Page 22 of Shadows and Flames (Twin Blades #2)

I sat up slowly, letting the sheets pool around me. Slowly, I pulled my hands from beneath the covers and laid them open in my lap.

Blackened skin, nails as dark as coal. Ever since that day.

I forced an exhale, puckered my lips. And when the knot still twisted tighter, I beat against the middle of my chest. How was I meant to rebuild when there weren’t any pieces of me left? Almost all of them had died with him.

My senses picked up on Elián’s presence in the doorway, long before he made a sound. I continued my piss-poor attempt at self-soothing, running slow circles over where my heart lay.

“I have breakfast ready, my queen.”

He couldn’t—I clenched my teeth, my eyelids, each muscle, everything. When I finally opened my eyes, I had to fight to keep air flowing to my lungs.

Elián’s tattoos were on display. Dark like my marks, a written tale of his life. And his hair, goddess , it flowed about his shoulders like a gentle river. Like my favorite river near where Tana and I used to live. In Ralthas.

Locking down those memories was something I had much practice doing, but somehow, it was getting harder each time.

Elián watched me as I did, head tilted to the side as he waited.

Eventually, I sent him a wan smile. But who was I trying to fool?

He’d seen me at my worst. Now, as I’d descended into a mess as he revealed my hands.

And then, when he’d had to bathe me while my body healed after Mathieu nearly killed me.

Rebuild.

“Thank you,” I spread my smile wider through sheer force of will, “for everything, El.”

He grunted, but it was a sound that hit me straight in the belly, warming me and feeling like home. “Come,” he said and extended a hand. Asking me to approach. To take that step.

My limbs were tight, but I forced myself from sheets that smelled like us. I crossed the small bedroom on bare feet and put my cursed hand in his. He didn’t flinch. Just closed his fingers around it and pulled me along.

The sun was shining through the small window, brightening the safehouse, but there still wasn’t much to see. Elián obviously hardly came here. Even his scent was faint, almost as resounding as mine.

What did his true home look like? At the Shadow Well? Or, did he prefer to live somewhere else?

There was so much about him that I didn’t know. That I’d denied us by telling him to leave.

I batted away more tears, chastising myself for running over the same shit again and again. You’d think my mind would run out of the energy, but the despair only fueled itself.

“Wha—” I squawked, landing on a pair of thick, steady thighs.

Elián had led us to the table, but instead of breaking apart to sit opposite of each other, he’d pulled me into his lap. His arms were like vises, holding me to him.

Not that I was going to leave.

His skin was hot, not just warm. With his shirt off, and my body clad in my undergarments from last night, the skin contact was probably as close to heaven as I’d ever be.

But, when I imagined what that might feel like, it was this—being held by him.

“Eat.” Elián held a fork in front of my mouth. His was set in a determined line, but the color in his irises was swimming, flaring.

I didn’t even look at what I was taking a bite of, just opened up and let him place the food on my tongue. The burst of flavor made me gasp. Eggs, but the preparation was nothing like what I was used to.

Some sort of flatbread, crisp and fried, crunched between my teeth, and pops of acidic tomato balanced out the flavors perfectly.

He didn’t even need to tell me to take the next bite he held in front of me. I couldn’t recall when last I ate, and my empty stomach welcomed this breakfast greedily.

And, of course, there was the expression he held, almost hypnotized by my eating.

If I wasn’t devouring the food with abandon, I might’ve preened.

Or teased him for taking care of me like this.

I wouldn’t have believed him capable of this sort of caring, if not for the glimpses I’d caught during our last days together at the witchs’ house.

I glanced down at the plate, seeing the large serving halfway gone. Was this all the food there was? Well, of course, he probably hadn’t expected to have to prepare food for me.

I’d already taken so much from him. After everything, I drew the line at denying him a meal.

The battle to take control of the fork had his eyes flaring, the color growing brighter, but he ultimately relented.

Shifting a bit in his lap, I felt the hard reminder of his erection that both of us were ignoring.

Directing my attention back to the food, I gathered egg, bread, and tomato sauce in one large morsel.

He too didn’t watch the food. No, he was busy looking at me like I was about to disappear into the aether. Like he had to savor every moment of my being here.

I cleared my throat. “Open,” I said, and he did. Opened his mouth to the point that I could see his tongue, his fangs.

