Page 19

Chapter

Nineteen

M y fists connect with the punching bag in rapid succession, hitting it harder every time an unpleasant thought flashes through my mind.

After Baylor fell asleep a little past midnight, my eidolon slipped out of his chambers, letting Huxley escort her back to my room, where I immediately dissolved her. Knowing sleep was an impossible goal, I came down here to the training facility to work through some of my frustration.

My knuckles ache as I pound them into the worn leather again and again, picturing Baylor’s face as my target. I keep going until the rope keeping it suspended snaps and the bag lands at my feet. I should be exhausted by now, but my body is buzzing with unspent energy. My fingers twitch as I shake out my hands, unwilling to stay still. I have to keep moving, otherwise I won’t be able to stop myself from dwelling on things I’d rather not think about.

Moving onto the row of training dummies, I toss my blades between their eyes, and occasionally straight into their groins. The soft thud of my weapons gliding into their bodies fills me with brutal satisfaction. But when I’ve thrown the last one, the restlessness returns.

Ugly thoughts claw their way out of the hole I tried to bury them in. Shame and hatred war for dominance as my breathing becomes unsteady. Anxiety seeps into my lungs, making each gasp feel ragged and hard-won. I force myself to pull air in through my nose and hold it.

One. Two. Three. Four. Five.

I breathe out through my mouth, repeating the process until my heartbeat begins to steady. This kind of thing never used to happen to me, but over the past year, I’ve found myself frequently struck by a strange sort of panic. The attacks always occur at the oddest times. There’s no immediate danger in this room, yet my body is rigid with alarm and agitation.

Every day, I stand on the precipice of insanity, desperately trying not to tip over the edge. I constantly struggle to keep my emotions locked away and be a perfect unfeeling machine. To make myself into whatever is required of me.

To not care.

But I do. Far more than I should. And I don’t know how much longer I can go on this way before I break.

As long as it takes , I remind myself. Until I’m free . Until he pays.

Forcing all these useless emotions back into their box, I decide to face my fears and summon the source of my shame. I welcome the pain, knowing I deserve every ounce of it. The metallic taste of blood fills my mouth as I bite my cheek, but I manage to stay upright the entire time. When the room stops spinning, the amber eyes of my eidolon stare back at me, lifeless as ever. There’s something eerie about the blank perfection of her face as she stands before me now, waiting for a command.

I open my mouth to offer some meager apology when the hairs on the back of my neck suddenly rise.

A cool breeze kisses my left cheek as I turn toward the door. Half a second later, I’m slammed to the ground by a heavy force. Thankfully, I land on the soft mat, but strong hands pin my wrists above my head as a large body presses into mine. Familiar eyes gaze down at me, filled with amusement I don’t share.

“Hello, Angel,” Thorne croons, his self-satisfied smirk feeding my fury.

“Get off,” I growl as I try to pull my arms free of his grasp.

My chest rubs against him as I twist and squirm, sending uncomfortable flutters racing through my stomach. Heat rises to my cheeks at my embarrassing reaction to his proximity.

“Was this the training you mentioned?” he asks, ignoring my demand. “You know, the one designed to destroy me? If so, I don’t think it’s working.”

I clench my jaw as I drive my knee into his thigh, surprising him enough to wiggle one leg free. Hooking it around his hip, I use every ounce of strength in my core to flip us, reversing our positions. The move has me landing on top of Thorne, straddling his waist as I hold him down.

“I take it back.” His voice fills with smoke. “I’m feeling thoroughly destroyed right now.”

The silver flecks in his half-lidded eyes simmer, causing wild thoughts to course through me. I can feel Thorne against me. Everywhere. There’s something wickedly dangerous about the fact that his warmth is seeping into me through our clothes, but not a single inch of our skin is touching. Technically, there’s nothing wrong with me sparring with someone. Though I can’t say my other training sessions ever inspired such reckless desires.

