Page 50

CHAPTER 50

LYKOR

L ykor lurched awake, heart thundering in his chest, his breath harsh in the quiet room. The darkness folded in too close, the confinement too tight.

No.

There was moonlight.

Silver streamed in through the open blinds, striping his twisted sheets with light. No shackles. No stone. Instead, a downy mattress sank beneath his weight.

Not the prisons.

Leaning back into the pillow, he exhaled slowly, forcing the constriction from his chest.

Turning inward to reorient himself, Lykor skimmed through Aesar’s last waking hours. Surprisingly, he’d retired soon after murmured conversations over dinner on a quiet terrace. Aesar’s humor had been buoyant as he’d shadowed Vesryn, poking around the palace while his twin sobered. And before that, the tour of the armory.

Lykor smirked as the memory sharpened. Boredom had made him generous—he’d let Aesar take over early. Then he’d promptly made himself a nuisance, planting Aesar’s feet until the druids returned his leathers.

Indulgent victories.

The visions receded as his awareness returned to the room. Something was jabbing his ribs—an open book, forgotten when Aesar had dozed off reading. Lykor sent it tumbling across the bed with a flick of his wrist. Judging by the moons, dawn was still several hours away.

Rolling over, he scowled. The mattress—these extravagant chambers—sickened him with their luxuriousness. He hadn’t asked for this. Hadn’t wanted it. If they lingered, this place would make them soft.

Come morning, he’d see if Kaedryn and her guild masters had anything worth hearing on their grand tour. If not, he’d steer his happy company far from here.

Well… They could resupply. Return if needed. Perhaps determine if it was safe enough to move everyone from the jungle. A sanctuary had its uses, after all.

A dull thud came from the next room.

Jassyn’s room.

Listening, Lykor stilled. Silence. Perhaps it’d just been a shift in his sleep.

The thumping came again, more insistent now. A muffled noise against the hush.

Lykor sat up and dug his fists into his eyes, the weight of sleep sloughing off. A prickling sensation swept over his skin, foreboding creeping into his gut. Had it been the sound that woke him, or had his instincts stirred first?

Either way, something was wrong.

Unless Kaedryn had been informed, Lykor doubted the druids knew that Jassyn was one of their precious children of earth and starlight. But if they had changed their minds… Intended to finish them off one by one while their defenses were down…

Now would be the time.

Lykor’s senses narrowed, his hearing honing to a point. One of those winged lizards could already be in there—claws wrapped around Jassyn’s throat, choking the life from him.

Sheets tangled around Lykor’s legs as he kicked them off. He couldn’t just sit here. Waiting. Listening. He nearly scoffed at himself—grasping for an excuse to check on Jassyn.

But his racing pulse had already decided for him.

Lykor muttered to himself, raking a hand through his hair. It was probably nothing. Still, he snatched the trousers Aesar had left folded neatly on the back of a chair and shoved his legs in. A tunic wasn’t worth the effort—he’d be back in his chambers in a minute.

His door creaked as he eased it open and slipped into the corridor. The palace was silent, starlight glittering across the marble floors. He padded to Jassyn’s room and lightly knocked.

No answer.

Whatever. Jassyn had probably just gotten up to get water, restless from the desert heat, and gone back to sleep. Rolling his shoulders, Lykor exhaled, feeling ridiculous for working himself up over nothing. He turned—

A muffled whimper.

Hair on his neck lifted as cold knifed down his spine. The noise was faint—barely more than a breath—but it struck like a fist to the ribs.

He knew that sound. Knew what it meant. He couldn’t leave Jassyn ensnared in another nightmare.

Lykor knocked harder this time, but realized it wasn’t going to be any use. Not while Jassyn was trapped in his head.

His fingers closed around the handle, rattling it. Locked. Of course it was fucking locked.

Another pained noise sent something feral clawing to the surface, shredding his restraint. Action surged ahead of thought. Lykor ripped the door free from its hinges.

The sudden force sent him staggering backward. He nearly lost his grip, but he caught the wooden slab before it crashed to the floor. Grinding his fangs, he shoved it beside the frame—as if that was exactly how he’d found it.

