Page 29

CHAPTER 29

LYKOR

L ykor surfaced slowly, consciousness dragging him from the abyss of sleep. The world returned in fragments, his senses stirring in jagged bursts.

He stiffened, instantly aware of an invasive warmth—heat from another body. It bled into his chest, seeping into his skin where he expected the bite of cold.

Aesar had returned them to the jungle.

To Kal.

In an instant, an ember of rage ignited, scorching away the last remnants of sleep. Here he was, waking up next to his captain.

Again.

Lykor squeezed his eyes tighter, as if denial alone could make this situation less maddening. He thought he and Aesar had moved past this. That Kal, the insufferable lackwit he was, would have learned some semblance of respect by now.

But no. Clearly the pair of them were incapable of restraint and would never relent, their audacity making a mockery of the boundaries he’d tried to set.

Kal murmured in his sleep and shifted against Lykor’s chest. Disgust surged. Lykor was about to shove him away, rip himself free from the suffocating closeness. But something stopped him.

The body pressed against his was wrong. Lykor knew—before the thought fully formed—that this wasn’t Kal.

He hated how he knew it. Hated the way the realization coiled through him, snaking past his defenses and prying them open.

The scent engulfing him wasn’t pine and leather, wasn’t rough and brazen. It was something else entirely—unsettlingly disarming. Like rain tangled with orange blossoms, a whisper of summer slipping through the cracks of a storm.

The subtlety of it sank into him, scrambling his thoughts. He couldn’t stop it. He couldn’t ignore it. And that infuriated him.

Muscles taut as he braced himself, Lykor peeled his eyes open to face the truth. A mass of dark curls filled his vision, so black that they gleamed with hints of midnight blue.

Lykor froze, his heart thrashing against its cage of bones even as his breath slowed.

Jassyn.

Every fiber of his being locked into place as though bound by steel. He dared not move, unwilling to wake the other male and twist this moment into something unbearably awkward.

And since this was Jassyn, that meant… They were still in the Wastes.

The memory of the storm lingered in splintered remnants—wind howling, ice slicing through the air. Floundering while Jassyn acted swiftly, barricading them in a sanctuary.

The soft crackle of melting snow whispered against the silence, pale light creeping in through the small opening in their shelter, its glow banishing the weight of the dark.

Dawn. They’d been here all night.

A brutal reckoning tore through Lykor, shredding his pride. The bitter taste of failure clung to his tongue.

He’d overreached, dragged them both into the jaws of danger. Because he was too scorching proud, too afraid of yielding. Of what weakness might mean. And now, after endangering them both, all he could do was lie here—indebted to Jassyn’s ingenuity, unworthy of his quiet care.

Lykor tried to ignore the heat flushing his skin and the pliant body molded against his chest. Surely it was the chill that had drawn them together, all but compelling their bodies to seek closeness in slumber. He was no stranger to such conditions. The mountain prisons had taught him the cruelty of cold, where he and the wraith had been forced to huddle like beasts, their only comfort the embrace of earth.

Ever so carefully, Lykor edged up on his elbow. Jassyn’s profile came into view—still, but not peaceful. Tension clung to the corners of his mouth and a wrinkle dented the space between his brows. Lykor willed his eyes away. But they became traitors, moths flying into flame.

They followed the graceful arch of Jassyn’s ear, half-hidden beneath inky curls. His gaze lingered too long, tracing the planes of Jassyn’s cheek.

With an unsteady breath, Lykor tore his eyes away, fixing them on the faint light filtering in through the snow. He refused to let himself sink into emotions that chipped away at his carefully constructed walls. Every instinct demanded retreat—to create distance, reclaim the barriers that defined him.

A faint pressure drew his attention to his claw, draped across Jassyn’s chest. Skin prickling, he tensed as Jassyn’s hand shifted—a featherlight touch that carried an unsettling weight.

His gauntlet was gone, leaving him exposed. Of course Aesar had meddled—how else would he be in this position?

Irritation flared as Lykor tunneled toward their Well, finding it restored. Grinding his fangs, he plunged his awareness inward, ready to berate his ever-conniving other half.

In their shared mindspace, Lykor stormed toward the library’s grand entrance. He hurled the double doors open, the crash thunderous as he barreled into the atrium.

Aesar lounged on a velvet couch by a sweeping window, Kyansari’s rising sun spilling light across his silvery hair. He stretched lazily, glancing up from a tome. Sleep well?

WHY DIDN’T YOU TAKE US BACK? Lykor demanded.

Aesar reclined further into the cushions, lacing his fingers behind his head. You can deal with the consequences for once instead of expecting me to clean up your mess.

