Page 62 of Unravelled

Tharion’s fist connected with Brahn’s face with a sickening thud.

The force of the blow sent Brahn stumbling back, blood blooming at the corner of his mouth.

He straightened slowly, a smear of crimson on his lips, and laughed, a hollow, fractured sound.

A dark echo in the room, winding through the Emberbane smoke like a serpent.

Brahn lunged, his body a blur of motion.

His shoulder crashed into Tharion’s chest, and they tumbled to the marble floor, a mess of fists and snarls.

The sharp crack of bone against bone filled the air, and the surrounding crowd hardly noticed, too lost in their own whispered truths and tangled limbs.

Torvyn moved to intervene, his hands grasping at Tharion’s arm, trying to pull him back. But his voice was lost, swallowed by the chaos, and soon he was dragged into the fray. Brahn’s elbow caught him in the ribs.

Mira felt the room closing in around her, the swell of voices rising as the court began to lose itself to Emberbane’s influence.

The four men around her were too far gone, their emotions no longer their own.

Her eyes snapped to the throne. Caelric sat at its center, his expression a mask of detachment, but then, his gaze flickered.

Sharp and searching, darting from face to face.

Not dazed. Not lost. A moment of clarity.

He was awake. If only for an instant, the fog had parted. The Crowned Betrothed saw everything.

Mira tore free of Ren’s grasp. His hand fell away, and she felt the shift in him immediately. His breath caught a broken, keening sound, and when she glanced back, his face was a twisted mask of pain and panic.

“Mira!” His voice was a rasp, dark and desperate.

He launched toward her with a speed she had not expected. His movements were not graceful but driven by a force beyond reason, beyond restraint. She bolted, her feet slipping slightly against the polished floor. Ren stumbled and fell to the ground.

She had to reach Caelric before Asric got what he needed.

The Crowned Betrothed eyes remained open, his lips moving in a slow, silent murmur as he leaned toward Asric.

The lord hovered by his side, his posture casual, but there was a razor’s edge to his smile, a serpent’s coil in the curve of his spine.

Asric’s hand rested lightly on Caelric’s shoulder, fingers digging in, a grip both possessive and guiding.

The crowd pressed in, their bodies a suffocating wall, but she pushed through, slipping between limbs and silk, ducking beneath outstretched hands.

Her heart pounded, a wild rhythm in her ears, drowning out the room’s murmur.

Caelric’s eyes flickered across the faces, his lips parting as if to speak, but the words died, his voice caught in the thorns of uncertainty.

Behind her, Mira felt the heat of Ren’s approach, a storm brewing at her back. His footsteps were swift, each one a thunderclap against the cold stone. She could hear the sharp rustle of fabric, the startled gasps. He was shoving his way through the throng without hesitation.

She didn’t dare look back. She couldn’t.

If she did, she knew she’d be lost, caught in his gravity, pulled into his orbit.

She forced herself forward, every step a struggle against the tide of need bearing down on her.

She reached the throne just as Ren lost sight of her in the crush of bodies.

His voice cut through the air. A sharp, frantic cry of her name.

Asric turned at the sound, his gaze finding Ren .

“Caelric, you need to get out,” she breathed, her voice thin, stretched between reality and the dreamlike haze of the room.

Caelric blinked slowly, his pupils blown wide, “Mira?”

Her vision blurred. Her body swayed, her feet numb against the marble, and before she could catch herself, she was falling.

???

"Why are you telling me this?" Mira asked.

Caelric exhaled slowly. "I had hoped you would understand Mira, That you would see what must be done. That you would submit."

Mira lifted her chin. "Submit?" she echoed, voice razor-sharp.

Caelric moved before she could react. Fire. It seared into her skull. A burning so deep, so all-consuming, that she barely had time to scream before everything vanished.

???

Mira blinked back, but before she could answer, Ren barreled into her, his momentum throwing her forward. His arms wrapped around her waist, ironclad and unyielding. The breath whooshed from her lungs as he dragged her back.

Ren growled toward Caelric, “Don’t touch her.”

Ren's lips brushed against her temple, his breath hot and uneven. His grip tightened, the fabric of her dress pulling taut beneath his fist. She could feel his desperation, the way it twisted through him, a coil of raw fear mixed with desire. Mira’s feet barely touched the ground as he hauled her against him, his arm a band across her waist, the other hand across her shoulders.