My core tightens, turning my breathing heavy. My focus drops to his sinful lips. Right now, they looks so soft and inviting, tempting me to taste the forbidden. Without conscious thought, my eyes begin to shut as I lean forward.

“You’re bleeding,” he whispers.

“What?” My eyes flutter open, finding the heat in his gaze has been replaced by horror.

“Did I do that?” he asks urgently, staring at me with disgust that cools my body instantly.

I sit up quickly, still straddling his waist as my fingers brush over my face, only to find a familiar wetness trailing from my nose.

Blood.

“No, that wasn’t you,” I mutter, wiping it on the back of my hand as I rise to my feet and put some space between us. “It happens every time I conjure her.”

His eyes fill with concern as he pushes himself up. “Is it painful?”

“Extremely,” I say, unable to stop the word from sounding bitter.

Turning away from him, I hurry to the dummies and remove the blades I’d left lodged in them. I slide them back into their sheaths, keeping hold of one just in case.

Thorne stands where I left him, watching me with an emotion I don’t recognize.

“How did you get past the guards?” I demand.

His eyebrows shoot up as he makes a show of glancing around the room. “Oh, did you have security? Funny. I must have missed them.”

I head for the door, planning to check on them, but Thorne moves faster than I’ve ever seen, appearing in front of me.

“They’re fine.” He rolls his eyes. “The one outside the barracks fell asleep on the job and I saw no reason to wake him.”

My gaze flicks toward the window, and I’m shocked to find the sun rising outside. Orange rays pierce through the glass pane, stretching across the floor to create a chasm of light between us.

“Do you enjoy rising with the dawn?” I ask, wondering what could bring him here this early.

“I could ask you the same question,” he points out as he saunters over to inspect the damaged punching bag.

“And I would evade answering, just like you.” I trail after him, uncomfortable at the idea of him moving through my space so freely. “What are you doing here, Thorne?”

He shifts back and forth on his feet as his gloved hands slide into his pockets. Taking a deep breath, he meets my gaze straight on.

“I wanted to apologize,” the reaper admits. “I was out of line the other day. I’m sorry.”

Surprise nearly knocks me on my ass. I’m not sure anyone has ever truly apologized to me before. It’s a novel experience.

“There’s a lot of pressure to find the whisperer,” he continues, his discomfort obvious. “I let it get the best of me and that wasn’t fair to you.”

I get the sense Thorne doesn’t hand out many apologies. The fact that he’s offering one to me is strangely flattering. It doesn’t entirely make up for the fact that he’s still keeping secrets, but the acknowledgment of his mistake means something.

I shrug my shoulders, trying to appear nonchalant about the situation. “I suppose Death must be a bit of a hard-ass.”

His lips twitch. “That’s certainly one way of describing Killian.”

“Baylor’s the same.”

Silvery blue eyes flash to mine. “They’re nothing alike.”

The skin around his mouth is pulled tight, and there’s tension in his body that he’s trying very hard to hide. My comparison actually offended him.

“You don’t like him, do you?” I ask.

Thorne doesn’t look at me as he answers, nor does he pretend to question who I’m referring to. “He’s careless with the things that belong to him. That’s not a good quality in a leader.”

I don’t miss his implication that I am one of those things. I want to correct him, to tell him I don’t belong to the king, but we both know it would be a lie. We stand in silence for a few moments, both of us considering each other’s words.

“It’s incredible,” he whispers, his voice full of awe.

I glance up to find him watching my eidolon with rapt fascination as he moves closer to her. She stares blankly ahead, not acknowledging him.

“She truly is an exact replica of you,” he marvels.

“I’m not sure that’s a compliment, considering how disappointing you found her before.” I want to bite my tongue as soon as the words slip out.

He cuts me an amused glare. “Did that comment sting, my lady?”

I shrug, ignoring his implication. I don’t care what he thinks.

“If she’s such a perfect replica, then how did you know it was me you were tackling?” I ask, changing the subject.