Lykor’s shoulders twitched, his patience splintering under Aesar’s insolence. WHAT ABOUT THE MESS YOU’VE MADE?

Aesar shrugged, kicking an ankle over his knee, emerald eyes gleaming with smug amusement. He was shivering.

Lykor’s temper flared hotter. AND WHAT? YOU THOUGHT WARMING HIM UP WAS A brILLIANT IDEA?

He fell asleep, Aesar said matter-of-factly, as if that could quiet the storm raging through Lykor. And frankly, he shouldn’t have to suffer for your stupidity.

THEN YOU SHOULD’VE TAKEN HIM BACK TO THE JUNGLE! Lykor roared as he threw out an arm, his fury at Aesar’s intervention blazing like an inferno.

Aesar merely arched a brow.

Chest heaving, Lykor clenched his fists and gritted out, WHY ARE YOU DOING THIS?

Aesar leaned forward, the glint in his eyes cold and unyielding. Because I’ve had enough of you pushing everyone away. Especially those trying to help.

I DON’T—

Before he could finish, Aesar wrenched control of their body away, shoving Lykor aside in a violent shift. Lykor gasped as his senses dulled, a void threatening to swallow him. Aesar tightened their grip around Jassyn, pulling him closer to their chest—surely strong enough to rouse him. Just to make his pathetic point.

Lykor’s furious snarl reverberated inside their mindspace as he clawed for control. I FUCKING HATE YOU.

Aesar’s smirk deepened as he relinquished his hold. You can thank me later. Assuming you learn anything from this.

The last thing Lykor saw was Aesar wiggling his fingers at him before he was flung out of the library. The atrium doors crashed shut, echoing in the empty palace halls.

Silently seething, Lykor rapidly blinked, dragging his focus back to the shelter carved from packed snow. Trapped. Jassyn’s steady heartbeat thudded faintly against him, an unwelcome reminder of how tightly he was clutching the elf.

Jassyn stirred, murmuring softly in his sleep. Lykor’s breath hitched, uncertainty knotting in his chest. He needed to untangle himself before the other male woke up.

Slowly, he eased out of Jassyn’s grip, extracting himself inch by inch until the tension bled away and his arm was his own again.

Freed at last, Lykor rolled onto his back, his breath rasping too loud in the stillness. He stared at the iced ceiling, the silent weight of snow pressing down on him, muting the world beyond.

The shelter was no longer a refuge—it was a cage. But to leave, he’d practically have to crawl over Jassyn. That would undoubtedly wake him.

Groping across the ground, his claw scraped against the ice until he found his gauntlet. Lykor jammed the armor back over his talons, the cold metal biting into his skin. He clenched his fist out of habit, the steel screeching in the confined space.

Lykor’s pulse spiked as Jassyn twitched, his fingers raking into the snow as though fending off some unseen torment. A low, broken sound escaped him.

A whimper.

Lykor froze.

Well, Jassyn was probably just fucking cold, like he was. The sooner they got back to the jungle, the sooner—

Another choked cry broke the silence, the helplessness striking a note of discomfort that he tried to ignore. Jassyn’s limbs jerked violently, his body twisting in frantic thrashes.

Warring with himself, Lykor’s hand hovered on the cusp of reaching out. But he was spared from making a decision.

Jassyn bolted upright, gasping for air, his eyes wild and unseeing. He kicked frantically to free himself from his cloak, stumbling toward the small exit with the desperation of a wild animal bolting. Before Lykor fully registered it, Jassyn disappeared.

Cursing under his breath, Lykor surged to his feet and followed. The cold slapped his face as he stepped into the wind, but he ignored it. His focus narrowed on Jassyn’s retreat as he pursued him, slipping between the skeletal trees.

“Jassyn!” The name tore from Lykor’s throat, sounding more like a command than concern.

Jassyn didn’t respond. He staggered a few more paces through the woods before collapsing to his knees beside a tree, his hand braced against the frozen trunk.

The snowstorm had passed, leaving the stripped forest shrouded in an eerie, crystalline stillness. Sunlight speared through bare branches, the ice shimmering with fractured brilliance. Jassyn’s breaths billowed in ragged clouds, his body trembling as his vacant eyes unfocused somewhere far beyond.

Lykor approached cautiously, the crunch of his boots the only sound breaking the brittle quiet. He loomed behind Jassyn, his shadow stretching over the frostbitten ground. The instinct to protect flickered, but he didn’t know what to do with it now.

“Sorry for waking you,” Jassyn mumbled, dragging his fingers through his curls.

