34. Chapter Thirty-Four

Chapter Thirty-Four

Z ylah slept more deeply than she had since the whole sorry mess had started. She awoke still wrapped in Holt’s arms, his quiet breathing telling her that he was awake too. Her threads informed her Arioch was still outside, that he hadn’t been in the cave all night. They were alone, the thought of what they’d been doing before Holt had asked her to sleep beside him sending a spark of heat racing through her.

His fingers splayed over her stomach, the other hand resting over her heart, the organ skipping a beat beneath his touch. She glanced up over her shoulder, the movement pulling their bodies closer together, the hard length of him pressing into her backside and turning the heat into a deep ache. “Did you sleep?” she murmured.

“A little.” The hand over her heart drifted up to wrap around her throat, Holt’s thumb brushing against her pulse. If only she could stop time. Stretch this moment out between them with that look on his face and their bodies pressed together, the world fading to nothing beyond the mouth of the cave.

“Did you dream?” Zylah asked, thighs squeezing together at the way his thumb drew lazy circles over her skin, sparks dancing in its wake.

“Vividly,” he said roughly. “I think they were memories.”

“What did you dream of?” She twisted in his arms, hands on his chest, his heart racing beneath her touch.

In one swift motion, he pulled her on top of him, legs straddling either side of his. “Of you on top of me.” He rose until their mouths were barely a breath away from each other, and Zylah bit back a moan at the way the movement ground him against her core. “Underneath me. Of your thighs wrapped around my head. Of what you taste like. Here.” His hand lowered to her centre, the other on her hip, rocking her once against him and catching her gasp with his mouth. Desire hummed thick in the air between them, his hooded eyes taking her in as he pulled back to rock her again, every bit of her focus narrowing in on that point where their bodies touched.

“Holt,” Zylah whispered. A plea to stop. To keep going. For both. Every moment beside him had been an exercise in control, to not send every thought and feeling down their bond, but to know he still wanted her, even like this, had her rolling her hips in time with him.

She knew what he would see: cheeks flushed with arousal, nipples peaked beneath the fabric of her tunic, the scent of her desire that she had no hope of hiding from him heavy in the air. But if she hurt him, if she caused him more of that pain she’d felt the night before—he rocked her again, tongue lapping at the pulse point on her neck, a low sound of approval rumbling through him at the little gasp she made.

“I don’t want to think about what we were to each other,” he said between featherlight kisses against her neck as if he knew where her thoughts had taken her. “Only this moment with you now.” He moved up to her mouth, tongue sliding between her lips as he rocked her faster, her body aching with need before he pulled back again, eyes fixed on hers.

“I want to see you come undone just like you did in my dreams.” He rocked her again and Zylah was already close, so close to what he wanted. What they both wanted, sparks dancing along her skin everywhere he touched. “I don’t want it to just be a memory,” he told her hoarsely. “I want it to be real.”

So did she. More than anything. Wanted to feel his weight on top of her, his skin against hers, to feel him pulsing inside her. Her back arched, muscles tightening, and she couldn’t help the emotions that slipped from her, the love, couldn’t help the way it weaved between the two of them, around them, cocooning them both.

“It is real,” she whispered, fingers tangling in his hair as she returned his kiss just as wildly, just as claiming, just as possessive. So much emotion swelled in her chest, fighting back tears as he brought her closer and closer to the edge of what they both craved.

“Come for me, Zylah.” Holt’s commanding tone pushed her over the precipice, wave after wave hitting her as Zylah broke apart in his arms. The intensity of her release stole her breath, any sound she made swallowed up by his kisses as she turned boneless in his embrace.

He rocked her through the little tremors that followed, and she knew it must have been an effort for him not to move his hips against her, to not take what he needed for the release he must have craved so badly, too. Zylah reached for him but he caught her wrist, pulling it behind her back and grasping both wrists gently together with his hand.

He lowered his mouth to one of her breasts, lips warm even through the fabric of her tunic. “Let me be selfish,” he murmured. “Let me walk out of here covered in the scent of you, the sight of you like this in my arms.”

