Chapter 14

S tirring awake, Emara was no longer pressed against the warm chest of a warrior, but against a soft, feathery pillow. She blinked a few times and stretched out her hands, a yawn on her mouth.

Sitting up, still pulling the sheets around her naked curves, she searched for Torin. Her heart began thudding in her chest, but she quickly found him, and the wave of concern wore off. Torin sat over in a chair by his window, the glow of dawn crystallising his eyes. But it also revealed the dark circles underneath his eyes. He sat with his hair askew, in nothing but loose black pants. His hand was hovering over his mouth, and his face was filled with thoughts too deep for Emara to understand upon first glance.

"Did you not sleep?" she croaked, feeling the soft cotton on the palms of her hands as she pulled the sheets around her again.

Although he appeared to be casually lounging at first glance, she could see that his full body was ridged. Something about his whole demeanour alarmed her enough to feel a wave of fear jolt through her spine. Gone were the laughs, gone were the lust- filled looks and the light in his eyes. All that goodness that had been between them last night had clearly been washed away with the stars as dawn approached.

"No, I couldn't sleep, so I didn't want to wake you." He attempted a half smile, but his mask was well and truly off.

Something horrid swam in her gut. "You could have moved me if you weren't comfortable."

He finally looked at her properly, a sharp concern knotting his brow. "The reason for my unrest isn't having you against my chest. Thorin knows that's the only thing that kept me in this room all night."

She toyed with the idea of going to him, but she stayed put just a little longer. "Torin, tell me what is going on in your head."

He tilted his head towards the window, and a ray of soft light highlighted the fullness of his lips, the curve of his cheeks, and his strong, masculine chin. "It's okay; it's not for you to worry about." He faced her again and tried to wear one of the masks he wore often. For the first time ever, he failed. "It's early. You can still get a few hours of sleep in yet."

A string pulled through her heart, telling her gut that something was torturing him. Why had he stayed up all night? Was it because of her? Was it because of what they had done?

"Torin…" She moved, bringing the sheets with her as she stood close to the last poster that framed his bed. "You need to learn to open up to me. If we are going to be in this together, we must share with one another our torments, the things that eat at our souls during the night." She padded a little closer, and he watched every step she took until she had sat against the windowsill casting shadows onto his broad chest. "We need to be a team. I want to know what's going on in there."

She saw his chest rise and then fall before he spoke. He took a long, slow breath before he released it. "I am trying to work out how we can be together without disgracing you and your coven or without me being exiled from the clan." His tormented eyes met hers. "The options are minimal."

She swallowed down her heart that had somehow made its way into her throat.

"We will figure it out." She cuffed her arms around herself. "There is a continuation from the prime meeting taking place yesterday. I could go to the prime beforehand—"

"You're not going to anyone; you've done your part," he said sharply, his jaw flexing. "Now it's time for me to step up."

Step up?

"What do you mean?" she questioned.

When he didn't respond and only looked at the city once more, dread coiled in her stomach.

She rose from where she perched. "Torin—"

"You don't need to worry about it," he repeated, and his thick throat bobbed once.

"I don't need to worry about it?" she repeated, her voice a little higher than expected. "Of course I need to worry about it, especially if it kept you from sleeping all night. The thoughts running through your mind were unattended, and that's never good, especially when you are dangerously quick to react."

He sat forward in his chair, his muscles moving in a way that distracted Emara enough to watch him in silence as he moved with that effortless agility she always admired and strode towards a small cabinet by his wardrobe. He ran one hand through his hair, sweeping it back before he uncorked one of the glass bottles that sat on display, full of rust-coloured liquid. He poured it into the finest crystal glass he had, amounting to a finger or two, and began his stroll back across the room to sit in his dark blue chair again.

He relaxed, letting his bare shoulders reach the outer cuffs of the chair. "Emara, I told you last night that I am going to do what I need to for us to be together without anything standing in the way. I have run over multiple scenarios and thousands of options and I can only think of one way that I am going to be able to achieve that."

He placed the glass to his lips and swallowed the whole lot.

Why did fear engulf her soul?

"And that is?"

When he didn't speak again, his gaze turning icy as he watched a small vein of rum drag down his empty glass, Emara wondered what could be swallowing up his sanity.

An awful, terrible realisation clicked in her heart.

She gasped and one hand reached out to steady her against the sill. "Torin, no. Tell me you are not—"

"There is no other way." His tongue rolled over his lips, and his head hit against the back of the chair. His dark lashes swept down as he looked at the ground instead of her.

She took a step towards him. "Please, please, tell me you are not thinking of killing your father?"

When silence answered her question, Torin got up and reached for the bottle again, pouring himself another glass of rum before dawn. Horror filled her bones and she had to lock in her knees to keep herself standing.

"Torin, you can't be serious!"

He looked at her through icy darkness as he sat again and said, "I would do much worse to make sure that you are safe."

She went to him then, perching on the arm of his chair. Her hand reached him and coasted softly over his cheek. "We can go to the prime, you said yourself that I can be convincing."

"Emara—"

"We can speak to the chief commander, and we can surely encourage Murk to see our side."

"Emara—"

"We could show King Oberon what we mean to each other. If we speak from the heart and with passion, like I have done before, we can persuade the prime to overrule your father. The king has never—"

"Emara, stop," he said, now leaning forward to hold her. "You need to stop. I can see no other way."

She sank into him. "There must be another way."

"There is not. For us to have any sort of happiness or future, I must challenge the commander of the Blacksteel Hunting Clan for his commandership." He grabbed a hold of her face, his large hands engulfing her cheeks. "I have got to challenge him, and win, so that I can become commander of the clan. Only then will he not be in a position to have such interference in my life, and only then I will be free of him. I could make decisions that better my clan, strengthen them. And I could make decisions that keep you from danger or a miserable existence. With him still in any role of power, that will never happen." He looked at her, his face as grave as stone. "Today, I will express my intentions with you at the summit, and if my father does not agree to the terms to change the treaty, then I will formally challenge him to a duel of commandership. There is no other way, angel."

Emara's hands shook and her stomach convulsed, but she swallowed back the tears of her panic for Torin. She knew what that meant. She had been around hunters long enough to pick up their traditions and customs, and one custom meant that challenging the commander of a clan was a battle that would leave only one of them standing.

Viktir or Torin.

Thou shalt not challenge thy commander of any clan, unless warranted for overthrow. If challenged, the two clan members must fight to the death until the victor is announced, thus succeeding the new or current commander.

A fight to the death.

"No, Torin, please. I can buy us time."

"It is too late." He held onto her hand, and his sapphire eyes bore through her soul. "You cannot change my mind. It's done. I promised my father a war a long time ago. It was always inevitable."

Emara let out a cry of fear and frustration. This couldn't happen. Viktir would not change his mind in front of so many people, making him look remotely soft or yielding. And it was too late for Emara to change Torin's mind—she could see that in his eyes.

It was done.

Torin had decided. If Viktir did not agree to change the terms of the Blacksteel alliance with the House of Air, Torin would challenge his right to the commandership.

He would not back down. He would not surrender and give in to his commander's orders. He would fight to the death for his cause.

Today, Torin Blacksteel would either stand victorious or he would fall.