18. Eldrion

EIGHTEEN

Eldrion

F OUR HUNDRED YEARS AGO

"Raylon..." I jog to catch up with my brother. My wings flutter, lifting me a few inches from the ground and allowing me to tread pockets of air as if they are stepping stones.

He looks back over his shoulder and grins at me. "Keep up, little brother."

With a leap, he's taking off. Soaring into the air, his wings almost blocking out the sun, shining, light fluttering around their edges.

For a moment, I'm transfixed. He is two hundred years older than me and has, for my entire existence, been the thing I both admire and abhor.

I want to be him, but I hate what he is.

Because he is everything I'm not. He has powers I can only dream of and – arrogant bastard that he is – he delights in reminding me about it at every opportunity.

When we were younger, it didn't bother me as much; that's what older brothers did. They mocked, and teased, and helped you grow a thick skin. But now, with two hundred years of sibling camaraderie to look back on, I have grown to hate him a little.

A hate laced with love that is gradually, day by day, turning to spite.

If my mother knew the things I dreamed of in the dark, she would be appalled. She would disown me. For Raylon has been her golden boy since the day he was born. Almost literally. His hair is such a deep, luxurious shade of blond that when it catches the sunlight, it looks like a veil of gold.

And now he has her too.

Saera.

I loved her the moment I set eyes on her, and I knew I would never be able to have her.

She was brought to the castle by her parents and offered to my father as a peace-making gift – a way to forge an alliance between the Sunborne and the Desertborne fae.

My father said yes immediately without consulting Raylon or my mother.

Saera was given no choice, either.

I was there, in the shadows, watching as she stood with her head down, her eyes cast towards her pointed silver slippers, her hands clasped in front of her. She was pure innocence. A picture of beauty, and softness. Black hair, like the feathers of a raven, cascading down her back. Rose-red lips. And wings tipped with green; an earth fae.

She did not see me watching her, and I never revealed to her the way I felt that very first day she entered the castle. But Raylon knew.

When I stumbled back to our living quarters drunk that night and asked what he thought of his bride-to-be, he saw it in my face.

A look of recognition passed between us, and I saw his lip curl into a vicious smile.

He knew I loved her, and he knew he would do everything he could to flaunt her in front of me from that moment on.

Over the months that passed, I watched her from afar. Or, at least, I tried to. But it seemed as if, at every opportunity, she sought me out. She found me in the library, in the study, in the garden.

And then I started to seek her too.

She told me Raylon was not the sort of man she thought she would marry. "He's funny," she said, a note of hesitation in her voice. "But I don't think he's really interested in getting to know me." She paused and knitted her hands together in her lap.

In front of us, as the sun began to set, the ocean glimmered like a blanket of flames were dancing on its surface. She looked down at her feet dangling above the water that trickled out from the castle moat towards the sea.

"He is arrogant," she said, almost hesitantly, as if I might berate her for speaking badly of him.

I scoffed and rolled my eyes. "That's putting it kindly," I said. "But he has a right to be. He is powerful. More powerful than any other fae in the kingdom."

"Even more powerful than your parents?" she asked, her wings fluttering uncomfortably.

"Oh, yes." I nodded and leaned back onto my wings, using them like a cushion to allow me to relax backwards without falling. "Which is why they will give him anything he wants." I glanced at her, hesitating before adding, "What he wants is you."

A sigh swelled in her chest. "I know," she whispered. "But I want another."

And then our eyes met. The tip of her wing met mine. A shock like electricity ran through my entire body. Down my spine, through my limbs, into my fingers and toes.

My breath quivered in my chest.

I leaned towards her, already imagining the softness of her lips against mine.

And then I stopped.

I didn't say a word.

I left her there, eyes closed, waiting for me to kiss her, and I flew away. Back to the castle where I drank myself into oblivion, and continued to drink myself into oblivion every day until their wedding. And after.

Now, watching him fly away from me, I wish with every breath in my body that I had not turned away from her.

Not because I think we were destined to be together or that I would have loved her for the rest of eternity; now I know her better, I know she is too meek for my tastes. But because I wanted her and he did not.

Because he only took her to stop me having her.

Because if I hadn't let him see that glimmer of jealousy, he'd have discarded her and asked for someone else as a match.

Because I hate him, and to have her would be divine in its vengefulness.

It is in that moment I know I'm going to seduce my brother's wife.