Zylah hummed. “I’m trying to think of a logical argument, but you’re making that a very difficult task,” she rasped as his teeth grazed over her nipple.

Holt’s chuckle rumbled through her chest, his lips paving their way up her throat to her mouth in a hot, claiming kiss.

“Arioch is on his way back,” she told him breathlessly, their kiss already heating her blood.

Holt pulled back gently, eyes roving over her face. “Then I get my wish,” he told her with a warm smile, easing her off his lap and depositing her in the blankets, the haze of what they’d done still clinging to every part of her. “I’ll get everything cleared away.” He was on his feet before she could protest, subtly readjusting himself in his trousers before Arioch’s footsteps crunched in the snow outside the cave.

Zylah ran a shaky hand over her hair, shrugged her cloak over her shoulders, and pulled the fabric closed. She made quick work of tending to her eyes with Deyna’s balm, fastening a fresh cloth before the Seraphim could greet them, hoping she didn’t look as pulled apart as she felt.

“It’s a beautiful morning,” Arioch said cheerfully as Zylah rose to greet him. He handed her a yellow alea blossom that she inhaled deeply, certain her cheeks were still flushed.

“It is,” Holt agreed as he sent the last of their blankets away, back to the Aquaris Court, Zylah presumed, his eyes roving over her face. He reached for her again, nimble fingers making quick work of fastening the stays on her cloak like he couldn’t help himself, and Zylah couldn’t hide her smile.

“I’ll take the first shift.” She wrapped her hand over his, held out the other for Arioch, and began their second day of travelling south through the mountains.

Their return to camp was without issue, Holt and Zylah continuing to move in turns. They weren’t willing to take any chances with being tracked, and the spell they’d once used was no longer an option since Holt had told her Aurelia would be following it too closely.

Zylah couldn’t help but wonder if Ranon and Aurelia didn’t already know their precise movements, but Nye had reassured her before about how heavily the camp was warded. They were escorted to the general’s tent upon their arrival, two soldiers positioned either side of the entrance offering a stern nod to each of them.

Nye stood beside Okwata at a table in the centre of her tent, both of them poring over schematics and what appeared to be a modified version of the explosives they’d used for the attack on the mine. Despite her exhaustion, Zylah forced herself to make introductions before sinking into a chair and rubbing at her temples.

“You’re a long way from home, friend,” Okwata said warmly to Arioch.

“You know my kind?” the Seraphim asked, taking in the sparse details of the tent, his attention lingering on the shadows that flickered at Nye’s feet.

“Your kind, but perhaps not from wherever you call home.” Because Okwata and Ahrek weren’t from their world, either, from what Zylah could ascertain, but she kept quiet, fingers pressed against her temples.

A knowing smile brightened Arioch’s face. “Ah, a fellow traveller.” And a potential friend, Zylah hoped, because Arioch could do with a few of those after so many years alone.

Holt’s fingers grazed her spine as he stood beside her, inspecting the contents of the table laid out before them. One hand reached for a prototype, the other traced lines on the schematics, and she wondered if she’d imagined his brief touch.

“You need to get these as close to the courtyard as possible.” It wasn’t a question. He’d been inside the palace more than any of them, his most recent stint not included. “These pillars are merely decorative. But these,” he added, dragging his finger in a zigzag through the centre of the courtyard, “Are load bearing.”

“That solves our quantity issue,” Okwata told him, noting something down on another piece of parchment.

Nye peppered Arioch with questions before excusing them both, insisting the Seraphim pay a visit to Deyna to get checked over. The constant evanescing had caught up with Zylah, her threads reaching no farther than the entrance of the tent, but they were safe here, she reminded herself, though she noted the way Holt hadn’t removed his sword since their arrival. At least one of them was prepared. Zylah didn’t think she could get up from her chair even if she wanted to.

“Your trip was a resounding success,” Okwata said, wheeling himself around to her side of the table and placing a vial before her. “Don’t tell Ahrek I told you so, but the severed hand almost had him running out of camp.” He winked at Zylah playfully, flicking his chin at the vial.

