Page 21 of Strange Familiar (Warriors of Magic #2)

~21~

A lise’s face heated at Cillian’s laughter. Maybe she’d overstated the case, but he didn’t need to be so morally superior. So patient and understanding. So fucking sweet. Of course almost the first thing he asked when they could speak privately was about her wellbeing.

Has it been very bad, Alise? The bald question had nearly made her break into tears. Only reminding herself of her father’s fury—and righteous retribution in the very near future—had allowed her to regain some control. He’d never forgive her for banishing his spies, whether or not she’d been honoring house integrity by agreeing to the strict terms of Cillian’s favor redemption. The price for her giving Cillian that favor to begin with would be high indeed, and anticipating her father’s punishment made the sweat drip chill down her back.

A tremulous part of her kept expecting her father to knock down the door at any moment, but if he hadn’t by now, he wasn’t going to. No, he’d save her punishment for later, until after Cillian had gone and she was alone again. She didn’t seem to have much spine on her own. Worse, her father seemed to know that, easily bending her to his will. She’d been molded into the kind of daughter he wanted now. Sensitive to his desires and priorities, attuned to even his unspoken wishes, always just a little bit afraid. Not exactly broken, but too far distorted to be returned to her previous shape.

“I’m sorry, Alise,” Cillian gasped, recovering. “I didn’t mean to laugh. Please come and sit.”

She hadn’t been aware of standing, but she stayed on her feet, the nervous energy propelling her into agitated circles around the salon. She needed to complete and end this conversation.

“If Nic didn’t tell you, how did you know where I was?” Part of her, some romantic remnant she once would have scoffed at, imagined Cillian searching for her. Going to Convocation Academy or House Phel, hoping to find her. Well, he’s found you now, a jaded voice said in the back of her mind. And you sure aren’t rewarding him for the trouble.

Well, no, but then she was a terrible person, so no one should be surprised.

“It’s a long story,” Cillian answered, patting the settee invitingly. “And telling you about it is part of why I’m here.”

“I’d rather stand.” She moved restlessly to the window.

“And pace.”

“Yes.”

He sighed. Cillian had a range of expressive sighs, all evocative of various shades of disappointment in her. “Han and Iliana told me.”

She paused mid-step. Not at all what she expected. “I don’t understand. You went to House Phel?”

“No,” he replied gravely, holding her gaze. “They came to House Harahel.”

She was sorry she wasn’t sitting, feeling suddenly wobbly, the sense of the world having rushed onward while she was sequestered here making her dizzy. Probably she shouldn’t have drunk so much wine. “I don’t understand.”

As the words came out, she realized she’d repeated herself. Dark arts she was a mess. She both fervently wished Cillian would leave already—or, ideally, that he’d never come—and wanted to throw herself into his embrace and beg him to make everything better. Except there was no better. This was as good as she could have, which was why she’d been making the best of it.

“Then let me explain,” Cillian said gently, as if intuiting her inner turmoil. Probably he did. He told her about the bargain he’d made with his grandmother once he recovered from the impact of the magic debt—which made her realize she’d been so busy being angry and ashamed that she hadn’t asked about his health or anything about what he’d been doing. Which had been single-mindedly working on unlocking the folded archive. For her.

By the time Cillian finished telling her about the code embedded in the archived texts, the earth-shattering implications of the research of the ancient Phel scientist, Alise had relented, returning to curl up on the settee—though still a cautious distance from Cillian. She had no idea where they could go from here, except that it seemed blatantly clear that they couldn’t go back to how things had been. It might be best to allow the break between them to stand, perhaps bridged with a distantly formal acquaintanceship. Nothing more.

“I brought this to show you,” he said, the light of enthusiasm shining from him as he dug in his satchel. At times like this, when he talked books and libraries and linguistics, his magic looked to her like sunlight dappling through shadows, illuminating odd nooks, glancing over dust motes so it seemed to make them dance. It hit her hard and painfully how very much she loved him. Numb from the realization, she reviewed the ancient committee meeting minutes and listened with dawning understanding to the shocking information contained within. Of course, only a secret as Convocation-shattering would embolden so many houses to conspire, to move against House Phel in such a thorough, dedicated, and far reaching plan.

Her mind racing, her stomach tight, she accepted the various booklets from Cillian’s hands, pretending to look at them while he excitedly explained how the code probably worked and how they’d determined there was one and what Han and Iliana were doing next to decipher it.