"Wait for me, brother," I call, flying behind him, accepting his jibes and his cackling laugh as we soar above the city that belongs to him and only him.

"You will never be able to keep up with me, Eldrion. Just admit it." He laughs and spins so he's flying upside down, face tilted towards the sun like he's floating in a stream instead of on air.

I raise my hands, treading the air in front of him. "You've got me," I reply. "I will be forever in your shadow, big brother. No doubt about it."

The sun hangs low on the horizon as Raylon and I ride towards the distant settlement of Gloomweavers. As heirs to the lordship of Luminael, it is our duty to deal with them. His more than mine. But where he goes, I have always followed.

The journey has been long, the mood between us tense and uncomfortable. Raylon has been unusually quiet, his normally jovial demeanour replaced by a brooding silence that sets my nerves on edge.

As night falls, we set up camp in a small clearing. I busy myself with building a fire, trying to ignore the growing sense of unease in my gut. Raylon sits across from me, his gaze fixed on the flickering flames, his expression unreadable.

Finally, he speaks, his voice low and cold. "I know what you did, Eldrion. With Saera. With my wife."

The blood freezes in my veins. He knows? How?

"Raylon..." I start, but the words die on my lips. What can I say? How can I explain? Do I even want to explain?

He stands, his hand going to the hilt of his sword. "You slept with her, Eldrion. Your own brother's wife. The woman I love. How could you?"

I try to bite back the urge to scoff at him. He never loved her. He only chose her because he knew I wanted her.

"I'm sorry," I whisper, trying to feign repentance. "I never meant for this to happen. It was a mistake, a moment of weakness. I..."

"A mistake?" Raylon's laugh is harsh and bitter. "You've always wanted what was mine, haven't you? My birthright, my power... and now my wife. You're not fit to be Lord of Luminael. You're weak. Pathetic. No better than the Shadowkind that serve our meals and clean our stables."

I stand up, my wings flicking out to the side.

He laughs again. He thinks so little of me that it doesn't even occur to him I would fight him. Or dare to stand up to him.

In that moment, as he laughs at me, something in me snaps. All the years of resentment, of living in his shadow, of being the second son, come boiling to the surface. And with it, my shadow magic, usually so carefully controlled, bursts forth in a surge of uncontrollable rage.

Dark tendrils lash out, wrapping around Raylon's throat. He claws at them, his eyes wide, his lips helplessly trying to form my name.

I stare at him, yanking him to his feet and holding him hovering in front of me, the shadows gripping tighter and tighter around his throat.

I watch, as if from a distance, as the life is squeezed from him.

It is over in moments.

Raylon falls to the ground, lifeless, the shadows receding from his bruised neck. I stand there, shaking, staring at what I've done.

I've killed him. My own brother.

He is dead because of me.

I wait for guilt to crash over me, brace myself for the tidal wave of self-hatred, and the fear, and the loathing.

But it does not come.

Instead, I feel calm.

He is gone. And now, nothing stands in the way of me and Saera.

I will inherit everything that belonged to him, including her. And I will never have to hear his arrogant laugh ever again.

With calm, unshaking hands, I prepare a pyre for Raylon's body. I will tell our parents, our people, that he fell in battle against the Gloomweavers. That he died a hero's death.

They will never know the truth.

For a moment, as the flames consume Raylon's body, I wonder whether my mother might have foreseen this. Perhaps that was why she hated me all these years; because she knew what I would become.

But I shift the thought from my mind as quickly as it comes.

If she does know, she will not tell. For that would cause her to lose two sons, and she would be to blame for not having stopped me when she had the chance.

I stand and watch until my brother is completely gone.

I wait for the embers to die down, and then I walk through his ashes and leave him there. Nothing more than dust, now.

Gone. Forever.

I don't open my eyes. My heart is pounding a vicious beat against the inside of my ribcage. My body vibrates, but not with pleasure. It is throbbing with adrenaline, and guilt, and power.

I picture Saera. Her beautiful face. I remember the excitement I felt when I comforted her after Raylon's memorial service. And then I remember the hatred in her eyes when she looked at me.

"I know what you did," she spat at me. "We all know. And you should know that I will never allow you to touch me, Eldrion. Never."

Her words echo in my mind.

Never.

Never.

But then the absence of my power hits me like a tsunami.

The place where the shadows lived is empty. The place that swirled, and screamed, and undulated with the intense, overwhelming power that I was able to wield over almost everything. Shadows, light, dark.