Zylah palmed the glass, inspecting the inky contents. “I suppose we should have sent it with some kind of warning.”

“But then I would have missed Ahrek’s glorious reaction. This is my first attempt.” Okwata’s sepia hand rested over hers. “But I must warn you: there’s a risk of causing more damage.”

Holt tensed beside her but said nothing, scribbling a few notes for Okwata and Nye on the corner of the schematics with one of their discarded pencils.

Zylah thumbed off the cork and sniffed at the contents, scrunching her nose at the pungent odour. “All I can see with my eyes right now is shadow and light.” She tugged the cloth from her eyes to her neck, her other sight overlaying the shadows and glow from the orblights dotted around the tent. With a tilt of her head, she downed the contents, expecting stinging, burning, anything. But nothing happened.

Okwata waved a hand over her eyes, and she tracked the movement, waiting. “Well. That’s a good start. Now we can move onto drops for our second attempt. You feel well? No pain?”

Zylah shook her head. “But I can feel…” She pressed a hand to her chest, and she could have sworn Holt was holding his breath beside her. “I can feel my magic suspending the venom. I think the same way it’s suspended in my eyes.”

“Good. Your body will expel it. That’s a good sign, Zylah, thank you for trusting me. Now, I must confess I have a favour to ask of you in return.”

He explained about the tests he’d been carrying out on a piece of vanquicite, the small but important detail about it having no effect on him because he wasn’t Fae left for both Zylah and Holt to discern. “The magic within vanquicite is imbued directly into the stone at source, from the very earth it was mined from. If we’re to find a way to nullify it, we’ll need someone to test it on first.” He paused, letting those statements sink in. But Zylah already knew she was the obvious choice, given her history with the material, her entire life spent with a piece of it fused to her spine. “I understand it’s a lot to ask, given both of your histories with the material and the effects it has on your kind.”

Both.

“I’ll do it,” Holt said.

Zylah shot him a glare that even with her eyes clouded over would have been unmistakable, but he ignored it. “We’ll both do it,” she told Okwata, pulling the cloth back over her eyes. “Two data points are going to be better than one, right?”

“Correct,” Okwata said, offering her a dip of his chin in thanks.

“You’re familiar with Seraphim?” she asked him before Holt could protest.

“I am. And… perhaps it is an overstep, but I have experience with mechanical wings. Not a substitute for the real thing, of course, but I imagine Arioch misses flight after so many years without them. I’d be glad to build him a pair if I can find the right materials.”

“I think he would love that.”

Zylah turned her attention to the tent opening as Ahrek entered, his expression softening as his gaze landed on Okwata.

“Good evening,” the male offered politely, one hand squeezing Okwata’s shoulder, the other resting on the back of the wheelchair. “If this can wait, I’m stealing you away for evening meal.”

Okwata laughed softly. “Didn’t we just eat?”

“That was breakfast, and you left your lunch, so I’m told.”

“Guilty. Zylah, Holt. A pleasure as always. I look forward to our first test.” He patted Ahrek’s hand at his shoulder, the male manoeuvring his chair without another word and both of them leaving the tent.

“What are they?” Holt asked quietly, leaning against the table beside her, arms folded over his chest.

Zylah sighed, another rub at her temples. “Travellers.” She glanced up at him, at the scowl pinching his brow together. “Do you remember? We met them together at Maelissa’s court.”

Holt tilted his head as if he were sifting through memories. “No,” he admitted. “I’ll do the testing.” He raised a hand when Zylah opened her mouth to protest. “I have to tell Nye that I’m still a liability, that I can’t be part of something I’ve been working on for decades because I’m a risk to the whole operation.”

There was no denying the bitterness in his tone.

“We’ll try again,” she told him. “Now, if you’d like.”

“You’re exhausted, Zylah. We both are.”

It seemed as though he meant more, but she couldn’t be certain. Like he didn’t want her in his memories again. But then she thought back to that morning, to his words and the way he’d made her come undone.