After a while, she found herself simply studying his face as he bent over the materials he’d brought, his long, sensitive fingers pointing out particular elements, watching his lips move and hearing nothing. She’d been such a blithering idiot. Somehow, in Cillian’s grounding, rational presence, her world shifted and resettled into new patterns. The picture that emerged as if seen from his perspective only shamed her further.

She’d been pretending to herself that she was going along with her father, lulling him into complacency, and planning some vague vengeance when all the while he’d been playing her, softening her with praise and gifts and luring her into being exactly what she’d always feared most, what she’d promised herself she would never become: just like him.

“Alise?” Cillian set a hand on her cheek, a fleeting touch that only made her crave more. And more is what she couldn’t have.

“This is an amazing discovery,” she said, trying to sound excited. And it was amazing and she was excited. So why did she feel like her heart was breaking? “Have you told Gabriel and Nic yet?”

“No.” Cillian frowned a little, seeming puzzled. “I wanted to tell you first. This was your project. I knew you’d want to be in on next steps.”

And there was the rub. She couldn’t be “in” on anything but her commitment to House Elal. She wasn’t a prisoner, exactly, that much of what she’d told Cillian had been true, but neither was she free. And they both knew where Elal stood in this conspiracy to suppress such dangerous information. She was suddenly, fiercely glad Cillian had asked her to banish the spirit spies. The moment her father knew about what they’d found, he’d explode. He’d kill Cillian—a small transgression compared to the violence to come—and possibly her as well. She should be so lucky.

“What are the next steps, do you think?” she asked, rather hoping he wouldn’t notice that she’d sidestepped his assumption on her involvement.

“We need to take this evidence to the Convocation. We have proof here of grounds for the original conspiracy against House Phel and the ongoing targeting of the house and you.”

Alise didn’t think they did, but she nodded with enthusiasm. “I think you should take this to House Phel and find out how Nic and Gabriel want to proceed.”

“I know that’s your first impulse and not a wrong-headed one, but I think it’s time to escalate. Provost Uriel told me to bring her evidence and I’ve got it. House Uriel is our best bet for—” He paused, his ears catching up to his thoughts. “ I should take it? You mean we .”

And there they were. “No, I mean you. I can’t leave here.”

His frown crystallized. “You said you’re not a prisoner.”

“Maybe I should say I won’t leave. I am the House Elal heir now. My father is teaching me everything. I have access to the House Elal arcanium. Working in it is… extraordinary.”

“And you’re auditioning familiars,” he noted darkly. “Are you seriously considering Wim, Bim, Tim, Gim, and Zim?”

The names rang a bell. It came to her. “From the Five Idiot Brothers of Nod?” she asked incredulously.

Looking vaguely embarrassed, he waved that off.

“It’s unlike you to be cruel, Cillian,” she said softly, “especially to those less fortunate than you.”

He met her gaze steadily, not denying it. “At the moment, they don’t seem less fortunate, at all.”

Ah. That paused her breath a moment. “My father has persuaded me of the potential usefulness of a familiar, yes.” She watched his face, the shifting emotions, her heart aching. “Cillian, if House Elal is one of the conspirators against House Phel, as we both know is almost certainly true, we are now on opposite sides. I can’t assist with this.”

“What about being on the side of truth,” he demanded. “Don’t you want to be on the right side of history?”

“Those are relative concepts,” she replied, aware that she used her father’s reasoning. “Think about it, Cillian: if this information about familiars having the potential to become wizards comes out, it will upend the Convocation. It could cause all out war. Is that being on the ‘right’ side?”

“You’d rather we allow a deeply unjust, predatory social system to continue in the name of a surface peace?” he demanded in turn.

“I think it’s more than surface,” she countered. “We don’t have the raging and devastating wizard wars of long ago. Most of our citizens are prosperous and enjoy decent lives. The current balance has existed for a long time for a reason.”

“Because it’s built on the backs of familiars,” Cillian retorted. “People like your own sister who could be wizards if they hadn’t been stunted.”

“It introduces bias to use words like stunted. We don’t know that it’s not a natural process and that Anciela Phel’s discovery wasn’t flawed in some way. That’s why the committee wanted more research. What if this reversal or unblocking or whatever causes even more damage, like my dissolving of the bond did?”

“It would be worth it to find out,” Cillian insisted. “If there’s a way to liberate familiars from the restraints that make them second-class citizens, we owe it to them to make that possible.”

“Do we? I don’t see that we owe anyone anything. I certainly don’t. What you do is up to you.”

He gazed at her for a long, throbbing moment. “I feel like I don’t know you anymore.”

There was her opening. “You don’t,” she said baldly, steeling herself against his flinch, the hurt in his eyes. “Arguably you never did.”

“That’s a lie.”

