Page 43 of The Malice of Moons and Mages (The Broken Bonds of Magic #1)

Forty-Three

Audra

A udra paused at the hill crest before the trail dropped into a long valley, pulling her hood up against the sudden snow. She’d always thought this place was named for the mountainous peaks surrounding it, but that wasn’t it at all. Naked, white trunks soared into an overcast sky as far as she could see. Some curved like ribs, creating fractured archways. Others were hinged, dangling at odd angles. The rest jutted into the air like sharpened spears. A boneyard.

Stubborn juniper shrubs dotted between the bones, its pungent scent mixed with the musky decay that lingered beneath everything. She shivered, her feet refusing to move. There was an archaic, intangible presence here, a subtle magic that spider-danced across the nape of her neck.

Lua secured his hood against the muted daylight before launching down the slope. They’d only spoken a few words since leaving Stonetown; the tension between them was painful. Her questions were stuck in her throat. She’d been insulted at his rejection, confused as to how she could have possibly misinterpreted his signals. Then alcohol-fueled rage had pulled her from the bed to confront him. The shock of seeing Lua siphoning Arn had sobered her quickly.

The magic had reacted instinctively to her will. Her wits had been so slowed by mead and emotions that Lua’s words hadn’t registered at first. But she’d thought of little else since. Why he refused to touch horses or people, why he kept most of his skin covered even when the air was warm, it all made horrible sense.

The wave of shame that accompanied his confession made her understand for the first time the enormity of his isolation.

Lua could only have contact with his anchor. And she was his fifth. By her calculations, he’d not been able to touch more than one person for over a hundred years, and only two of those had been lovers. It didn’t sound terrible at first, yet the more she considered it, the more pitiable it was.

Audra wasn’t prone to physical expressions of emotion. She’d never hugged people she wasn’t close with. It wasn’t her nature. But she could hug if she wanted. Or hold someone’s hand. Or brush against them in a crowded market. She could flirt and fuck casually and tend to animals and the ill without gloves. Lua could do none of that. Still, he should have told her about his limitations before.

He peered up from beneath his hood at the bottom of the slope, waiting. Her boots slid as she descended, but he steadied her. His touch sparked inside her chest, and the sudden withdrawal left her aching when he turned away. The threads between them wrenched, as if their magic didn’t want to be separated.

The deeper snow was a day or two old, but the slight melt and re-freezing gave it a crust that snapped with each step. The snow stopped as they moved forward. There were no bird calls or other signs of life, which only stressed the wind’s whistle and the crunch beneath their feet—and a sense of being watched.

Audra’s gloved fingers brushed the stone in her pocket again. Xiang said it would cut Lua off, but that was before one of his mages had tried to kill her. It would be foolish to trust Xiang’s words. Zin would say not to trust anyone, yet she’d lied about Bolin. It made Audra wonder what else was kept from her.

Lua cut a path deep enough for her to easily follow. The only person Audra was inclined to trust was the one whose life depended on hers. Despite his shortcomings, she wanted to believe in him. But that could be the lies the magic spun between them.

Halfway through the valley, they perched atop a boulder in the narrow shade of a rib bone and shared the last of the jerky. They hadn’t been able to collect the food that Arn had prepared for them. Audra foraged winter berries before they entered the valley, but nothing grew in the spires. Maybe they’d be able to hunt on the other side.

“I’m sorry,” he said softly.

Audra startled. “What?”

His unblinking gaze was unnerving. “I’m sorry about everything,” he said. “I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings.”

“My feelings? What does that have to do with Arn?”

“Before Arn. In the room.”

“Oh.” Heat bloomed up her neck to her cheeks. She cleared her throat. “It’s fine.” It wasn’t. “I misunderstood. I guess it was just the bond that?—”

“No.”

“What?”

“It’s not the bond. If that were the case, then I would have been lovers with all my anchors. The connection doesn’t necessarily equate to attraction or intimacy,” Lua said. “I wanted to. I wanted you.”

“You walked out. I threw myself at you and you left.”

He shook his head. “You don’t know what could happen to me. To us. And you were drunk. To put you in that situation without talking first would have been shortsighted and selfish.”

She examined his vulnerability along their thread and closed her eyes. He took a deep breath in response.

“Tell me,” she said.

“It consumes me.”

“What does?”