My navel fluttered, but I ignored that as well while I fed Elián the rest. He kept his arms around me, and we didn’t exchange any words.

When the plate was clean, neither of us rose. With the fullness of our bellies and the contentedness in holding each other, there was no rush.

Last night had been like a storm, but this moment was like the next morning, with raindrops still falling from branches as cool wind whipped through the trees. Though the sun was shining, the remnants of thunder were everywhere.

He was the first to call attention to it. “What changed?” He didn’t need to specify what he was referring to, but he held my hand in his to emphasize anyway.

He traced his callused fingertip around the black skin, passing it over knuckle, around fingernail, then back down. Over and over.

As much as I wanted to clamp my mouth shut, change the subject or bite at him so he’d drop it, that wasn’t the way. He deserved so much better. More.

“That…is a hard question to answer because I’m still parsing through it myself.”

“Are your powers different?”

I nodded and leaned further into him. For strength. My temple nuzzled into his cheek, and he accepted it. Accepted me. “Yes. They feel steadier. Easier to control, mostly. I have greater access to them as a result. But, what all that might entail, I’m still unsure.”

Echoing last night, he said softly, “Show me.”

I gnawed at my lip but nodded because this line of curiosity was safe. Much safer than the other path laden with traps and truths I wasn’t ready to share.

Even though Elián deserved to know most of all.

The dagger I conjured was the easiest to show him.

Ebony like the halls of the Temple of Rhaea, the hilt and blade were both black, as was the sharp guard.

I hadn’t consciously designed it, but the grip and rounded pommel fit my hand perfectly.

The metal detailing, like royal filigree, was also not purposeful, but it felt right, looking down at it.

I twirled the blade in my hand, so familiar with this type of weapon that it was merely an extension of my hand. Given that it was made from the power woven through my soul, it literally was.

There was no need for a poisoned blade when the whole thing was made of Death.

After showing off a final twirl, I commanded it away, and the blade disappeared, leaving only a tendril of smoke. Like the trails from a snuffed candle.

“How long has it been,” Elián resumed his tracing, now that the blade was gone, “since the marks appeared?”

I locked everything away. Down. “Two years, two months, and fifteen days.”

“Why?”

I stiffened, but after his response mirrored mine, I forced myself to relax. Bit by bit. He wasn’t accusing. Wasn’t blaming. I hoped. “Again, I’m unsure. But Rhaea has not been exactly forthcoming with me. Ever. So,” I chuckled, “why would She start now?”

Elián grunted again, seemingly satisfied with what I’d given him. The half-truths.

His heart beat a steady song, and it was some breaths later that I realized mine had synced to the rhythm. I’d blame what I said next on that.

“You’ve fucked, held, and fed me now. What’s next?”

Elián pulled away, just enough to be able to look me over, and I almost took the words back until amusement shifted his stoic features. He didn’t say anything, just continued to stare and smirk.

He cradled the back of my head, and I shivered at the wash of heat. “Do you hate it?” He raised a brow, like the quirk at the end of a question, and I elaborated. “My hair. Or, lack thereof.”

Not that he’d outright said he’d liked it before. But I wasn’t stupid.

As if remembering the mass of coils that used to be there, Elián passed his thumb over the mussed curls that were certainly no longer slicked to my scalp in orderly waves.

“No. I do not hate it. I don’t think I could hate anything about you, to be honest.”

I groaned and rolled my eyes. Huffed in his face for good measure. “Oh goddess, El. You can’t keep being nice. It’s scaring me.”

He sighed ruefully. “I want to be nice to you. And when you give me a reason to put you in your place, I will do that, too. Regardless, we will be together.”

“And…” I croaked. “What would you like from me?”

Elián’s brow didn’t shift. The hard set of his jaw didn’t soften. But the bob of his throat hinted at an uncertainty the rest of him didn’t. “I want your presence. Your menacing words. Your body against mine. Your love.”

Fuck .

I slammed my lips onto his, begged for his Fire to keep worming its way into me.

If someone had asked me at any point before yesterday, I would have told them the likelihood of my current state was nonexistent.

And yet, here I was, holding hands with Elián as we walked down the streets of Morova. It was a port city, and with the pleasant heat of mid-morning, our slow meandering along the docks was nearing on picturesque.