He strode forward—

And smacked straight into an invisible wall.

The impact jarred through his spine, snapping his head back and shoving the breath from his lungs. A shield.

Lykor’s fingers flexed against the barrier, the unseen weave of Essence humming beneath his touch—an inverted twist of illumination concealed it. A snarl rumbled in his throat as he slashed at it with shadows.

Only… The darkness brushed against the ward with no more effect than a feather caressing stone.

His hackles rose. That should’ve been enough magic. A single strike would have torn through any ordinary shield. But this one stubbornly clung, its power layered and knotted tight, woven thick as iron.

Excessive. Impressive.

Irritating.

For a moment, he considered letting it be. It was obvious that Jassyn didn’t want anyone entering his chambers. And if this was anyone else, Lykor would have let them drown in their nightmares. It wasn’t his problem.

But he couldn’t.

And Aesar could be as smug as he wanted when he needled him about it later.

Shadows twined up Lykor’s arms, storm-dark and roiling as he gouged the ward with rending again—harder. The air quivered and resisted, unyielding Essence thrumming beneath his fingertips.

Violet light flared as he shoved with all his strength. The barrier pulsed with a flicker of defiance, then began fraying. A final surge of shadows fractured the shield.

Lykor swept his gaze across the suite as he stalked in, adjusting to the darkness. The bedchamber would be to the left—the layout mirrored his own.

A muffled thud. Then another.

Warping the rest of the way to the threshold, Lykor braced himself.

Jassyn thrashed in the sheets. One hand gripped the leg of the nightstand—the source of the pounding against the wall—while the other clenched the blanket, white-knuckled and struggling against nothing.

Lykor knelt at the edge of the bed, chest unbearably tight. His hands hovered, suspended by hesitation as he swore under his breath.

How the fuck was he supposed to wake him when touching him might make everything worse?

Clearing his throat, Lykor tried a gentle word. “Jassyn,” he murmured.

Jassyn flinched, the scar in his brow contorting, sweat beading along his forehead. He released a strangled noise, but didn’t wake.

“It’s not real,” Lykor rasped, arms flexing as his fingers snapped into fists. But there was nothing for him to fight.

Fury ignited, white-hot—Jassyn shouldn’t be plagued like this. And it wasn’t just this moment. It was every night before it. Every memory that haunted him. Every mark that had been left behind. Decades of hurt.

Spasming, Jassyn clutched the nightstand tighter, straining against something only he could see.

Lykor’s magic pulsed before he realized it. Shadows rose like smoke, whispering through the air to land on Jassyn’s shaking hands. Barely there. No pressure, no pain—just an anchor of sensation. Something for his mind to grasp onto, a trail of magic to lead him back from the nightmare’s hold.

For the first time, Lykor hated that he’d relinquished all the talents he’d stolen. Had he remained an arch elf, he would have telepathy. He’d be able to reach into Jassyn’s mind, help yank him free. End this torment.

But he couldn’t.

All he could do was crouch on his heels and watch Jassyn tremble—watch the past sink its claws into him. If his shadows failed, he’d have to retrieve the prince—someone Jassyn trusted more—and have him help pull Jassyn out of it. But the thought of leaving, even for a moment, made his shoulders twitch.

Lykor’s breath hissed through his teeth as his shadows writhed around him, frantic for an outlet. Sitting still was unbearable. His mind whirled for a solution, a target, a direction—

Jassyn twitched again, his breath stuttering.

Lykor flared his magic, this time sending a more urgent jolt.

A sharp inhale. A shudder. Jassyn’s body jerked, then a ragged gasp tore free as his eyes flew open.

“You’re safe,” Lykor said quickly.

Jassyn’s gaze darted wildly around the room, chest rising and falling like he’d been running for his life.

Lykor rose swiftly, forcing himself to take a step back. Then another. Just a few paces. Enough to give Jassyn space, to ensure his presence didn’t startle him further.