Lykor blinked, the apology catching him off guard. Misplaced. Undeserved. He cleared his throat, scraping his skull for something—anything—to say. As if he really had any fucking idea of how to offer comfort.

“Did you…want to talk about it?” The question tumbled out awkwardly, his voice strained as he forced it into unfamiliar territory.

That’s what people did when they were upset. Wasn’t it? Stars, how many times had he listened to Kal spew an endless stream of feelings he couldn’t bring himself to care about.

Jassyn huffed a bitter laugh, hollow as the lifeless forest. He dug his fists into his eyes, shutting out the world.

“No,” he said at last, staring into the distance. Severing the conversation before it could begin. “It’s nothing.”

It sure as fuck seemed like something. The retort nearly launched off of Lykor’s tongue, but he bit it back. He didn’t want to know. Didn’t want to care. This wasn’t his problem. Wasn’t his burden. He had enough shadows haunting him without fighting someone else’s.

When Jassyn lurched unsteadily to his feet, Lykor moved closer before his brain had any hope of halting the motion. His hand shot out, fingers hooking around Jassyn’s wrist.

The reaction was instant. Jassyn flinched, as though Lykor’s touch had flayed his skin.

Lykor’s grip broke, his hand numb as it dropped back to his side. Heat flared to his cheeks, the rejection knifing through his chest, tightening in his throat. He retreated a step to give Jassyn space.

But guilt was the blade that cleaved through him.

He was the cause of this. Of Jassyn’s distress. Of the scar carved into his face. The torment that chased him even now, catching him in the dark.

The thought twisted around Lykor’s ribs. He knew what it was like to wake choking on nightmares, dragged into the suffocating grip of memories he couldn’t escape. The king’s hands. The pain. How many nights had he clawed at his own flesh, certain he’d never break free?

And the thought that Jassyn might feel the same—that his own presence had provoked it—was unbearable.

Lykor’s gaze lingered on Jassyn’s profile, tracing the tension in his jaw, noticing the way he avoided looking at him—as though even eye contact would cut too deep.

The question anchored in his chest, pressing heavier with each beat of silence. He didn’t want to ask, but he had to know. Needed to. Craved the punishment of the truth. It was no less than he deserved.

Lykor’s voice was barely a whisper, the question carried by the wind. “Did I do this to you?”

Slowly, torturously slowly, Jassyn met his eyes.

White as the snow, the scar Lykor had crafted sliced stark across Jassyn’s face, a glaring testament of the brutal strike. Rage had driven him, but cowardice had delivered the punch.

“I’m sorry,” Lykor breathed, his gauntlet curling at his side. An insignificant offering of words. But he meant it now.

“If you’re forced to relive the pain I caused…” The thought was a cruel irony. He couldn’t take it back. Monsters like him were only capable of destruction. Of ruining beautiful things.

Jassyn blinked, almost startled. “You didn’t do this to me,” he said quietly. He traced the jagged seam that magic hadn’t erased. “This is nothing. A reminder if anything.” His hand fell away and his curls tumbled forward to shield whatever war was waging behind his eyes. “The scars that haunt me are ones you can’t see.”

The words were a retreat, echoed in the steps Jassyn took backward. As if distance could bury the conversation and keep it from returning.

Lykor held his breath, uncertain if he’d heard right. If it wasn’t his actions plaguing Jassyn, then what was?

“We should get back,” Jassyn said, not meeting his gaze. “Vesryn is probably worried.”

Lykor nodded, his throat too constricted to offer more than a mumbled explanation about Aesar regenerating during the night. Thankfully, Jassyn didn’t press him about why they hadn’t returned sooner. Lykor summoned his power, opening a portal back to the jungle.

But before they stepped through, an impulse seized him, a need he didn’t fully understand—the desire to reach out.

“I have dreams that torment me too.”

His voice was so quiet he that almost doubted Jassyn had heard. Witless words for someone who’d already seen the ruins of his mind, the raw wounds the king had left behind. Yet Jassyn’s spine stiffened before he glanced back over his shoulder.

The sun caught the amber flecks in his eyes, softening his expression with something that could have been understanding. Jassyn’s lips parted slightly as though he might speak, but he didn’t. Instead, he dipped his head in the faintest acknowledgment before stepping through the rift.

Lykor stared at the empty space left behind, his chest tight yet strangely lighter. The quiet hung heavy, but it wasn’t empty. It carried a frail connection, burdens neither had spoken aloud. Invisible scars that needed no explanation.

And for the first time, Lykor didn’t feel so alone.