stop thinking about me using the word filthy,” she grumbled, crossing her arms over her chest.

“I can think of plenty of ways we can use that word,” he said with a low chuckle, kneeling beside her again and pouring some of the pearly liquid into his hand. When he massaged it into her scalp, she released a deep, erotic moan that made his cock strain against his trousers. He could do with a bath of his own, especially after Marszton. “That noise makes me think of several more,” he added.

“You’ll just—sulk if we fuck again,” she said, her voice hitching as he worked the soap into her hair, her head lolling back. The black hole that had lived in his chest since Nimara’s death shrank a fraction at her obvious pleasure, at taking care of her and fulfilling his instincts. The same thing happened earlier, when his blade and brutality got her wings healed. It was natural to take care of her; resisting it had been unnatural and painful.

“I won’t.”

“You will.”

“I’m not ignoring the connection between us anymore, princess. That means you’re mine, and I’m done pushing you away.”

“So you’re saying no sulking ever?”

“Not after sex,” he huffed, stroking through the long strands of her hair now, making sure no lock was left untouched. Saints, it was erotic. Just running his hands through her hair had his cock jumping. “Like most men, that usually puts me in a good mood. But I’m not promising a full personality change.”

“God forbid you become an optimist,” she drawled.

He tugged a lock of hair. “You’re talking about optimism? You? Really, princess?”

“Shut up,” she muttered. “Dick.”

His heart warmed at the insult. “How did you get away from him? The bastard who hurt you.”

Maia sighed, resting her head on her knees. Bryon’s jaw clenched as he traced the path of suffering on her back with his eyes, and when that wasn’t enough, he brushed his fingertips over each one.

“I didn’t,” she said eventually. “He tortured me, then had me healed up, then tortured me again in a twisted cycle. I tried to escape at first, but then I didn’t have the strength or I was in too much pain. I only got out because Ismene was satisfied I learned my lesson. I would have died there.”

“But you did get out,” he said quietly, rough with emotion he couldn’t suppress. He leaned over the bath and kissed her shoulder, letting his lips linger, remembering that first hot kiss they’d shared. His restraint had broken then, and it did now, though its heat was much softer. He didn’t want to ravish and ruin her. He wanted to cherish her, protect her, and mutilate her enemies—in that order. “You survived, and you gave her hell.”

“And then I got taken by the saint who pulls her strings,” Maia laughed bitterly. He kissed the scar on her shoulder, then skimmed his lips over her wings and delighted in the way she shuddered.

“Because you’re a good person, and your heart is gentle and full of light.” He followed the line of her arm with his fingers until he reached her hand, locking their fingers and bringing her hand to his mouth. “You came to Venhaus trying to save Vawn. You went to the island trying to fix the saints' circle.”

“And I did such a good job at both. What was it you called me back in Eosantha? A na?ve, foolhardy princess with a death wish?”

Bryon groaned. “I was wrong.”

“You weren’t,” she sighed.

He scraped the edge of a canine over her hand. “I barely knew you then, and what I did know… I liked too damn much. I realise this is going to be a shocking revelation for you, so brace yourself.”

“Consider me braced,” she played along, humour lightening her voice.

“I’m not entirely over losing my family.”

“No?” Maia gasped. “But you hide it so well.”

He snorted, that black hole shrinking another fraction. He kissed Maia’s knuckles and released her hand, gathering up water to rinse the soap from her hair. “Thanks.”

She laughed at his tone, but when she turned her face to look at him her expression was serious, her golden eyes sad. “No one’s expecting you to be over losing them, Bryon. Especially not me. But seriously, what is wrong with you? Why are you being so… nice? Are you ill?”

“After sleeping in that cell for so long? Probably. My point is, I was a dick to you because you scare the shit out of me, princess. It was easier, safer, to keep you at arm’s length.”

Her throat worked with a swallow. “Is it a good idea to get close to me now? What happens if one of the saints comes in and hurts me?”

“I kill them,” Bryon snarled, upper lip curled, sharp teeth exposed, a growl surging from deep in his chest to fill the bathroom.

Maia rolled her eyes but reached up and patted his shoulder. “Sure, buddy. We’re in a prison literally controlled by the saints. What’s your grand, infallible plan for killing one of them?”

The smile that filled Bryon’s face was every bit as sharp as the snarl had been. “Oh trust me, princess, I’ll find a way.”

“Delusional,” Maia sighed, drawing her hand away from him. He caught it mid-air and replaced it on his body, holding her gaze when she stared at him in surprise.

“I told you. I’m not pushing you away anymore. You’re my mate. I claim you. You’re mine.”

Maia dropped her head, hiding her expression, but Bryon glimpsed a split second of devastation and it struck his chest like a knife. “Don’t make promises you can’t keep,” she murmured, her voice raw.

“I don’t intend to break a single promise to you.”

She scoffed. “We’re locked up, you denial-riddled madman. There’s no happy ending to this. We’re not going to settle down in a little cottage somewhere no one can bother us. Either one or both of us is going to be killed by these psychopaths. And you—I think you’ve lost enough, don’t you?”