A tremor rippled through the mattress as Jassyn shoved himself upright, spine locking against the headboard. Dragging a hand through his curls, he tucked his knees up to his chest, not meeting Lykor’s eyes.

Lykor clenched his jaw, his pulse refusing to settle. If anything, the storm inside him howled louder, thunder rolling through his ribs.

His fingers flexed at his sides, still itching to act. But there was nothing to fix. Nothing tangible, nothing he could tear apart with claws or shadows. Except…

The capital.

His bloodlust latched onto it like a starved beast plunging its fangs into a fresh kill. The elves did this, stripped Jassyn down for their own devices. And they were still breathing.

Unpunished. Unscarred. Alive.

Lykor stood there, waiting to make sure Jassyn recovered. But in his head, he was already calculating the jumps to the capital. Already portaling. Already setting fire to the idea of restraint, of allowing the past to haunt the present.

A dim part of him knew it would be reckless. That he should at least put on boots. A tunic. Grab his gauntlet. Something. But everything had blurred at the edges, the need for retribution pounding too loud in his skull.

He turned and stretched out his claw, ripping open a portal as far as he could reach in the Wastes. He could be quick. Do what was necessary. Wreak havoc on the capital.

He stepped forward—

“Don’t go.”

The words were quiet. So soft that Lykor thought he imagined them. A single whisper rising over the roaring of his thoughts.

Lykor’s fists clenched at his sides, shadows billowing around him. He couldn’t sit by. Not this time.

He’d done it before—sat idle when he’d first learned of what Jassyn had endured, let that knowledge sink in. Fester. Gnaw at him. But now, confronted with proof…

Lykor turned.

Jassyn’s breath was uneven, his lips barely parted, but his gaze was steady. Locked on him. Unwavering. Rooting him in place before he could disappear through the portal.

Their eyes held. A second. Two. An eternity.

Then Jassyn looked away.

But he was still shaking. Still cowering from memories Lykor couldn’t see.

He couldn’t do nothing. And vengeance was all he had to give.

“Please.”

The word came broken. Fractured.

And it gutted him.

Lykor inhaled sharply through his nose. Before he knew what he was doing, he was moving.

He pivoted, stalking back toward the bed. Lykor seized the front of Jassyn’s tunic, his claw curling into the fabric.

His wrath wasn’t for Jassyn. But it had nowhere else to go.

“Since you won’t give me their names,” Lykor hissed in his face, “I’m going to slaughter every elf in the capital. Starting with that bitch Farine.”

Jassyn flinched.

Something in Lykor snapped .

His next words came sharp and violent, a torrent before he could stop them. “Then I’ll hunt down every member of that stars-forsaken council who forced you into those contracts.” Lykor’s fangs extended, his lip curling. “And when I find them, I’ll pry the names of the others from their tongues, eviscerate them, hang them by their innards and let their screams echo across the realms.”

Eyes wide, Jassyn’s breath hitched.

“But those who touched you…” Lykor’s voice dropped lower, turning glacial in its malice. “I’ll cut their eyelids off, force them to watch as I flay the flesh from their bones. I’ll shatter each of their fingers one by one. I’ll make them understand what it’s like to be powerless. I’ll—”

“Lykor.” Jassyn’s fingers curled around his wrist, halting his tirade. “It won’t change anything,” he whispered, chin quivering as he met Lykor’s eyes. There wasn’t fear, just something Lykor couldn’t decipher.

Lykor didn’t look away. Neither did Jassyn, but he broke the silence first.

“You’d just be putting yourself in danger.”

“I can’t stand by while those memories haunt you,” Lykor snarled.

He knew he couldn’t erase the past. It wouldn’t bring back the pieces Jassyn had lost or make him hurt any less. It wouldn’t erase the horrors already wrought. But he could make those responsible suffer.

Jassyn’s hand slipped away from his wrist as his gaze veered to the floor. Heartbeats passed before he finally spoke, his voice hoarse. “Why do you care so much?”

The question burrowed deep, unearthing Lykor’s rage.

“Because someone should!” he roared, breath ragged as fury crackled through his words. “It never should have been allowed to happen in the first place!”

