Page 37

For Once

“ D evious, star elf,” I mutter, tearing my gaze from the ceiling to scan the room.

Deep blue shadows stretch across the room, dim, shifting, restless.

It must be close to midnight.

And I can’t sleep.

After dinner, I went to Nimuala and waited.

Waited for Netharu’el.

He never came.

Even though he was the one who had told me to meet him there.

It was nice to take it easy all afternoon, to wash up, lie on my bed, and wander the grounds alone. But I’m not on vacation. This isn’t some fiery pleasure trip. We started training mid-cycle, and I’ve already lost lunar cycles of time.

If I must do this shadow-warrior thing, I’ll do it right.

I push the blanket aside and set my feet on the rough floor. Barefoot, I slip across the room, fingers brushing against Netharu’el’s dresser.

He’s fully moved in now. His things are unpacked, necklaces draped over bedposts and chairs.

They look like the ones Kathraanis had in his room, but not quite.

Same kind of thread.

But instead of teeth… something else.

Something darker.

It looks like… dried tongues.

My stomach turns.

That can’t be right.

Can it?

Who hangs tongues in their room? Who makes necklaces out of them?

He’s stacked a pile of books on the windowsill, their edges soft and worn with age. Beside them, two objects carved with symbols stand in perfect alignment, a triangle pierced by an arrow and a half-circle etched with twin notches.

Two pairs of polished boots stand rigid by the door, their leather gleaming in the dim light, and several leather-bound sword sheaths lean against the dresser.

I yank open the top drawer, irritation prickling through me, and I must resist the urge to slam my fist into the wall.

My teeth grind.

I need a distraction.

From Netharu’el. From my thoughts. From the anger gnawing at me after he skipped our training and left me waiting.

His drawers are nearly empty. They contain mostly clothes in black, brown, and soot gray, as well as a pair of gloves.

A few creased, half-folded sheets of paper. Two pens.

A book on weapons. What’s written on the papers?

I pick up a sheet, unfold it, and lay it on the dresser.

Lighting a candle, I inhale as the air fills with the smoky scent of melting wax. The flame flickers, casting unsteady light.

Enough to see.

Runes. Arzakean?

I can’t read it.

Without thinking, I cross the room and slip the paper under the mattress. I’ll study it later. In daylight. When my mind is sharp.

I turn back to the dresser, hands pressing against the edge of the open drawer.

Then the door opens.

I freeze as if frost coats my skin.

My gaze snaps up, and Netharu’el’s sharp eyes lock onto mine.

Mistrust flickers in them.

It’s as if he can’t quite believe what he’s seeing.

“Digging through my belongings?”

I shove the drawer shut and turn my back to it. “Just checking if you had a white shirt. I don’t have any myself.”

He moves toward the dresser, but his eyes never leave me.

He pulls the drawer open again, fingers skimming over the contents in a quick, practiced sweep.

I hold my breath.

Don’t notice the missing paper. Don’t notice. Don’t ? —

“I don’t trust a spark of what you’re saying,” he murmurs, voice edged with suspicion.

Then he hesitates.

His gaze flicks over me, up, down, and lingers.

Too long.

I glance down.

Of course.

Undershorts and a chest wrap.

As if this day couldn’t get any better.

I grunt, snatch up the blanket, and wrap it around myself with pointed emphasis.

“So, you haven’t found anything missing, which means you don’t even know what to accuse me of?”

“Oh, but I do, my dear sun elf.”

“And what’s that?”

“Snooping.”

His eyelids hang heavy, and his hair is pulled into a loose ponytail, stray strands slipping over his collarbones. His clothes are loose, draping over him, soot black and seamless. A wide leather belt cinches his waist, and two short, broad sheaths are strapped at his sides.

He unbuckles the belt and tosses it onto the table by the door. The metal clinks, a dull scrape against the wood.

Then the sheaths. The boots. The cloak. The hair tie.

Moving through the room, he places each item with precision.

Nothing rushed, nothing out of place.

“Why did you tell me to meet you in Nimuala?” I lean against the wall, arms crossed. “If you had no intention of showing up, was it some kind of test?”