“Hmm?” He blinks innocently.

“You heard the question.” I roll my eyes. “And while we’re on the topic, how did you know she wasn’t real the night we met?”

The mystery has been bothering me from the beginning.

“She’s a convincing illusion,” he says hesitantly. “And I’m sure she’d probably fool most people, but there was something about her eyes that gave it away. They were vacant. No thoughts behind them.” He glances back at me. “Not like yours at all.”

Heat flames my cheeks again as I cross my arms over my chest. “They’re the exact same color.”

“No,” he insists, prowling closer as his gaze holds mine with shocking intensity. “Yours are far more captivating. Full of mischief and secrets. And there are times when the amber almost seems to burn…” He trails off before clearing his throat. “Anyway, I don’t think I could ever mistake her for you.”

Shock barrels through me. Captivating?

Thorne rolls his eyes. “Don’t play coy now. You must be aware of how you look.”

My mouth drops open as his meaning sets in. I suddenly recall the way he gaped at me when I revealed myself that first night. Was that truly because he found me attractive? It’s not that I believe I’m hideous; I know that’s not the case. But after everything with Baylor, niggling doubts and insecurities have wiggled their way into my mind.

Despite the embarrassment warming my body, I can’t stop the shy smile that curves my lips. No one has ever spoken about me this way, not even Baylor. His compliments have never extended past the obligatory “you look nice this evening.” And the only time he ever examines my eyes closely is when he’s trying to spot a lie. The idea of him being captivated by any part of me laughable.

A wicked gleam enters Thorne’s gaze as he watches me process his words. I take a few steps back, positioning the eidolon between us, which only amuses him more.

“She’s a fine illusion,” he concedes. “But I prefer the original over the imitation.”

My heart skips several beats inside my chest. As humiliating as it is to admit, I’m fairly certain that statement will haunt my mind for the rest of my days.

“Anyway, does she have a name?” he asks, as if he hasn’t just fried all of the pathways in my brain.

I shake my head, unable to form words yet.

“Then how do you refer to her?”

“As my eidolon ,” I say obviously.

He raises a brow, clearly unsatisfied with my answer.

“I don’t know if I want to give her a name,” I admit softly, dropping my gaze to the mats as I try to put my complicated emotions into words. “She may be able to pretend, but she’s not a person. Not really.”

Thoughts of last night push against my mind. Giving her a name would make it much harder to send her in my place next time Baylor calls.

“She’s not real, but she is an extension of you,” Thorne reminds me.

A small voice in the back of my mind whispers that he’s right. But I’ve never thought of her that way. I don’t know if I could. It would force me to acknowledge things I’m not ready to face.

“You should call her something that’s symbolic of that connection.” He pauses, considering for a moment. “What’s your middle name?”

“Rose,” I say softly.

In an instant, the easy atmosphere between us dissolves. The temperature in the room plummets as shadows creep over the walls and windows, leaving us in near darkness.

“What’s wrong?” I ask, searching for the source of this change.

He shakes his head, clenching his jaw as he takes a few steps back from me.

“Call her that then,” he says, his tone icy.

My mind races, trying to follow the stark shift in his mood. What just happened? Was it the name that bothered him so much? Rose? My attention catches on his covered wrist, remembering the burning rose tattoo hidden beneath his gloves. The one every member of Killian’s council bears. Death’s sigil inked into their skin like a permanent brand. Does he not appreciate the reminder?

Before I have time to ponder this change in our conversation, Warrick rushes into the training room. He goes rigid when he notices I’m not alone, his hand moving to the sword at his side.

“The ambassador isn’t a threat,” I say impatiently. “What’s going on?”

He attention shifts back to me, the lines of his face tense. “Darby’s been spotted.”

“Where?” Thorne and I ask at the same time, setting aside whatever strange tension was building between us.

Warrick pales and my body goes rigid, already anticipating that I won’t be pleased with his answer.

“The docks.”