He studied his hands, his words hesitant. “Magic feeds on desire. The more it has, the more it wants. It’s gluttonous. And it won’t... No, I won’t be able to let you go. You should know this.” He rubbed his face. “I won’t be able to resist if you do that again.”

Vulnerability shivered down their threads. He was the loneliest, most formidable man she’d ever met, and that mix of contrasts encouraged her to believe that her feelings might be deeper than desire, feelings that might be more powerful than the magic strung between them.

If she gave herself to him, would he fight for her? Or fight to control her? She already cared for him. Knowing someone’s feelings from the inside would break anyone down. Lua was all kinds of wrong and deep wounds and damn if she didn’t like the thought that this broken, dangerous man needed her. But she wondered how long it would last. Nothing in her life lasted, and the temptation that this might be different was both intriguing and terrifying.

“I know you’ve done horrible things,” she said. “Things we haven’t talked about yet, but I feel their weight on you.”

He held his breath. His guilt swept over her.

“But the feelings I get from you aren’t malicious. Maybe you’re not terrible. Maybe you’ve just been broken too many times to remember what being whole is like.” She paused until his eyes drifted to hers. “But I doubt you are irreparable. However, since we are stuck together, I need you to do better. To be better.”

“For you?”

“No, Lua. For you and for us. If there is to be an us.”

Hope gleamed in his eyes. “For us.”

An icy gust jerked his hood back. Loose hair waved around his face as he hissed. Audra winced. The wind shifted, swirling and ricocheting from the opposite direction. Securing the hood, he stood protectively in front of her as the musky odor increased.

A shadow moved behind a row of spires. When Audra turned, there was nothing, only tall, stark bone that gleamed in the light. She shivered as ancient words whispered in her ear, coaxing, mocking.

“Did you hear that?” she asked.

Lua clutched her hand as if it were priceless, refusing to alter his pace for whatever lurked around them. His mannerisms were born of a life that had convinced him he was stronger than any threat. Audra envied that confidence. She eyed the cut of his stubbled jaw as energy poured between their hands. She didn’t pull away.

“Zin said dragons once lived here,” Audra said. “That this was their chosen resting place. ”

“Arn called it a graveyard.” Lua turned sideways when another gust yanked his hood. Audra caught the fabric’s edges before it was pulled away. Flurries danced around them.

Lua’s eyes were winter storms. His lips parted as if a question lay just inside. Their threads pulsed in sync with their heartbeats.

“Audra,” he said. Beneath the hesitation and doubt, desire shadowed his features.

A sound between a purr and snarl whipped into their ears as a sharper wind kicked snow into their faces. With a shuddering breath, he wrapped an arm around her shoulders.

Movement pulled at the corner of her vision. That same feeling of being examined brought her sharply back to focus. A sudden squall blocked out the afternoon Starling shine, forcing them to squint as they moved forward. Audra recognized the pungent scent and shivered. Occasional whispers followed them until Lua and Audra scrambled up the hillside and left the spires behind.

Dark clouds blotted out the expansive sky as the wind attempted to topple them backward. Before them was an expanse of flat grasslands turned muted white and gray in the twilight, segmented by a wide river that split the land like a gaping wound. She’d never seen the blood river before.

Lua stood behind Audra. The thud of his heart pressed against her back. He pointed to an enormous structure looming on the horizon. It was too dark for her to see clearly.

“There,” he said with relief. “Only another day or two.”

“What’ll happen when we get there?”

“Then we can build the life we want.”

Audra stared uneasily at the horizon. He was lying to himself, but she allowed it. Having a life with someone was something she’d never considered. Would he help to rebuild her tribe after what his had done? She turned to him, yearning for a future unimagined, a future she wanted to believe in.

His expression was full of tentative want. “Audra?”

“Lua. Shut up.” She stood on her toes and wrapped her arms around his neck. Her lips were an inch from his. She waited.

A moment fraught with surrender and desire lingered between them. Lua’s hand found the base of her skull. His mouth crashed into hers. Audra pulled him closer as her lips parted, demanding.

Another gust pulled the fabric from Lua’s head, but they ignored the sting of wind. Everything in the world was forgotten, save for each other.

His heat pressed into her despite their layers of clothing. One arm wrapped possessively around her waist. As their threads knotted together, they dissolved into their intertwined magic in a shimmer of green and silver that insulated them from the wind and snow.

And Audra knew there was no going back.