“Cillian,” she said in a tone of infinite patience, not caring if it grated. All the better if it did. “We barely had a few days together. It was nice, but—”

“Nice?” he interrupted in a harsh voice. “I’m in love with you and I know you love me too.”

She forced herself to plow on. “I’m sorry to hurt you this way, but that’s not true. I don’t love you. I never did.”

“Another lie.”

“I’m sure it’s painful to have feelings for someone who doesn’t return them. That’s not something I can help though.” She gave him a regretful smile. “You don’t have the best record of judging women, after all.” A ruthlessly aimed thrust.

“You’re trying to drive me away again,” he said, the words certain, but worry threading through his voice. “I apologize that my grandmother sent you away and that I didn’t follow up. That’s on me. You’re absolutely right: I assumed that you left me, that you didn’t care and…”

He trailed off and she raised her brows to highlight the point, smiling in sympathy. “You knew, deep down that what we had was a… a fling of the moment. Transitory at heart.”

She reached out to pat his hand, to underscore her regret. He turned his at the last moment, surprisingly quick, and held hers in a fierce grip. “Tell me, Alise. Why do all your potential familiars look like me?”

“I don’t think they do.” She tugged at her trapped hand. “Let me go.”

“You know they do. Do me the bare courtesy of admitting that they look like me because of me.”

“If there’s a resemblance, then it’s my father’s doing. He thought that might help.”

“Help,” he echoed in a dark and musing tone. “Help with what—getting over me?”

She forced a laugh. He still didn’t let her go, staring into her eyes with more intensity than she could bear. “Cillian, let me go.”

“No, I don’t think I will.”

“I could make you.” Her wizardry could outpower his and they both knew it.

“You could,” he agreed. “I don’t think you will.”

“Cillian…” She made his name into a plea, her will eroding at the seductiveness of his touch. It had always been like this with him—the barest touch of hands, the lightest kiss, and the passion flared to life between them.

“Alise.” He said her name like he’d answered a question. With his free hand, he touched her cheek, tracing the skin along her jaw up to her temple, the caress reverent. She felt as if her skin drank it in, that touch, as if she’d been starving without realizing it. His fingers threaded into her hair and he drew closer, gaze on her lips.

She wanted, oh, she wanted, needed, craved, longed for that kiss. She couldn’t give into it. This would only lead to more pain. And yet the lure of the momentary pleasure proved more than she could resist. “We can’t,” she whispered, unable to pull away. “ I can’t.”

“You can,” he insisted. “Let me remind you of what we have between us.”

As if she needed reminding. Her heart already jolted in her chest like a wounded thing, a fish out of water, flapping on the shore and gasping for breath. Her father’s creature. She’d gone too far to come back.

And there was Bria to protect.

And… Cillian’s lips brushed over hers.

And she was lost. The will-sapping sweetness of his taste, his touch, the abundant affection radiating from him like sunshine on frozen ground—it all poured into her and she clung to him, unable and unwilling to break away. She made a sound of helpless despair and he pulled her in closer, laying back against the couch and draping her over him, holding her close and kissing her with ravenous need. Feeling that from him and from herself, Alise found she couldn’t withhold herself, couldn’t recall all the very good reasons that this had to be in her past.

Instead she surrendered utterly, giving over to the all-consuming need to be held and cherished and loved. To be touched in earnest joy and feel herself blossom in return. Vaguely, in the back of her mind, she recognized that she’d been pretending to herself that the affection and praise her father had generated had been enough to sustain her.

But it had never been enough. No, it had never been real, no more than drinking wine could nourish her instead of real food.

Cillian’s hands roved over her, sparking new flames and fanning old ones, his breath coming harder and his magic more urgent. “Alise…” he groaned. “This isn’t why I came here, why I asked to see you—or not entirely why—but can I, can we…”

“Yes,” she answered recklessly. “Yes. Please now.”

They were alone and as private as could be in House Elal, she reasoned. Or whatever facsimile of reason she currently employed, as she had no doubt her more rational self—temporarily drowned out by lust and the sheer need to be touched—would judge this little episode harshly. Indulging herself in Cillian’s ardent sweetness would solve nothing. In truth, this would only complicate her feelings and his.

But she couldn’t refuse. Instead she told herself this would be the last time, that she should savor for the last time what she’d never have again. Not with him. Not like this.

So she allowed him to trigger the fastening of her Ophiel gown and draw it off of her. She worked away the buttons of his shirt, no wizardry to his clothing, always the slow and rustic way for the Harahels. Once they’d wrestled the extraneous aside, they sighed in unison at the full body, skin to skin reunion. Alise melted into him, surrounded by the scent of cinnamon and sugar her mind evoked, a full metaphor of the rich and delicious things he meant to her.

