Page 41 of Darkness Births the Stars #1

Bent over a knee-high wooden container, she worked using all her body weight.

Each downward thrust of the plunger made her white summer dress rise slightly, the muscles of her bare arms tightening with the strain, a loose strand of hair fluttering faintly in front of her face.

She had hiked her dress up over her knees to move easier, allowing me enticing glimpses of her supple thighs.

The dim light of the room cast mysterious shadows between them, beckoning me to get closer, to explore.

And stars, I knew—I knew so well how incredibly soft her skin would feel there, how warm, if I let my hands glide up, drawn by a heat that would nearly burn me, a fire I wanted to be eviscerated in.

My fingertips tingled with the memories of a thousand remembered touches.

My body came alive with a sudden awareness of her, of how fucking easy it would be to cross the distance between us and…

Only it would not be easy.

My eyes caught on the silvery scars on her legs. Marks she could have erased with a thought as a goddess, now etched permanently into her Human skin. The horrible scent of burnt flesh drifted through my memory, an agonized whisper of monster, monster piercing my heart.

My fault. Like so many other things.

Most of the night she had been marked with those burns, the night when Yggdrasil fell, was nothing but a blur of fire and shadows in my memories, even fifty years later.

But I remembered her screams, so anguished they ripped the fabric of reality apart.

I remembered her silver eyes, filled with a desperation one could drown in.

I remembered the ashes clinging to my skin, coating my tongue until I choked on them.

My existence had been filled with devastating defeats, yet that night might have been the most harrowing.

Another rejection from the one who mattered the most to me, casting me aside in horror.

I had sought solace in Chaos, its raging power burning away all doubt, all weakness.

Only condemning myself more as I plunged Aron-Lyr into a decades-long war.

The chasm between us was so deep, so full of endless darkness and terrifying horrors, that even the bravest soul wouldn’t attempt to cross it. Perhaps it was a sign of insanity that I was still tempted to try.

Before I could contemplate my next move, Rada gasped in mid-plunge, pain flitting over her face.

“You shouldn’t be doing that.” I was beside her in a few swift steps, my desperate longing overshadowed by worry. “You’re still hurt. ”

Because she had to be contrary on principle, she threw an annoyed look at me, eyes flashing. “And who will do it, then? You? The cream has to be used now, or it will turn sour.”

I put a restraining hand over hers as she attempted to resume her task. She tensed at my proximity. “It can’t be that hard.”

She scoffed, but stepped away from the butter churner with a sarcastic wave of her hand. “Fine. Have a try.”

Determined to show her I was capable enough for this, I grabbed the smooth wood of the plunger and set to work.

It was surprisingly exhausting. Being a lot taller than Rada, I had to bend forward at an uncomfortable angle, and concentrate on every move to not let the thick bluish cream spill over the rim.

After a few minutes, my shirt was drenched in sweat. So much for showering earlier.

“No.” Rada’s voice interrupted my quick, firm rhythm. She frowned as I looked at her questioningly.

“Only go that fast in the beginning.” She moved to the other side of the wooden churner and leaned over, placing her hands on mine to slow down my movements. “With feeling now.”

Her touch guided me into a languid rhythm. Up and down. Up and down. I stared at her slender fingers, so tan on my paler hands, mesmerized.

“You have to be gentle to coax the butter, or it won’t come,” she said, her voice carrying a tone that made it suggestive. Lyr , did she want to kill me?

A hoarse chuckle escaped me as I stole a glance at her face, trying in vain to decipher her thoughts. “Are you sure about the order? Shouldn’t it be the other way around?”

“Well, that depends on the mood, doesn’t it?” The glimmer in her eyes told me she was aware of every impure thought flashing through my head. She had always been an unapologetic tease .

I had to look away from her too-bright gaze before I did something unwise, only to be caught up in the way the material of her dress clung to the generous swell of her left breast, wet and slightly transparent. The bluish tinge probably meant she had spilled milk on it earlier.

“Oh, has it been a long time?” Rada’s voice was mocking as she caught me staring. “I would have thought you had ample opportunity to slake any desire while earning your keep as a mercenary.”