It is empty now.

A cavernous void in which my inadequacies echo and amplify.

I see my brother's face.

I hear his voice in my head.

Beside me, Alana is warm and soft and I reach for her in the darkness. My fingers find her waist and trace their way up the curve of her body, over her hip, her stomach, until they find her breasts.

Following my fingers, my wing curls over, pushing the sheets away from her body and pulling her closer. Wrapping her up as if she is mine and will always be mine.

She releases a low murmur and wriggles back against me. The curve of her ass presses against my cock. Already hard and trying to resist the urge to slide inside her before she wakes, I press my lips to her neck, kiss the spot below her ear that makes her sigh with pleasure, and whisper, "I want to make you come again, Alana. I need to hear the sounds you make when I touch you."

She turns to face me, cocooned in the embrace of my wings. She strokes my face as if she is truly pleased to have opened her eyes and found me beside her.

"I don't know what you mean," she whispers. "I am always very quiet when you touch me."

She smiles. A playfully delicious smile that makes me want to flip her onto her back and thrust inside her right now. This second.

"You most definitely are not." I move the tip of my wing slowly down her throat, drawing a line down her neck, between her breasts, over her stomach.

She sighs and arches up into my touch. While my wings caress her, stroking her skin, leaving trails of pleasure over her arms, her breasts, her hips, her waist, I part her legs with my hand and rest my palm on her waiting core.

She is warm and waiting for me. Her legs open a little wider, and she turns towards me, remaining on her back, tucking one arm underneath the pillow, lying back as if she's ready to just close her eyes and let me pleasure her forever, and ever, and ever.

I cannot stop myself from kissing her. But this time, it is not a kiss filled with fury and fight. It is gentle, searching, an unspoken string of words and whispers that make her moan into my mouth and hook her arms around my neck.

She strokes my hair from my face, and opens her eyes, fixing her gaze on mine as I find her clit and press one purposeful finger against it. She nods, biting her lower lip, and tilts her pelvis so she leans into my touch.

I keep my finger still, applying pressure, the same pressure, watching her skin flush and her eyes widen. She stops biting her lip and releases a quivering breath. Her freckles look darker, and her eyes brighter.

When I finally move my finger through her wetness, slowly, she tilts her head back and sighs.

I reach her entrance and pause. "One finger? Or two?"

She looks at me, her entire body alive with pleasure. "Just one at first. Then two."

I smile. She'll get three.

As I thrust them inside her, the surprise on her face makes my cock throb with pleasure. Her eyes flash as if she's angry with me, but then they soften into the same playfulness I saw a moment ago, and she thrusts down onto the three large fingers that are now settled inside her.

I move them in and out, slowly. "You're so tight," I murmur. "But so very wet for me, Alana."

She fixes her eyes on mine, and I realise she is slipping her hand further beneath the sheets. She keeps staring at me while she curls her hand around my cock. Then she pauses, lifts her palm, spits into it, and returns it to my shaft.

Fuck.

The way she did that.

The complete dichotomy between the way she looks right now – soft and angelic and innocent – and the way she so expertly moistened her palm for my cock makes me moan. "Harder," I whisper, increasing the speed of my fingers in her pussy. "Harder and faster."

For a microsecond, she obeys me. But then she stops, takes her hand away, and sits up. Her wings flutter. She climbs on top of me and slides straight onto my waiting cock. She leans back, using her wings to cushion herself, and moves one hand to her clit and the other to her nipple.

I tuck my hands behind my head, lie back, and watch her use me as a plaything.

She rides me, eyes closed, moving to her own rhythm, making herself moan and whimper. And when her orgasm starts to build, I resist the urge to grab her hips or flip her over or tug her towards me so I can pull her breast into my mouth.

I bite down on my own pleasure and watch her.

Her eyes fly open and she catches my gaze.

"Don't come for me," I tell her. "Come for you. Whenever you want, however you want."

"Oh, fuck." Alana scrapes her fingers through her hair with one hand while the other furiously works her clit.

The pleasure building in my core is almost unbearable. But I cannot come until she does.

I am about to lose my ability to hold back when she finally explodes with pleasure. She cries out, her body stiffens, and then she goes completely silent. She closes her eyes, quivering on top of me for a long moment.

Then she falls forward, kisses me, and lets me thrust up into her deliciously wet cunt until I explode.