His hand closed over her breast, teasing her taut nipple, knowing exactly how she liked it, his mouth drawing on hers, their tongues twining in a near silent language of a breath and a slide and tremor of exchange. Her heart swelled, feeling as if she bled inside, with joy and grief entangled inextricably. If only she could have this always. Hold this moment forever suspended with no thoughts, no past, no future.

Cillian rolled her under him, breathing the question she didn’t need him to ask, poised there at her weeping entrance, her hips lifting to ease his way, to welcome him home.

“Alise,” Cillian said roughly in her ear, his breathing harsh, his hands vising on her eagerly pumping hips. “Did you hear my question?”

“Yes,” she panted. “Yes, I want you.”

“Not that. Did you have your fertility unlocked? I don’t want to…”

He didn’t finish. He didn’t have to. He thought she might be testing her fertility with the boys, her potential familiars, trying to get with child. It would be funny if it weren’t so tragic. If only, if only. She wound her arms around his neck, her legs around his narrow hips. Never let him go. Her fingers wound into his silky dark curls, she met his warm gaze. “No. I didn’t want them. I only ever wanted you.”

Making an animal sound, so unlike her quiet, reserved bookworm, Cillian surged into her, piercing her with pleasure so exquisite, she could only cry out in return, throwing her head back to release the intense wave of ecstasy. Moving in her, knowing her body and her needs, he thrust her higher, soon hurtling her over the edge. She shuddered in wave after wave of climax, gripping his shoulders as if she might fall. He rode her orgasm through with her, then resumed the dance, taking them both up.

She squirmed beneath him, deliciously pinned, needing more and more. He gave her more and all, rocking her into new heights, his lips along her throat, teeth nipping her collarbones, words in her ear that chanted his love his need his longing their forever.

Blurring and blending, she lost time to the endless lovemaking, climaxing over and over as he held off, watching her face and kissing her in long, lingering swallows. As if he’d thirsted for her, too. At last, his face a rictus of erotic pain, he gritted out that he couldn’t hold off any longer.

“Then don’t,” she purred, clasping him to her, holding on as if she inevitably wouldn’t have to let go. Receiving him, gripping him with everything in her, she opened as he flooded her, crying her name and his love and the sweet ecstasy of it all.

He collapsed on her, face in the crook of her neck, lips pressed to the hollow of her throat, their bodies slick with sweat and clinging at every possible nook and curve. She buried her nose in his silky curls, knowing she only imagined he smelled of cinnamon sugar and glorying in it anyway.

“I love you, Alise,” he said against her skin, pressing a kiss to seal the words there, like a promise, like a vow, like a gift she couldn’t keep.

“I know,” she breathed, uncertain if he even heard her, saying it more to herself. She did know that. Nothing with Cillian was ever a mystery that way. He felt what he felt, with his whole heart, earnestly and without reservation. She was the problem, riddled with holes and rotting inside. Seeing how she’d spent these last weeks and months, seeing herself clearly, she had to confront all the lies she’d swallowed. She’d taken them in and built herself out of them.

Too late to change now.

Cillian must have felt the shift in her because he levered up, gazing down at her in the dimness. She’d never lit the fire for them, or even very many lamps, so intent on ending the interview and getting rid of him as fast as possible. Where Cillian was kindness, she was unkind. Stingy to his generosity, sour to his sweet, empty to his wholeness. Reaching out with her magic, she brought the fire elementals to life, encouraging them to warm and light the dark salon.

Cillian smiled at her, close-lipped and wistful. “You don’t have to say it back to me. I won’t bother you about how you feel and if you don’t want to be with me, I promise I won’t trail after you like a puppy.”

Her own lips curved at the image, the tenderness she felt for him almost overwhelming. She could nearly weep for losing this, for not having him. But she’d gone too far down a dark path. Even Cillian couldn’t forgive her the things she’d done, the way she’d used Brinda, how she’d treated the boys. How quickly she’d fallen into treating those familiars like her private feast. She couldn’t bear for Cillian to see how truly awful she was.

She shifted restlessly and he slid out of her, that primal, intimate connection disrupted. Cillian didn’t move, his weight on her, his gaze expectant as he waited for her to look at him. Finally, knowing he’d outwait her, she met his eyes, expecting gentleness and affection, not the expression of steely determination he focused on her.

“I won’t pressure you about any of that,” he told her, “but when I leave in the morning, you’re coming with me.”