Page 56 of The Dark Mage

F ael’s voice was warm in her ear as the morning light filtered into the tent.

“Do you know it’s exquisite, perfect torture to wake up next to you and not be able to have you?”

Ren’wyn laughed, leaning into him. He huffed a heavy breath against her neck, the warmth sending a shiver down her s pine.

“Ren’wyn,” Fael murmured, his voice a mix of plea and warning. She didn’t trust herself to stop if they started, so she pulled out of his grip. The blanket slipped to her waist, her nightgown falling just low enough to leave her breasts half-covered in the golden l ight.

“That’s no better,” he groaned, eyes fixed on her.

When he reached for her, pleasure rippled through her like fire. Fael sighed in frustration and leaned in closer. “Shall we see how quiet you can be, my lady?” he teased, his voice rich with misc hief.

Ren’wyn rolled swiftly off the mat, snatching clean undergarments from her trunk and tugging them on while Fael protested lo udly.

“Help me with my bodice,” she said, holding it out.

When he rose from the bedroll, she sucked in a breath at the sight of him—broad chest, toned muscles, the morning light playing over every sculpted inch. Her cheeks warmed with a blush as he twirled a finger, silently telling her to turn ar ound.

With every lace he tightened, he pressed a kiss along her shoulder blades, each touch sending tiny tremors through her.

She wasn’t sure she’d keep her composure if he continued.

Snatching his breeches from the table, she tossed them behind her with a sharp motion before pulling on her overdress.

The rich purple fabric cascaded around her—it was Fael’s favorite dress, the one she had bought after their first night together at the inn.

When she turned to face him, she realized the sight of him half-dressed, his pants clinging to every curve of his muscular legs and his tan chest still bare, was even more distrac ting.

He stalked toward her like a predator, and a thrill licked down her spine. His hands gripped her backside firmly, pulling her flush against him.

She sucked in a shaky breath, biting back a moan as heat coursed through her.

“I still feel like I shouldn’t let you out in this dress,” Fael murmured, his tone low and possessive. His fingers trailed along the neckline, brushing over the swell of her breasts, and she shook with lon ging.

“Fael,” she rasped, her voice t hick.

He grinned, fully aware of the effect he had on her, every inch of her tingling and alive under his touch. And then, he pulled away, slipping his shirt over his head.

She didn’t know what was worse—desiring him and holding back, or having him withdraw and leaving her aching for more.

He took her hand as they left the tent, tucking his shirt in as they walked toward the fire.

Esrin cast a pointed glance toward Wilenrut, who ruined Esrin’s subtlety by openly staring at them.

Ren’wyn flushed deeper, and Fael gave her hand a reassuring squeeze.

They sat by the fire as Sorya passed them plates of break fast.

“Will you be joining up to spar, Zev?” Fael asked casually, stirring the conversation around the fire.

Ren’wyn froze mid-bite, startled by Fael’s open challenge to fight a man he barely knew who possessed magic. She glanced between them, her fork hovering over her eggs.

Zev’s surprise registered briefly before his soft voice broke the sil ence.

“I’ll fight you, berserker,” he said evenly, his tone unreadable. “Have you trained to fight a wight be fore?”

Leta chuckled as Fael parted his hair with his fingers, revealing the black swirls tattooed on his scalp. “I’ve trained to fight all the magics,” he replied with a casual s hrug.

Zev’s dark eyes narrowed in understanding. He reassessed Fael, now fully aware of who—and what—he had been.

The sparring drew everyone’s attention, leaving Esrin to throw up his hands in mock exasperation at nothing productive getting done. The group cleared an area near the trees as Zev selected a scimitar and Fael a short s word.

Ren’wyn felt their magic stretch toward each other—Zev’s strange emptiness gathering like a void, while Fael glowed with power, his eyes flickering with barely contained rage.

Their movements were a deadly dance, Fael’s strength and speed evident in every swipe and parry. His muscles rippled beneath his clothing, and Ren’wyn recognized the precision of the Passage in his anticipation of Zev’s adva nces.

Zev, impossibly fast, darted and ducked with razor-sharp precision, his focus unwavering as he studied Fael intently. As their fight intensified, so did their power. Fael’s skin glimmered with a golden hue, flames licking down his blade, while Zev’s energy surged in a silent cresc endo—

Then, suddenly, he disappeared into nothing ness.

Fael froze in response, his eyes closing as a rush of his power washed over Ren’wyn’s skin—bright and searing. With her second sight, she saw it illuminate Zev’s hidden form as he crept silently along the t rees.