Lykor’s arm shook with the force of his grip, Jassyn’s shirt still balled in his fist. How could he ask that? Like he didn’t matter?

Jassyn’s fingers dug into the bedding, knuckles paling. Remaining silent, he swallowed, not looking up.

“I know what it’s like,” Lykor growled, his pulse a war drum hammering against his ribs. “To be treated like you don’t exist. Like you’re not a person. And if I walk away—if I do nothing —then I’m no better than the ones who stood by while…” He broke off, unable to finish.

Some part of Lykor feared that the second he let go of Jassyn, he’d warp through the portal. So the only thing he could do was release his power. Sever the temptation.

The rift behind him flickered and vanished.

Lykor pried his fingers open, forcing himself to unclench Jassyn’s nightshirt, but his claw remained close.

For a long moment, neither of them moved. The weight of everything pried Lykor’s ribs open, hollowing him out.

His knees slowly buckled and he lowered himself—not collapsing, but surrendering.

Once on the floor, he turned, shoulders meeting the bed frame as he slumped against it.

“You should get some rest,” Lykor mumbled, his voice wrecked. “There’s a few hours until dawn.”

“What about you?” Jassyn asked softly. “You don’t—”

“I’ll rouse you if…” Lykor inhaled sharply, hating that he was sitting here, feeling so useless. “I’ll rouse you if I need to.”

If Jassyn had to live with this every night…

Lykor ground his fangs into his gums. He’d been so stupid—sleeping as far away as possible in their snow domes when he should have been watching over him, waking him from this torment.

A silence hung between them, the tempest still raging in Lykor’s blood. He kept his back pressed against the bed, fingers clamped against his thighs. His body thrummed with unspent energy, demanding action.

Jassyn shifted back on the mattress, the bed creaking as he settled. His breathing had steadied, but not completely—Lykor could hear the uneven exhales, the way Jassyn was fighting a battle of his own, chasing calm.

Lykor didn’t look as the covers rustled, just stared straight ahead at the place where his portal had unraveled. Maybe revenge was more for himself, but he couldn’t understand why Jassyn didn’t want to destroy those who had a hand in stealing some of his light. Why he had to be the one who suffered for someone else’s crimes.

Another movement on the bed. Closer now.

“You…” Jassyn’s voice was barely a breath in the dark. “You don’t have to sit on the floor.”

“I’m staying.” It was where he needed to be.

But a thought crept in, slithering under Lykor’s skin. What if his presence was making Jassyn uncomfortable and he was too polite to voice it? He couldn’t blame him.

“Unless…” Lykor swallowed, his throat constricting. “Unless you’d rather I leave. I could listen through the wall.” He winced. Fucking pathetic. He just didn’t know what else to offer.

The mattress shifted against Lykor’s back. Tentative fingers brushed against his shoulder.

Lykor tensed, the unexpected contact locking the air in his lungs. The fleeting touch vanished almost as quickly as it came. Before he could stop himself, he turned, gently snagging Jassyn’s wrist—a question, not a demand.

Their eyes met, the amber in Jassyn’s catching starlight like molten gold. But it was the green flecks that captured Lykor’s attention—thin striations, nearly swallowed by his pupils.

Lykor’s grip slackened as uncertainty seeped in. He should release him. Shouldn’t have grabbed him at all. He didn’t know what he was doing—only that he couldn’t let go.

But Jassyn didn’t pull away.

Slowly, Lykor guided Jassyn’s hand back, pressing his palm against his shoulder. Grounding. Anchoring.

As he slowly turned back around, his fingers curled around Jassyn’s. It was selfish, but maybe Jassyn needed the comfort too.

Jassyn’s thumb moved—just barely. A timid brush over his skin.

For the first time since opening the portal, something in Lykor finally eased. His shoulders loosened, a fraction of tension unwinding. His pulse still raced, but differently now, no longer pounding with rage.

He didn’t say it aloud, but the promise was there, lingering in the quiet between them. If Jassyn wanted him to stay, he wasn’t leaving.