Page 22 of What Whispers in the Dark (Promises of the Marked)

She snapped her fingers in front of his face. “Hello?” Elongating the vowel as it singsonged from her tongue.

He hiccupped, finding his voice. “I’m … I’m Rowlen.”

“Since that moment, we have been best friends.Bonded by the treasonous secrets we shared,” Alora said on the hill.

“He kept me alive. An orphan with no home, no family. No food most weeks and little clean water. Certainly no new clothing except for the two pairs I washed in the building’s rain runoff and puddles of Outcastle Alley.

“Rowlen made certain I never went hungry. Any injury was healed. Any sickness. He hid me in different rooms of his parents’ manor for a long while. His mother often questioned how he ate so much food and stayed so scrawny.

“He played pranks on their servants, so I would go unnoticed sneaking around the halls more times than I can count. Staying up till all hours of the night, dreaming on his rooftop. The wild notions of faelings and futures.” She remained silent for longer than a few breaths, eyes twinkling, then laughed.

“Stars, the mischief Rowlen and I got into.”

And the light in her eyes. The pure joy and mirth and happiness.

It made his heart skip. Knowing she was happy—remembering someone who cared for her deeply.

A time she was safe from the cruel hands that bound her.

From the veil of darkness the realm and the male who raised him cast upon those with magic.

That smile did not fade even as Garrik taunted, “Adolescents,” and rolled his eyes. A flawless reflection of hers, knowing precisely what the gesture would cause.

As anticipated, she slapped his hip with the back of her hand. “Oh, come on. I’m sure you, Thalon, and Aiden had ridiculous adventures.”

Too many to count.

One memory surfaced. Garrik let out a sharp laugh, surprising himself at the honest sound that felt … strange. He did not care to question the feeling. “Indeed. Aiden once tricked Thalon into thinking he portaled a demon into his bedchamber.”

“How did you manage that?” She chuckled in disbelief, stifling a yawn and reminding him of the hour. Of how long they had laid there when it only felt like seconds.

To be honest, he never truly did believe it would have worked, but …

Garrik shrugged. “I illusioned his room to appear lightless. Every candle burned, but he could not see them. And Aiden had stuffed a black cloak with straw, hid it beside the corner where Thalon’s portal would most likely appear.

Once Aiden goaded him enough to open the portal and see what we could find , I withdrew my powers.

The entire room ignited with light. Every candle burst to roaring flames—including the fireplace—as I controlled a shield to push the cloak in front of the portal, then used mind-magic to mimic the ghastly roar of some made-up creature.

“The look on Thalon’s face … I thought he might return to Tarrent-Garren and repent to the council in that instant before Aiden choked in a laughing fit. I also believed Thalon might throw us out the window, so I sealed those with a shield too.”

Stars, had it been that long since he wanted to laugh that hard? If Aiden had not already been choking, Thalon would have done it to him.

Alora covered her mouth; her shoulders bounced.

Voices from a bonfire far below attempted to thieve his attention, but Garrik found himself continuing, “Another time, Aiden convinced us to steal from Brennus’s tent.

A dormant dragon egg—or so we foolishly thought.

With so many vapid treasures, how could the daft-wit possibly notice one bloody thing would go missing ,” repeating Aiden’s words—in his accent too.

“Let me guess…” Alora mused.

“It was noticed missing,” they spoke simultaneously.

In an instant, her face turned toward him, so close her lips nearly brushed his. Close— too close .

But she did not move. Neither did he.

Was she even breathing? Was he ? Caught in a trance that captivated her eyes, no doubt mirroring what was found in his.

Staring at each other as if nothing else existed. The last words spoken had melted away, and nothing but the sound of her near-silent, sharp breath replaced them.

His impeccable attention shifted to the way her lips parted.

Impossible to stop himself from picturing the last moment her lips were this close.

Where now, a slim shift forward would have his binding to hers so perfectly like when she last touched him at the inn—drunk on desire and need.

The warmth of her palm on his cheek, another laced in his hair.

Her body pressed against his, heartbeat roaring.

Her kiss …

‘You have no idea how badly I want to take you to that bed and fuck you till dawn.’

And from the way Alora swallowed. The way her eyes fell heavy and full of salacious affection, the way her body stiffened, Garrik speculated she remembered the same.