Fael leaped toward him with furious precision, and Zev flickered into view, raising his scimitar just in time to meet the onslaught.

The force of Fael’s attack crashed down, knocking Zev to the ground, his short sword poised at his throat.

Ren’wyn’s breath caught as Zev’s face broke into a wide, glorious s mile.

“An excellent opponent!” Zev declared, grasping Fael’s forearm as he rose. “I did not expect to be unmasked by magic. Wherever did you learn to do that?”

Fael smiled, a rare glint of pride in his expression.

“I had an intense Master who taught me to seek with my power. The fire of the berserkers, he said, can expose magic. I can also feel the hum of another’s power against my skin.

Yours feels like an indrawn breath; Esrin’s, Sorya’s, and Relya’s like a summer wind; and Ren’wyn’s like f rost.”

Zev nodded, running a hand over his chin thoughtfully. “Very interesting,” he murmured. “I can feel the dark one’s power as well.” His gaze shifted to Ren’wyn—not hostile but guarded. “I have never met her kind before. Her power calls to mine like a siren’s song.”

As Zev turned his attention toward her, Ren’wyn tensed. His magic dragged against her own, like claws snagging on soft fabric. The sensation grated against her will. The rest of the group began to wander off, satisfied now that the fight was over, leaving only Fael, Esrin, Zev, and Ren’wyn be hind.

“That doesn’t feel good,” Ren’wyn said through gritted teeth, glaring at Zev.

“You’re strange, dark one,” Zev mused as he began to circle her.

“Not as vile as I was taught to believe. The devotion of these two men suggests there’s more to you than killing.

And your features…” He paused, a faint smirk curling his lips.

“Surprising. I wouldn’t have expected the soft curves and pink cheeks of such a sweet girl. ”

Ren’wyn bristled as Zev closed his eyes, and again those claws scratched at her magic. She hissed, barely holding back her frustra tion.

“And your power,” Zev murmured, his voice low and unsettling. “There’s so much of it. I can feel the death in it. Tell me, dark mage, do you like kil ling?”

Her nerves frayed, panic clawing at her throat as Zev stalked her, his steps deliberate and predatory. She grimaced, forcing her fear into a nger.

“Yes,” she whispered. “Don’t temp t me.”

Zev laughed, but the sound was cold, and she didn’t like it. Fael’s hand tightened on his sword. Though his breath slowed in deliberate control, she saw his protective instincts brimming beneath the surface. At the first sign of danger, he would come to her aid—but he trusted her to hold her own.

“Very chilling,” Zev said lazily, turning his back on her. “Though your lovely gray eyes and thick, curling hair make you far less threate ning.”

Once again, those claws dragged against her senses as he turned away, dismissive and mocking. The predator inside her roared in response, fueled by the fear she had wrestled down moments earlier. Her anger peaked, sharp and unyielding, as the familiar chill of the Void rose at her feet.

“Say that again to me, wight,” Ren’wyn sna rled.

Zev turned back, smirking—but the expression was struck from his face. He froze, seeing what Esrin stepped away from and what Fael openly adm ired.

Ren’wyn’s eyes had turned black, and her hair floated weightlessly as if lifted by an unseen force.

The forms of the dead flanked her, their blank eyes flickering with malice.

Black shadows crept across the ground toward Zev, reaching down from the trees, while veins of frost climbed her outstretched arms.

Zev’s eyes widened, the whites stark against his russet skin. His fear was an almost visible force between them. The claws of his power retracted, swallowed by his terror. Ren’wyn’s smile was dark and cruel, a sharp contrast to the sweet young woman who had stood in her place moments be fore.

Fael stepped around Zev, his presence calm but purposeful, and reached out to take Ren’wyn’s hand. As their powers met, frost grew along Fael’s outstretched arm, steaming away in bursts of heat. Black and blue flames licked up Ren’wyn’s arm in response, their tongues flickering in strange har mony.

Esrin’s power began to leak uncontrollably, flowing toward Ren’wyn like a river drawn to the sea. A black wind rose around her, pulling dust and debris into its orbit. Esrin let out a low growl, his magic acting of its own accord, seeking her out as he struggled in vain to hold it back.

Ren’wyn dropped her hand, and the power ebbed instantly. In a heartbeat, she was once again the picture of composure—a demure, well-bred lady.

Zev stood frozen, struggling to reconcile the two images: the sweet, marriageable daughter of a lord and the goddess of death commanding the Void.

Esrin exhaled sharply and scrubbed a hand over his face, breaking the charged silence. “Gods, Ren,” he muttered, shaking his head. “You didn’t have to go that far.”