Chapter 16

SIXTEEN

Tempest

"…Tempest. Tempest? Tempest! "

She shook herself and turned from her breakfast, her gaze blurry. Stars, she ached, and her head was killing her. To say she'd slept poorly the night before would be an understatement. Tempest blinked repeatedly and was greeted by Briggs's worried face. "I'm fine," she mumbled.

He crossed his arms and lifted one brow. "You look like death."

"Thanks," she mumbled, pushing her eggs around on her plate. Even drugged up, she could feel the stares of those around her.

"No training today, okay?" Briggs murmured, gently laying a huge hand on her back. "I want to examine your wounds."

Tempest nodded. She didn't care what he did as long as he let her go back to bed .

"You need to rest until those wounds heal. Do you understand me?"

She nodded again, feeling queasy.

"Don't just nod like a bird; use your words, lass. Don't forget that I know you. You push yourself too hard."

For once, she agreed with him. Tempest pushed her plate away, her silverware clattering against the clay plate. "I swear I shall not train today." She smiled warmly and bumped Briggs's shoulder with her own. "I need a walk, and then it's back to bed for me."

He raised an incredulous eyebrow, then pointed at Tempest's bandaged ankle. "How far are you going on that leg, do you think?"

Pesky bear.

"As far as I can manage," she insisted. "And besides, the mimkia is doing its job. Another day, and my ankle will be good as new." Or so she hoped. Being cooped up in her room sounded a miserable option. Her gaze swept the room, noting the glances and blatant stares being thrown her way. When would it stop? Were they staring like normal, or was it because they knew what had happened the night before? She dropped her chin and stared at the table, tracing her finger along the woodgrain. Did they know she ran from a fight?

"I need to get out of here," she said, pushing to her feet. Even standing and with Briggs sitting, they were eye to eye. He gave her a worried look, which she ignored. She'd be fine. "Feel free to visit me when you have time." Tempest kissed his dusky cheek and then hobbled toward the door. It wasn't until she'd made it down the hallway, that she realized what she'd done. Briggs wasn't family and yet she'd treated him like one of her uncles. It just came naturally .

This place is messing with your head. You're letting your guard down .

Tempest growled and soldiered on, determined to take a walk through the draughty hallways. Hallways that were still dark. The mountain palace seemed to be a place of eternal night. With no windows nearby to let in light, it was always dark. At first, it had disoriented her, but she'd grown used to it.

She paused her mindless wandering and huffed out a weak laugh when she realized she had accidentally made her way to the training hall. Even broken and battered, she couldn't keep away. Tempest leaned against the wall and eyed the door. While she couldn't spar, there was no harm in watching people train. If she was lucky, she'd work out a few new tricks by observing the others.

Tempest pulled the door open and stepped inside. Her skin prickled, and she froze when she took in the scene. In the middle of the sparring ring were the two males who had attacked her the evening before. They were strapped to the floor, bleeding. Her stomach rolled at the stench of coppery blood. Despite herself, she trembled as she caught sight of the man in charge of the beating.

Mal.

His back was to her, and he held a wicked-looking whip, while a large group of shifters stood silently by, watching. The giant yelled when Mal brought the whip down over his face and then his back which was a meaty mess. Mal turned slightly, exposing his profile. He smiled, smiled. It was as if he liked doling out the pain.

Bile burned the back of her throat, and Tempest held a hand over her mouth. Stars, she might be sick. While she did want justice for being attacked, she didn't want it like this. This, she wanted no part of.

Mal raised his whip to strike the reptilian shifter, and she lurched away from the door before she could fully process her actions, putting far more strain on her ankle than was wise. She limped in front of the shifter, raising an arm just as the whip came down. White-hot agony burst across her forearm and wrapped around her wrist. Heat pressed at the back of her eyes, but she managed to stay silent against the pain.

A dangerous, oppressive silence swelled in the room, only broken by the panting giant and her pulse beating in her ears. Tempest dragged her gaze around the room as fat drops of scarlet liquid dripped from her arm to the floor. She made note of everyone who had happily allowed such a display of torture to occur. She lingered on Nyx, and her lips curled at the woman who didn't look ashamed in the least.

Barbarians. Animals.

Blood slipped down her arm, and, yet, no one said a word. No one moved.

She turned her attention back to the ring master. Tempest unleased all her disgust, hatred, and judgement she could muster in her expression. Five heartbeats passed, and she couldn't look at his impassive face one second longer. She used her left hand to slowly and carefully remove the whip from her flesh. The end fell to the floor in a wet splatter. Tempest turned her back to Mal and knelt on the floor, her fingers working at the first knot that held down the snake man. He moaned as she tugged harder on the knot.

"I'm sorry," she whispered.

"Stop," Mal commanded from behind her, his voice cutting through the air like a knife .

Not on his life. The men had been punished enough. She ignored him and finished untying the last of the knots around the snake man's wrists.

"I'm going to help you up," she murmured as she helped him into a sitting position. He glanced at her from his swollen eyes before his gaze dropped to his hands, shame clear in his expression.

She scooted toward the ropes around his ankles, then she registered footsteps approaching. Although painful, Tempest spun and unsheathed the blades from her hips, keeping them aimed at Mal as he drew closer. He paused and regarded her with pale, soulless eyes that betrayed nothing.

"Stay back," she growled.

"They deserved their punishment," he said simply. Not an ounce of emotion.

