Page 17

Chapter

Sixteen

Araya shoved past the guard without a word, fleeing down the corridor as tears blurred her vision. The shadows between the lamps twisted and writhed as the world swam in front of her, morphing into shapes that clawed at the edges of her vision.

Pet , they hissed as she raced past them. Whore.

Araya stumbled, her shoulder slamming into the wall. Pain radiated through her arm, but she pushed forward, clutching her side as if that could hold her together.

You chose him over your people. Over yourself.

She shoved open the door to the workshop, iron stinging her palm as the cloying scent of copper and burnt aether flooded her nose. Jaxon had begun distilling the first vial of Loren’s blood—it swirled gently in the central flask, runes glowing faintly with power.

He looked up, his eyes widening as he took in her disheveled state. “Starling, what?—”

“He’s awake.” Araya wiped her face with the heel of her hand, smearing wetness across her cheeks before wrapping her arms around herself, trying to stop the trembling .

“Isn’t that good?” Jaxon frowned, his brow furrowing as he stared at her. “Did he hurt you, Starling?”

Araya shook her head, shuddering. “I don’t—” her voice cracked, and she pressed a trembling hand to her chest. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Alright.” Jaxon moved slowly out from behind his workbench, holding one hand out as he approached her like a wounded animal. “But come here, let me see that you’re not hurt?—”

Araya grabbed his shirt, hands fisting in the fabric as she dragged him down to her. Jaxon barely caught himself, one hand bracing against the bench to keep from knocking them both over—but it was too late to stop the crash.

Their mouths met in a violent, messy kiss. Teeth clashed. Her breath hitched, uneven and hot against his skin as he responded instinctively, kissing her back with equal force. Her magic surged between them, burning hot just beneath her skin as it reached for his—just as desperate as she was.

But Jaxon started to pull back, opening his mouth like he might ask if she was sure.

Araya dragged him back, nipping his lower lip hard. Copper bloomed across her tongue as the sharp point of her canine broke the skin. “I need you,” she said. “Don’t make me beg, Jaxon.”

His hesitation shattered.

He kissed her again, deeper this time—less caution, more hunger. His hands found her waist, her hips, her thighs—his fingers digging into her skin as he pressed her back into the nearest flat surface. Araya thought it might be some sort of packing crate, half shoved under a workbench, but she didn’t really care. Care was gone. So was concern. All that remained was heat—raw, consuming, and uncomplicated.

Araya let herself drown in it—in him.

She didn’t want to think. She wanted to be touched like she mattered, like if she gave enough of herself there would be nothing left to regret .

Jaxon lifted her onto the crate, the rough wood scraping her bare thighs as she hooked her ankles behind him, dragging him in closer. His breath stuttered, and he swore against her throat as she tugged his shirt free, her fingers working clumsily at his belt.

Her magic flared again, the buckle of his belt catching on the tender skin of her inner thigh as he entered her. He didn’t ask if she was ready—and she didn’t want him to. She gasped, clinging to his shoulders and closing her eyes, losing herself in the heat.

Whore .

Araya flinched, but Jaxon’s mouth found her collarbone, his teeth grazing her skin and making her gasp. She tilted her head back, offering him more. Offering him everything.

“ Gods , Araya,” his words rumbled against her skin, low and dark. He pulled back just enough to search her face, his dark eyes molten as he dragged his thumb over her lower lip. “Do you have any idea what you do to me, Starling?”

She did. The logical part of her mind knew this was madness. It should have been impossible to want him like this—to trust him, even for a moment, now that she knew what he was capable of. But Jaxon had never been just anything to her. Not just a mistake. Not just a betrayal. Not just a savior.

Let them call her a traitor. Let Loren spit his accusations and his shadows call her names. She didn’t care. This wasn’t about absolution or justice or what was right . It was about the only thing she’d gotten to choose for herself in this world.

Jaxon was a choice— her choice. And that was enough for her.

Araya didn’t know how long she stayed in Jaxon’s arms, the edge of the crate digging into her thighs. Long enough for shame to go quiet, smothered by the warm contentment of belonging.

Jaxon was the one to break the moment.

“You’re shaking,” he murmured, pressing another kiss to her shoulder before pulling back to help her off the crate. Her knees buckled as her feet hit the ground, but he was there to catch her, tugging her dress back up and smoothing her skirts down.

“I’m fine now.” Araya brushed loosened strands of hair out of her face, doing her best to tuck them back into her braid.

“Glad to be of service.” Jaxon chuckled. “Maybe I should thank the prince—I thought you were going to be angry at me for at least a few more days.”

“Don’t ruin it,” Araya warned, wincing as she stretched. Her thighs still stung where the rough wood had bit into them, raw and abraded. “What’s even in that crate?”

“A surprise.” Jaxon’s dark eyes danced with humor. “I was going to tell you right away—but you were a bit distracted.”

Araya leaned forward, curious despite herself, as he worked a pry bar carefully under the lid. The wood groaned, and her stomach lurched as it finally gave way, the golden light of the aetherlamps revealing bones of all shapes and sizes nestled into the straw packing material. They ranged from delicate knuckles and finger bones, still jointed in places, to a femur that must have once belonged to an adult fae male.

Jaxon dropped the pry bar, hefting the femur in his hand. “Amazing,” he said. “Have you ever worked with whole bone before?”

Araya shook her head, her mouth suddenly too dry to speak. She licked her lips, wetting them enough to rasp, “I thought these were hard to get.”

“They are.” Jaxon turned the femur over in his hands, admiring it. “But this is a very important project, Starling. They made it a priority.”

Her eyes flicked to the smallest bones again. One curled like a question mark, barely the length of her finger. It could only have belonged to a child. She hoped—prayed—that it had come from a long-buried grave. But fae died every day in the New Dominion.

“We’ll need to process them carefully,” she said, her voice thin. “ And we should still use the blanks first—for our testers. We wouldn’t want to waste whole bones.”

“Of course.” Jaxon glanced at her, a light smile playing at his lips. “I’ll leave that to you, Starling. After all, you’re the expert.”