Page 11

ALARIC

W e finally arrive back in the camp and the relief I feel at being near Dahlia once more is…disconcerting. It felt as if a fist had been clenching my heart from the moment we left, and its grip slowly eased with each step closer to the camp. My arm healed quickly enough, but the fact that an arrow had sailed through my armor as if it were nothing but cotton is extremely concerning. The arrowhead was something like obsidian, but neither I nor Elias had ever seen anything like it. We’re waiting to hear what the weapons masters and alchemists deduce from their study.

Though important, I’ll admit that all thoughts of Revenants and battle and what these new weapons might mean for us fly from my mind the moment I lay eyes on her. That fist around my heart finally releases me completely, the relief of it nearly painful. She’s walking through the field behind the cabin, grabbing up wildflowers as she moves, smiling softly when she brings them to her nose. She’s so beautiful it hurts to look at her, like I’m staring at the sun. Her hair flows down her back in fiery waves, the sunlight making some strands stand out golden against the red.

She looks better than when we’d left, with color back in her cheeks and the shadows beneath her eyes gone. And the way her pants and tunic hug her curves… Fuck . A wave of desire crashes into me so forcefully I nearly stagger. The urge to go to her, to wrap my arms around her and pull her close, to fit her body to mine and kiss her lips until she’s gasping, is so forceful I actually take a few steps forward before locking my muscles in place. I’d told myself the whole ride back that I’d send for one of my companions to slack this ridiculous need riding me like a thief in the night, but at the thought of it now, my body and mind rebel. Wrong , they scream, and I ball my hands into fists. It’s one thing to accept that she might truly be my mate. It’s another thing entirely to accept that I can never fuck another because of it. Not happening . I’m a Montclare prince and the High General. I will fuck whomever I damned well pleased. This mate business can fuck off.

As if sensing me too, she jerks her head up and even across the great distance, our gazes lock. I can see the flecks of gold glinting in the sun and a feeling of belonging crashes through me. All thoughts of taking another into my bed disappear at the sight of her eyes darkening, her lips parting softly. I swear I can hear her whisper my name and my entire body shudders. She brushes the hair from her face and the tension in her shoulders seems to ease. Does she feel the same relief I do at being near each other again? Or has the bond faded for her after so many days? How long have we even been gone? Two weeks? Three? I honestly lost track.

Before I can do something incredibly ill-advised like run to her and take her right in the field, I nod to her in greeting and lead Xanthus to the stable. I give Xerxes a pat as I pass. The horse huffs angrily at me in return, though he leans his nose heavily into my hand. He’s proud and dramatic, but I know he hates being left behind and misses Xanthus and me when we’re gone. I try to alternate which one of them rides with me from the camp, each of them equally skilled and deserving of time on the battlefield, but Xerxes is far more vocal in his jealousy when it’s his brother’s turn.

I head into the cabin and stalk directly to my wing. I bathe and pass off my armor to be inspected and repaired. I clean and hone Night’s Fury. I transcribe my notes from the battle and compose missives to some of the other generals as well as one to Bastian assuring him that all is well on the Consort front. I do everything I can to keep my mind off of Dahlia, but nothing proves successful. So, I finally give in and find myself heading towards her wing. I tell myself that I’m going to get blood, as is my right, but really, that’s only part of the reason. Really, I want to see her, need to see her.

But she’s nowhere to be found. Every room in her wing is empty. Where the fuck is she?

I storm back through the house in an irritated huff to find Elias leaning casually against the stone mantle of the rounded fireplace in the entrance room.

“Third Quadrant,” he says breezily, cleaning his nails with the tip of a dagger.

“What?” I bark.

“I assume you were looking for your Consort. I’m told she is in Third Quadrant, has been spending quite a bit of time there while we’ve been away, actually. Visiting a friend,” he adds when I simply stare.

A friend? One of my men? Something I can’t name bubbles up in my chest, hot and angry, and I quickly try to tamp it down. Ridiculous . She can do whatever she pleases, wherever she pleases, with whomever she pleases. I clench my jaw.