“An unforeseen matter arose.”

“Oh?”

“I had to leave. Immediately, of course.”

“And you couldn’t, I don’t know, tell me?”

“There wasn’t time.”

He starts undressing. Just like yesterday. Calm, indifferent, as if I don’t exist.

“Maybe try taking this seriously instead of ditching your apprentice on the first fiery day? And can you at least try to be discreet? I don’t want to see you naked.”

He laughs, planting his hands on his hips.

Bare chest. Lean muscle. Hair spilling over his arms.

“I have absolutely nothing to be ashamed of.”

His obscenely defined abs make me nauseous.

How intense does someone have to train for that?

“That’s wonderful, Netharu’el, but you’re not alone here. Show some respect.”

I drop onto the bed with a heavy thud and turn away so I don’t have to see his repulsive face.

A soft breath. The flicker of a flame dying. The scent of smoke curls through the air.

“Says the elf who spies on other people’s private matters.”

“Get a lock, then. What’s so saxxing difficult about that?”

“It shouldn’t be necessary.”

“Be quiet! I’m trying to sleep.” I let out an exaggerated sigh and roll my eyes—not that he can see, since I’m facing the wall.

“It doesn’t sound like it.”

“Shut it! Your unpleasant voice makes me nauseated.”

“You don’t speak to your master that way, sun elf.” His voice drops, cold and sharp. “Think very carefully before you open those sweet little lips again.”

“I’ve thought about it.”

“So? Let’s hear it. What conclusion did you reach?”

“My sweet little lips have decided that sharing a room with you is unbearably saxxing annoying. Unbearably annoying.”

“This won’t do.”

He steps onto the floor, crossing the room in steady, deliberate strides.

One step. Two steps. Three.

Then he rips the blanket off me.

“Maevux! What are you doing?”

“Stop using those curses.”

He grabs my arm and yanks me to my feet, rough, unrelenting.

Before I can react, my back hits the wall.

His body presses against mine, heat radiating between us, our skin touching. Too much. Too close.

I can’t breathe. I swallow hard.

No.

Too much. Too fast. Too close.

I need to get away. I need to move.

I gasp as his fingers wrap around my throat, not tight but firm. A warning. A correction.

Like I’m some unruly creature he’s taming.

His other hand clamps around my wrist, holding me still, his weight forcing me back.

A slow, steady dominance.

“Now, sun elf,” he murmurs, his voice deep and unshaken. “Let me teach you something.”

His voice is too smooth. Too sweet. Laced with control. His lips brush against my ear, his breath warm and deliberate. His eyes burn, sharp and searing. They pin me in place, pressing me against the wall without ever touching me.

He looks at me like I’m insignificant. Like I’m an insect, small, breakable. Something he could crush beneath his boot.

Too close, too close, too close.

His breath scorches my skin, molten and ragged.

Lips parted. Wet.

He radiates fury, like a demonic charge hums around him, sparking against my nerves.

“From now on, you’ll respect me,” he murmurs, voice low and dark.

His accent is rougher than ever, frayed at the edges, as if the death god Maevux is speaking through him.

I swallow hard. I don’t even know if I can speak. Not with his hand around my throat. Not with his body pinning me against the wall, stealing my breath.

“Should I?” The words scrape out, hoarse but defiant.

His grip tightens just enough to remind me who’s in control. “From now on, you’ll see me as your master.”

A short, sharp laugh slips from my lips. I meet his gaze, unflinching, my eyes flicking up to the deadly curve of his horns.

Sharp. Merciless.

If I had my own, I would’ve driven them into him, pierced him until he bled, until he let go.

But I know better.

Words won’t move him. Begging won’t free me.

I must endure. Wait it out.

Swallow the panic. Silence the suffocating dread.

“Fascinating,” I snap.

“You’re not my equal. Not someone to trade barbs with.”

His thumbs dig beneath my chin, moving slowly over my skin.

“And if I disagree?”

He burns against me, his chest pushed against my thin, sheer chest wrap, his hipbones pressed hard against my stomach. “I won’t tolerate your cursing. And you curse. Constantly.”