She twisted, struggling to find her footing, but the Emberbane’s influence and Ren’s overpowering strength turned every movement sluggish, dreamlike.

A shadow slipped into view, and Asric’s voice cut through the air, cool and sharp.

“Well, this is... unexpected.” His lips curled into a thin, amused smile. “How very interesting.” His eyes moved over them, a predator assessing prey, curiosity gleaming beneath his controlled exterior.

Mira’s swallowed, a small sound swallowed by the heavy air.

Asric took a step forward, but Ren reacted instantly.

His body shifted, angling away, pulling her deeper into his embrace.

His fingers dug into her waist, a warning and a promise.

A low growl rumbled through Ren’s chest, vibrating against her spine.

The sound was raw, unpolished, more beast than man.

“Don’t come near her.” The word slipped from him, a harsh rasp, his voice frayed at the edges.

Asric’s smile widened, a dark bloom of victory. “The Emberbane has many uses, but I must admit, its influence over desire is my favorite. It’s amazing, isn’t it? How it can strip away the facade of control, leaving nothing but truth.”

His gaze over to Mira, and his expression shifted, curiosity knitting with suspicion. “And yet, you… You seem far more lucid than I expected." Asric's eyes narrowed. "How is it, Mira, that you remain clear while everyone around you drowns?”

A tremor of fear coiled deep in her stomach, but she refused to let it show. “Is that what you think?” she said, her voice a careful, velvety drawl. “Perhaps I’m simply better at hiding what I truly want.” Asric’s brows lifted, amusement slipping over his suspicion.

“Perhaps,” Asric murmured, his voice a silken thread weaving through the dimly lit room.

Asric's hand moved with a practiced grace, slipping into the folds of his cloak.

When it emerged, he held a small leather pouch, worn and unassuming except for the faint, pulsing glow that seeped through its seams. With a flick of his wrist, he loosened the drawstring.

The bag opened, and the powder within shimmered, a deep, iridescent hue.

The air around it rippled, a distortion that made the room tilt at the edges.

Mira’s vision swam, the walls stretching and bending as if caught in a dream. He stepped closer, each movement a slow, deliberate promise. Ren took a step back, tension coiling through his frame. Asric held his ground.

“Tell me, Mira,” he said, his voice a low hum that resonated through her bones. “What is it you truly desire?”

A sly smile curved his lips as he brought the pouch to his lips and blew. The Emberbane dust billowed out, a cloud of ethereal smoke that engulfed her face in an instant. Cool and soft, it coated her skin, slipping into every breath. Her knees buckled.

Her lips parted, but the answer tangled in her throat.

Desire. The word pulsed through her, an insistent drumbeat that blurred the line between truth and illusion.

She felt weightless, untethered, as if the floor had vanished beneath her feet.

She gasped, the world spinning, and Ren’s hold became all she could think about.

His arms were iron bands around her waist, his chest a solid wall against her back. His breath was hot against her neck, each exhale a gust of fevered air. The world beyond him blurred, reduced to nothing but a backdrop to his presence.

Her own thoughts twisted, slippery and malleable. She couldn’t grasp them, couldn’t hold on to anything but the sensation of Ren’s hands, the press of his body, the weight of his need.

His voice whispered through the haze, a low hum against her ear. “Stay with me,” he murmured, the words looping, a gentle snare. “Mine. Always mine.” Mira groaned, the sound torn from her before she blinked into a memory.

???

Warmth. The press of strong hands on her thighs.

A sharp inhale, a quiet groan. Candlelight flickering, throwing gold across bare skin.

Shadows stretch long, shifting as bodies move.

Her hands pressing down, steadying herself on a firm chest, feeling muscles shift beneath her palms. A slow roll of her hips.

A sharp, broken sound from the man beneath her.

His fingers twitched where they rested against her skin, as if waiting, straining, holding back.

"Be patient." The words left her lips, soft, teasing, meant to provoke.

A pause. A sharp inhale. His eyes, bright green, wild, burning, snapped back to hers, dark and demanding. Then, a voice, low, wrecked, frayed at the edges.

"Patience is for men who don’t know what they want."

A haze of heat. He surged up, kissed her, hands to her hips, flipping her beneath him in one swift, fluid motion.

A gasp. A shudder. The weight of him above her.

His breath hot at her throat, his lips just a whisper away.

A sharp, helpless cry tore from her lips, swallowed by his mouth as he kissed her, as he pressed deeper, filling every part of her.