Rejection snuck its way into the vulnerable, squishy part of his chest like a stiletto knife but he bore down on it, breathed through it. Fuck that. “Don’t be a stubborn, stupid bastard like me, Maia. It’s not your style. This bond isn’t going anywhere and we both know that. I wouldn’t want rid of it even if that were possible.”

She peeked at him through wet strands of hair. “You’re a glutton for punishment.”

“I’m a glutton, that’s for sure. You gonna give me more kisses, princess?”

She rolled her eyes, her mouth pressing thin. “What makes you think you’ve earned more?”

“Does a mate have to earn kisses from his girl?”

The look she shot him was fiery and made his blood spark. He just grinned.

“Annoying bastard,” she muttered, snatching a cloth draped over the side of the stone tub and dousing it in the opalescent liquid he’d used to wash her hair.

“Is that a step up from grumpy bastard? Also, I don’t think that’s for washing your skin.”

“I’m covered in sweat, dirt, and cum, Bryon. I don’t care if this is for stripping paint off a ship, I’m using it.”

He snorted. “Need any help getting those hard to reach areas?”

Her expression this time was a glare. “Keep your hands to yourself, old man.”

“Not even here?” he asked, gliding his hands up her back, skimming the delicate edge of her wings and pressing his thumbs into the knots of tension in her shoulders. She melted with a groan so loud it echoed, going so limp she almost slipped down in the water.

“Fucker,” she spat. “Stop touching me.”

“Not a damn chance.”

“Why?” The question was small and hurt.

He kissed the spot where her wings met her back, the sight of them healthy and free of poisoning worth the people he’d killed, worth giving the sacred circle over to the saints. “I chose you, Maia. You’re mine. Not a thing in this world can change that you’re mine. Neither can anything in any other world.”

She didn’t say anything for a while, silence filling the room thick enough to choke him. And then she said, “Lower.”

Bryon grinned, dragging his thumbs to a lower spot on her back and gratified by her deep groan. “Does this mean you choose me, too?”

“I chose you the moment you kissed me. I was just annoyed about it.”

His snort ruffled the damp hairs at the back of her neck. “Glad we’re on the same page.” He kissed her shoulder and stood, her loud noise of complaint going right to his ego. And his dick.

“Hey, what the fuck?” she muttered, scowling at him. Adorable.

“You’re clean now, aren’t you?” he asked, having a hard time keeping his smirk in check at the way she was glaring, her lips in a cute-as-fuck pout. “Get dry, and then I’ll see how dirty I can get you again.”

Her grin was swift and devious. “I always knew you were a good tactician. I like this plan.”

The sight of her standing from the tub, water cascading over the delicate curves of her hips, caressing her thighs, dripping from the tips of her wings… Bryon cleared his throat, unable to look away. She was his mate. She was his. He ran a hand over his jaw and down his throat, emotion clamouring in his chest until he thought it would crack a rib. Fuck. She was really his.

He was about to tear his gaze away when Maia climbed out, excruciatingly slowly, swinging her hips and arching her back so her ass curved into a perfect shape.

“Maia,” he warned, a little guttural.

“Hm?”

He shook his head, a laugh rumbling in his chest. Saints, this fucking woman. He thought he’d never meet anyone he wanted as badly as Nimara, but here was Maia, healing the black hole inside him, making him smile of all fucking things.

I’m glad to see you finally pulling your head out of your backside, Nimara’s voice drifted through his head. He swore he felt the soft pressure of her lips on his cheek. Don’t be so stubborn in future. Although I’m thrilled to see you’ve met your match in that trait.

He turned away from Maia so he could roll his eyes without her thinking he was a madman. Nimara would have loved Maia if they’d ever met. They’d have gone on nights out and caused havoc, stumbling back to the house at three in the morning giggling and singing off-key ballads.

“Bryon,” Maia murmured, drawing his attention back to her. She must have ducked into the bedroom to raid the wardrobe because now she was draped in a long, purple robe. It had slits for her wings; whoever lived here before was fae. “What do we do now? Keep behaving until the saints relax their shields and we can find the others?”

Bryon’s low laugh echoed the wickedness he often heard in hers. He watched her eyes brighten. “I never made any promises to behave,” he replied, reaching inside his filthy jacket and pulling out the dagger he’d lifted from a man in Marszton.

Maia’s face broke into a grin, like the sun coming out from behind dark rainclouds. He hooked an arm around her waist and drew her close for a kiss, not releasing her until she was liquid and pliant against him, every breath a little moan.

“I need to scrub this filth off me. Go wait in bed, princess.” He brushed her jaw with his thumb, blown away by the clear trust in her eyes as she stared up at him.

“If you push me away after we’ve had sex again,” Maia said sweetly, stroking down his arm to circle his wrist with her fingers. Well, she tried to; he was a giant compared to her. “I will use this to castrate you.”

In a flash she’d used his own grip on the dagger to graze it over his dick.

Bryon let his eyes darken, let her see the dangerous edge in him. “Get in the damn bed, princess.”

Maia released his wrist with a maddening smirk and finally approached the bed. She swung her hips the whole way.

Bryon dragged a hand over his jaw and forced himself to turn to the bath even if he was desperate to follow her. She was going to kill him.