I tip my head, feigning indifference. “Then you’re in for a fiery fight.”

His grip tightens. “I won’t tolerate you going through my things, either.”

“Oh?” I smirk, arching a brow, lashes flickering. “What can I say? I’m naturally curious.”

Shove the discomfort down. Focus on his eyes.

It’s Netharu’el. No one else.

Not the warriors in the forest. Not the ones who… No. Not them.

Netharu’el won’t do what they did. His hands aren’t dangerous.

Not in the same way.

A growl rumbles from deep in his chest. “I won’t tolerate disobedience!”

“I gathered as much.”

“Oh? Then why?—”

“That’s not what I asked, is it?” I cut him off, voice steady, controlled. “What are you threatening me with? What will you do if I don’t follow your pathetic rules?”

This is fine. Breathe. Stay calm.

His skin against mine. The scent of leather and damp jungle.

This is fine. This is fine. This is ? —

“If you don’t follow my pathetic rules…”

“Yes?”

“You’ll feel regret.”

His lips move slowly, parting just enough to reveal rows of razor-sharp teeth.

Teeth that could tear through flesh without effort.

“You have no idea what I’m capable of.”

I tilt my head. “Regret?”

“That’s correct.”

“And remind me, what ancient era were you born in again?”

His growl deepens, lips peeling back to bare his fangs like he’s genuinely considering sinking them into my cheek.

“This is exactly what I mean.” His voice is low, dangerous. “You’re recklessly naive. That ends now.”

I press my lips into an exaggerated pout. “Oh, how fiery terrified I am.”

His nostrils flare.

“If you must know, I was born under Askymnon.”

I flinch, but there’s nowhere to go. I’m already pinned against the wall, Netharu’el’s nails biting into my throat.

“So you’re thousands of sun cycles old?”

“Naturally.” His voice is smooth, unshaken. “A little basic math would tell you that. Star elves don’t die of old age, which, if I recall correctly, I’ve already explained?—”

“I’m still not afraid of you.”

A pause.

“No?”

“Not in the slightest.”

His head tilts. “You should be.”

Like he expects the weight of his presence alone to break me.

“I don’t fear your empty threats.”

“Oh, my dear.” His lips curve, voice dipping into something quieter. “They’re anything but empty.”

“You know what? Take your warnings and throw them at someone who gives a dragon’s ass.” I hold his gaze, unbending. “You can’t back out of this anyway. You need to impress Kathraanis, don’t you?”

A flicker of surprise. He blinks.

Did he think I would break that easily?

How na?ve.

“Perhaps you’re right. I can’t walk away.”

“I am right.”

“But I’m the only one who can make you a shadow warrior.” He presses against me even harder, forcing a gasp from my lips. He’s so close his sharp chin grazes my jaw. “And I can make your training a living… Saxx.”

“You don’t have it in you.” I twist beneath his warm body, my jaw tightening. I’m growing accustomed to the scent of his breath, the weight pressing against my chest, the thick, stifling air.

“I can make you want nothing more, wish for nothing else than to leave this place for good. And to never, ever?—”

“And I can make you regret ever starting this conversation, or making this pathetic attempt to put me in my place.”

I lunge to slam my forehead into his, but he’s faster. His elbow drives into my chest, pinning me in place.

“You’re asking for it,” he murmurs, voice sharp as a blade.

“Yes, Netharu’el, maybe I am.”

“There won’t be any sweet lunar cycles ahead for you, sun elf.”

“Eiy vindaninn aae dir andah.” May the best elf win.

“What —”

“Dmant’a fot án eleniataae.” You spineless star elf.

His eyes flash. “As much as I despise your swearing, I despise you hissing in Elvish even more.”

“Shame. That’s not something I plan on changing.”

He exhales sharply. “Only Bel’Akra knows what you’re saying, what spells you’re whispering to the wilds.”

“Oh, really?” I slam my foot into his shin, twisting free, darting back toward the bed. “If you were anything other than a spineless eleniataae, you’d understand.”

His voice follows me, dark and edged with promise. “You’re going to have a miserable dawn.”

I smirk, sinking onto the mattress. “Glad you’re going to show up for once.”