He breathed out; her knees tightened. And of course, he noticed—every movement, every twitch of her body—so he cocked his head subtly.

An invitation? A plea?

Another voice surfaced. Alora’s. Toying, taunting, ‘You should visit her tonight, would certainly make for a pleasurable end to your birthday.’

She had spoken of Calla. But he did not desire Calla—did not want to think of her in this moment. Had never desired anyone beyond a mild appreciation of beauty. There was no one else. No one but?—

Alora cleared her throat and quickly found the sky, her cheeks scarletting as she whispered, “I could watch the stars forever and never tire of them.” A distraction, this conversation.

For his sake or hers, he was not certain.

But he could have thanked her for it—or damned her—because stars burn him , he was focusing on her mouth again.

Wishing those lips would have stolen his instead of murmuring, “I wonder what the Stars Eternal look like.”

Like you. “ Entirely perfect in every way,” he answered. A little too raw, open.

Alora said nothing. Her tired eyes lowered slightly, and he inspected the wall of shadows inside his mind to be certain he did not reveal his thoughts to her.

Being around Alora … how his precious control was always a thread-thin moment from unraveling whenever she so much as blinked in his direction.

He felt the eyes of every Celestial burning into him the moment he had said the words. Felt their outrage and vengeful excitement, thrilling to unleash wrath on someone so unworthy to imagine their glory. To dare a comparison of a mortal to their splendor.

Go ahead and damn him for it. Firekeeper had a place prepared for him.

“How,” was all she breathed, then shuffled onto her side, and yawned again.

With diminishing vigor, she asked, “How do you know?” Alora went still when her head lowered to the blanket.

She winced, rocking her shoulders and lengthening her neck.

Winced again when the movement did nothing to bring comfort, she sighed with soft frustration.

And he may have felt or sensed something. Some vital inclination demanding action.

He could not bear her discomfort. To the point he ignored his warnings and entertained offering his arm.

But would she accept it?

Accept this piece of him? In such an … intimate position. Would she allow him to?

A cruel part of him taunted echoes of selfishness.

Not only did he yearn for her comfort, but he wished to know what it would feel like.

He could damn himself tomorrow because to have her in his arms …

again. To bring her that solace she so willingly provided for him.

But not like last night. Not leaning against an oak and injured while she spoke sense into him.

Not like holding her body while they soared with Smokeshadow wings in moonlight.

This was different. Lying on his back … for the first time in decades … willingly … allowing someone to touch him while in this vulnerable state.

His arm—it was only his arm . Not his chest or abdomen reformed of scars or …

For Alora, he would offer it—he could.

So, slightly panic-stricken, Garrik reclined onto his back and outstretched his arm.

His heart refused beating when Alora’s heavy eyes surveyed the dark sleeve bunching at his elbow and covering the bulging muscle above.

She scanned the underarm curve between his arm and shoulder.

From his chest to the brutal scar on his neck. Then, the uncertainty in his eyes.

And like a lamb with a lion, Alora’s face warmed as she carefully laid it on his bicep, accepting his silent gesture. She sank her cheek into the fabric and closed her eyes with an indulgent hum.

He shuttered his own as profound relief rippled through him. Realizing … this contact while on his back was not terminal. Not wholly terrifying. He could endure this so long as it was Alora’s touch.

Not seconds later, his fingers laced through her hair, massaging delicately as his head fell against the blanket and he searched the stars. “I … I am unsure,” what the Stars Eternal looked like, he admitted. Though perhaps not truly as uncertain as he voiced aloud.

Because once, long ago, in the depths of Galdheir’s dungeons, when he clung to death and that … dream returned … Or maybe it was not a dream. Because he could feel it. Feel as he—utterly awestruck—brushed his fingertips over the inconceivable golden door and peeked between those gleaming bars.

Mount Caelum—he had been there outside the gates. When he had died. Where death carried him … only to be ripped away when he wanted to stay?—

Garrik shook his head from the memory.

He would never be there again. Would never return to heaven.

But then again, why need heaven when the closest thing to it was falling asleep on his arm? It was only a matter of time before one of them fell prey to sleep. Alora’s advantage was that she did not fear the nightmares.