Holt shifted, one hand resting over hers as she rubbed at her temple again. He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear just as Kej barged into the tent, whooping at the sight of them.

“Fuck me. The tension is so thick in here I could cut it with a knife.” He threw an arm around each of them, somehow manoeuvring himself into a non-existent space between their bodies. “The good kind, right?” he asked, elbowing Holt. “Speaking of fucking, the three of us could work pretty well, don’t you think?”

“ Kejin ,” Holt warned, and the Fae smirked in response, producing a bottle of wine from a hidden pocket in his jacket.

“Well, our mission was successful, thank you for asking,” Kej said, taking a swig. “Arrenium is harmful to bloodsuckers. Burns their skin rather spectacularly.” A brief grimace, and he shook his head. “So your trip to Maelissa’s has a thumbs up from the boss.” By boss , Zylah presumed he meant his cousin. Kej glanced up and down between them. “Four arms and four legs. Your mission was also a success, I take it?”

“There’s a Seraphim in the camp, and a severed hand that I’m regretting not sending to your bed,” Holt told him dryly.

“Any excuse to get between my sheets.” Kej sighed, nudging Zylah and offering her the wine. She bit back her smile, recalling how Holt had told her back at the Aquaris Court about Kej’s advances over the years. “I’ve planned a little gathering this evening with some of the soldiers, you’re welcome to join us, unless you have other plans?”

Zylah glared at him. She knew what he was doing. Trying to find out if Holt had remembered her yet.

“Will Rin be there?” she asked.

Kej waved a hand. “My sister’s whereabouts are of no interest to me.” But Zylah knew that wasn’t the case. That he was just as likely covering for his twin, perhaps keeping something from Nye on his sister’s behalf. “If you need an extra pair of hands for your trip to Maelissa’s court, you know where to find me. I’ve heard rumours about her that make even me seem chaste.”

Zylah stilled at his words, but the Fae didn’t notice. He was already halfway out of the tent, calling back over his shoulder about seeing them later.

“What do you know about Mae?” Holt asked her quietly. Something seemed to settle over him, like a mask sliding into place. Mae. Not Maelissa.

Zylah swallowed down the ugly feelings threatening to rise. What had happened between Holt and Mae was a long time ago; the past was in the past. “What you told me. The truth.”

When he said nothing and the silence between them became so thick she needed air, Zylah made to leave, but he grabbed her wrist, thumb circling the delicate skin. “You’re leaving now?”

Time. She had to give him time. Forcing his healing for her own selfish reasons would do him no good. Zylah grasped at every scrap of worry, every drop of turmoil inside her, and let it harden into resolve. Going to Mae for answers got them one step closer to Aurelia and Ranon, to seeking the revenge she so deeply craved. “I have to.”

“We’ve had a long journey. You should rest first.”

Zylah shook her head. “I can’t. Not whilst they’re out there. Not whilst they have the ability to cause you so much pain.” Something that might have been hurt flickered across his face, his hand falling from her wrist. “I’ll rest for a few hours, but then I’ll leave for Mae’s,” she added.

“I can go alone.”

That ugly feeling surged and sliced through Zylah. “He always comes back to me eventually,” Mae had told her once. Panic threatened to rise, and Zylah held her breath for whatever he was going to say next.

“But I’d be grateful for your company,” Holt told her. “And for Kopi’s.”

She was certain he could feel her relief. But then her threads seemed to hum, a strange yet familiar presence in the camp.

“What is it?” Holt asked, and a quiet part of her wondered if he’d felt it too.

“I made a bargain once. When I lived in Kerthen for a short while. I felt the same presence here before the mine attack, and just again, but it’s already gone.”

“The wards are strong. We’re safe here.” His tone was reassuring, but she saw the walls go up around him, like he’d decided to put distance between them after the reminder of what Ranon and Aurelia could do. Had done to him for months. “Come on. Come and eat something. Watch Kej aimlessly make a fool of himself whilst you rest.”

He didn’t reach for her again, and a strange sense of foreboding clung to Zylah as she followed him into the night air.