Suddenly I knew why she had been teasing me all day, tormenting me with those little touches and barely veiled innuendos. Stars, how could I have been so blind?

She wanted to find out what I had been up to since my fall.

“Up to your old tricks, my queen? Seduction has served you well in the past, so why not use it again to make me do your bidding?” I asked coldly, my hands tightening on the wooden plunger.

My lips twisted into an edged smile as I met her gaze.

“As for your question—it’s been fifty years, give or take.

” Forty years of a terrible war. Ten years since I had been condemned to mortality.

I would have rejoiced in the way my answer left her speechless, stealing all condescension from her expression as her hands tensed on mine, if only I hadn’t been reeling with my own memories. Of the last time I touched anyone with desire. The last time I touched her .

“The wall of a back alley in Lyrheim, if I remember correctly.”

And I did remember. Every touch, every taste, every sound from her lips. Sharp desperation and frantic need. A tempest that consumed us both.

“On the way to Leander Lyrasen’s wedding, wasn’t it?

” I kept my voice deliberately light, though it was a struggle.

“You wore that scandalous dress the weaver guild gifted you, the one that looked as if the stars themselves were woven into the fabric. The neckline in the back was so deep I’m sure it was only held up by magic.

I pushed it up and pressed you against that wall and we…

” I trailed off, the memory suddenly too vivid as I recalled how that night had ended.

With Yggdrasil gone in a storm of Chaos and fire.

“Was I that unforgettable?” Rada abruptly let go of my hands and stepped over to the kitchen counter, fetching a small container and a ladle to collect the butter rising in the churner. She was trying to conceal the effect my words had on her behind a sarcastic tone.

“Yes.” I watched her closely, noting the slight tremor in her hands at my admission, greedily devouring every sign that I was finally breaking through her defenses.

“I won’t pretend I have not shared my bed with others over the ages.

But after Yggdrasil’s fall, I saw no point in it anymore.

” I breathed in deeply. “In all the ages since we came to Aron-Lyr, I never called anyone my lover but you.”

I was hers—body, soul, and all the shattered pieces of my blackened heart. Irrevocably. Even if she rightfully hated me for all eternity.

“You’re lying.” Rada aggressively ladled the butter into the container, drops splashing down the sides.

“If it makes you feel better, believe that.” I had stopped working the churner, fully focused on her. “But no, I’m not.” And I wasn’t. Despite all the other things I had done, I had never lied to her. Unlike my brother.

Rada was silent for a long while, her eyes narrowed furiously at the rectangle of butter in front of her.

I could tell her thoughts were racing. She never liked it when I saw through her attempts to manipulate me, and she hated it even more when I confronted her with unwelcome truths.

Even Bane, who had crept into the room and jumped onto the kitchen counter to steal some cream, was shooed away by his mistress.

“Well, there were other men.” Rada’s mouth twisted as she hurled the words at me like an attack. “A few meaningless fucks after I went into exile. Once a farmer who lives nearby.”

Barrage after barrage.

“Aramaz. When we tried to reconcile during the war.”

Leaving the most devastating for the end. The ruthless tactician in me could not help admiring her strategy.

“You don’t owe me any explanations.” My voice was flat, every emotion carefully kept in check.

It cost me, oh, how much it cost me, to remain where I was, my hands gripping the handle of the plunger so tightly it hurt.

Instead of lifting her onto that kitchen counter, shoving up that tempting little dress, and showing her exactly how she still belonged to me.

I was sure I could make her body yield to my claim, but her mind was another matter entirely. It always had been.

Rada met my gaze, all righteous indignation, so sure in her anger at me. “That wasn’t an explanation.” No, it was an attempt to wound me. And it did. More than I believed possible.

The mere thought of any other man touching her, of my brother in bed with her, nearly destroyed me.

Oh, I was no fool. I knew she had shared Aramaz’s bed in the past. Of course she had.

They had been married for millennia. But part of me had hoped not after…

not after she told me she loved me. But I had killed that love, hadn’t I?

Had torn it from her heart with bloody hands.

Something in Rada’s gaze broke. One of the impenetrable walls of ice she had erected between us tumbled down, melted by the pain and dismay that I couldn’t hide. That I saw reflected in her expression—the bright mirror to my darkness.