"Do you always torture your own men? Your allies?" She barked in laughter. "What a leader you are." Her lips twitched in victory as his jaw began to tick. It was his only tell. The icy lord did indeed feel something from time to time. He was furious. It only spurred her on further to prod him. "You're as bad as Destin, do you know that? Did you do this of your own accord, or was this sanctioned by Pyre?" she spat.

Mal refused to answer.

Tempest shook her head, disgusted, before turning her attention to Nyx. She stared the woman down until a slight shift in her shoulders told Tempest that Nyx was uncomfortable.

"Their actions were against me, and their punishment has been served," Tempest said severely. "Care for these men."

Nyx blithely moved into the training ring and untied the giant as Tempest limped toward the door without another look at anyone.

"I'm disgusted with you all." Tempest shoved the door open and stormed into the hall, though her gait was more of an aggravated limp.

Tempest swung around a corner, her own door coming into sight. She'd almost reached her room when the sound of light footsteps crept up behind her, and a hand grabbed at her arm, the scent of sage and pine invading her senses. Pyre.

She shook him off and yanked open her bedroom door. "Get away from me, Pyre!" Rage boiled in her gut. There was no way she could deal with the kitsune without stabbing him. She swung around, intending to lock him out, but he sneaked in and slammed the door behind him, sparks igniting in his eyes.

"Oh, that's rich," she snarled. "You don't get to be mad." Tempest stabbed her finger toward the door. "Get out!"

"You had no right to interfere. Mal said—"

"Don't you dare!" she hissed, moving toward her chair by the fire. She had to sit down, or her ankle would give out. Tempest plopped down on the arm of the chair and glared at the Jester. "I can't believe you. Do you have any idea what your right-hand man was up to? Or did you sanction it?"

Pyre's golden eyes glittered dangerously. He paced to the end of her bed, around her chair, and back to the door, circling the room like a caged tiger. "Of course I knew. Do you think anything in this place happens without my say so?"

Trembles ran up her arms. "How could you?" she cried, flinging her uninjured arm out. "How can you hurt people under your command? Are you so heartless and depraved, Pyre? Do you enjoy their pain like young, henchman Mal? "

"It is because I have a blasted heart that I do it!" he fired back, rushing toward the chair.

He reached for her arm again, but Tempest pulled away. Winter's bite, her arm hurt, but at least it had stopped bleeding.

"Explain how that works," she sneered. "Tell me how having a heart justifies torturing two men half to death."

"Because they touched you."

His words were so fierce that it robbed the breath from her lungs. She couldn't believe what she heard. Her eyes narrowed. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me the first time," he replied, fox ears flat against his skull. Pyre growled, flashing his long incisors. "They touched you. They hurt you. Nobody is allowed to touch what's mine ."

Mine . The word echoed through her mind. She didn't belong to anyone, let alone the Jester.

She held up a finger. "First of all, I am not yours ."

"You're under my protection, are you not?"

"I don't need it," she gritted out.

"Is that so?" he purred. Pyre moved in closer.

Something in his expression had her heart racing. She clumsily stood and put the chair between them. The kitsune laughed softly and brushed a finger over the top of her hand. Her jaw clenched, and she skittered around the chair as he slowly stalked her. He ran his burnished fingers along the top of the wingback chair, a smirk playing about his mouth.

"So fiery, and yet, so delicate," the kitsune whispered.

Tempest bristled. She was not delicate. Pyre blurred, and she inhaled sharply as he pressed her against the back of the chair. She hardly dared to breathe. His fingers skimmed her neck and cheeks softly, emotion flickering through his eyes too quickly for her to discern. He was like fire. One moment, warm and comforting, the next, so hot she'd been burned.

"Such fragile skin," he whispered, tracing Tempest's cheekbone. She pulled her blade from her hip, the soft hiss filling the air, but he didn't move away and neither did she.

"I am not as fragile as you think," Tempest said, her voice just as quiet as Pyre's whisper had been.

His finger drifted to her throat, and he lightly caressed her. "I keep coming back to you," he murmured. He leaned closer, his breath whispering over her forehead. The throb of his pulse picked up speed at the base of his throat, and she licked her lips. He watched the movement, and a thrill raced through her.

You're a fool. Fight. Do something. Don't you dare give in.

He smiled—a genuine, gentle smile, rather than a mischievous grin or a sarcastic, knowing smirk—and then his mouth drifted closer. Lips brushed against lips, and as Tempest took a breath, he stole hers.

Pyre pressed closer, his mouth opening over hers, tasting her, a soft flicking of his tongue over her mouth. Wicked hell. Her eyes snapped open, and she felt the press of his chest against her palms, her blade sandwiched between her right hand and his chest as she held him at bay. But it was all an illusion. If the Jester wanted to take more, he could, but the kitsune didn't.

Her fingers flexed against his torso, and she gasped as the muscles of his chest contracted beneath her palms. An odd sound rose in her throat. A bloody sigh. She was kissing him, allowing him to kiss her.

As though he sensed her distance, Pyre drew back, his amber eyes scanning her face. His brows slashed together before his eyes narrowed. He caught her face in his hands, and then his mouth swooped down over hers. It was a claiming. The first full sweep of his tongue was a shock, and she tensed as he pressed her harder into the chair, his lips hungrily devouring her own.

Too much. Too far. He had to stop.

You're losing yourself.