“Why are you here?” I snap at my oldest friend. Elias scoffs, unflappable as always.

“You missed me already, I could sense it.” I snort, the tension in my chest easing ever so slightly.

“I just spent three weeks sleeping and fighting beside you.”

“It was closer to four, actually,” he corrects. Fuck, really? “And yet, the hours we’ve spent apart this afternoon were tearing at your heart.”

I roll my eyes and continue back to my own wing, Elias falling into step beside me. We settle into the oversized chairs in front of the fireplace in my study, glasses of blood-laced whisky in our hands.

“Highspear is petitioning for promotion again,” Elias says and I groan. All of my soldiers are skilled—they wouldn’t be allowed to remain in my army otherwise, of course—but some are far superior to others. Some are meant to lead, others to follow, it’s just the way of things. Highspear is a good enough soldier, but he is not meant to lead. He doesn’t have the heart or the head for it, and wants it for all the wrong reasons. I’ve denied his promotion requests twice before. I rub the back of my neck.

“He works hard but…he isn’t sergeant material.” I don’t mean to sound cruel, but it’s the truth, and truth is what keeps my men alive, what keeps the entire continent safe. Elias holds up his hands.

“I know, I know. I just wanted to give you a warning that it’s coming.” He swirls his drink, staring at it thoughtfully before cutting his eyes to me. “Speaking of coming …”

I roll my eyes, knowing all too well where this is going. “No.”

“Oh come on! No one will know. We’ll sneak in wearing disguises. You can have a mustache, or perhaps an eye patch. It will be very cunning and dramatic. And fun . Did I mention fun?” He purses his lips, thoughtfully. “Do I need to explain what fun is to you?”

I punch him in the arm, but Elias merely chuckles. He’s constantly trying to get me to go to the blood house in the village a few hours to the west. He knows that no one would think much of it. I’m the High General stuck in a war camp in the Northlands—no one would blame me for lowering myself to standards unbefitting a Montclare prince. But I’ve never agreed. I’ve had women, of course, but never in the blood house and never humans. Elias tends to forget the reason princes don’t take humans, and though I remind him constantly how disastrous it would be if I lost control, he always waves it away as if that detail doesn’t much matter.

Elias isn’t one to give up though. He gives me a knowing look, his stormy-blue eyes sparkling.

“You can’t tell me being around that Consort of yours hasn’t…stoked the fire, so to speak.” He wings his light brows upward suggestively and I’m torn between being exasperated and amused. I run a hand through my hair, letting my mind drift to thoughts of Dahlia, to the sharp stab of desire I’d felt when I’d seen her in the field…

“No blood houses,” I say, firmly shutting the thoughts away.

“Have you ever heard the phrase ‘stick in the mud’?”

“Have you ever heard the phrase ‘pain in my ass’?” Elias laughs easily, holding a hand over his heart.

“I live to be the pain in your ass, your highness.”

I narrow my eyes at him. I hate being called highness , and Elias damn well knows it. He does it just to goad me.

“She is exceedingly attractive, you have to admit that,” Elias says more seriously, running his finger along the rim of his glass.

“I’m not blind,” I grate, sounding peevish.

“Well, if you aren’t going to fuck her, then am I allowed?—”

A growl rumbles in my chest and I snap my fangs in Elias’ direction before I even realize what I’m doing. I blink in surprise, confused at my reaction. My over reaction. What in the fuck is happening to me? Elias merely smirks, one brow winging upward in response.

“How interesting …” he croons as he takes another sip from his glass. He can’t suspect the truth…can he?

“Fuck off,” I mutter half-heartedly, embarrassed and confused by what had just happened. But the thought of Elias fucking Dahlia had sent utter rage boiling through my veins, instincts rearing up to tear him limb from limb for taking what was mine.

After a few moments, Elias adds nonchalantly, “This friend in Third Quadrant may be fucking her, though. Just a thought.”