Chapter 17

CHAPTER 17

The first thing Vaasa did was wash the blood from her skin.

The boat cleared the ambush. No unworkable damage was sustained to the ship, and it cut through the Settara as if nothing had ever slowed it down. Men scrubbed blood from the deck as Kosana ran from end to end, collecting as much information as she could about the attack.

Each body they found wore the same vest—the sigil and colors of Wrultho sewn into it. Apparently it was an old uniform, though, which meant Ignac and his men must have lifted it from some other battle.

They did not fight like Icrurians. They followed patterns and orders, whereas the Icrurians had been trained as terrifying militias. The unpredictable nature of Icrurian forces was what made them so deadly. Within minutes, the Mirehans had determined what their assailants intended to do, and they were able to block their attempts to damage the galley. The coven could pick them off the plateaus without so much as a hiccup, and Melisina…

Well, she’d taken more lives than all of them combined.

The first person Vaasa went to see was Ignac, the son of her father’s youngest brother.

He’d only dared come to the castle a few times while her father was alive—he was smart enough to know that possessing the Kozár name was a threat. Undoubtedly, he knew it had been the very thing to put his own father in the ground. He’d done his duty, far away from Mek?s, for as long as she’d known him.

Vaasa asked him only one question: what he wanted from Reid.

She already knew who’d sent him.

All Ignac did was plead. He spilled lies until Vaasa stepped forward and used that treacherous iron-toothed comb along the soft skin of his cheek. Still, she got no real answers; not about the rope, not about the questions he’d intended to ask Reid, nor whether her own death was the goal. Drenched in grime and blood, Kosana watched the entire interaction with a lazy tug of her brows. The Dihrah and Mirehan men had heard word of Wrultho forces in the area, but they’d assumed it was election related.

Vaasa eventually told the commander her idea about how to leverage the Asteryan general, and the blond woman lit up like one of the lanterns in the Sodality of Una.

“You are a formidable ally,” Kosana said in response.

Leaving Ignac bound and bleeding, the two women moved to the overwhelmed brig, passing Mathjin as he limped into the general’s holding room. Though Mathjin was worn, determination struck across his tightly pressed mouth. He instructed the two guards near them to prevent anyone from entering until he was finished, then closed the door behind him with a resounding slam.

Kosana remained by Vaasa’s side as she went from prisoner to prisoner. They all spoke Asteryan, and while Mathjin was still with Ignac, Vaasa was one of the only people on board who could communicate with them. Which was why she executed the first one herself—to banish any doubt the Icrurians had about where her loyalties lay. A sliver of her own conscience punished her for the action, but she knew well enough these men would not have spared her, had they been given the chance.

That she had most likely been a target.

The Asteryans gave her no useful information. Most sneered about her magic or called her invoque (witch), or worse, bonas (traitor). One spit on the ground where she stood.

A Mirehan stepped forward immediately, his knife to the man’s throat, and turned his attention to Vaasa, awaiting a command. One small jerk of her chin, and the Asteryan’s life ended. It shouldn’t have brought a grin to Vaasa’s lips, but it did. Through this battle, she’d established herself among the Mirehan people as a strong choice for their high consort.

As she turned to leave, one of the men asked, “And the general?”

Vaasa pursed her lips. She peered at Kosana, and they shared a chuckle. “Leave that one alive.”

No one questioned either of them.

Except, of course, Esoti and Amalie, who each had a bone to pick with her choice to descend into the hull. They finally relented after Marc and Isabel ushered them away to give Vaasa a moment of reprieve.

Stealing two minutes to herself, she gazed out at the starlight glimmering upon the Settara and curled her hands around the railing of the boat. Reid was fine; consciously she knew that, and yet violence clawed at her gut. This was the first battle she’d seen up close, the first one she’d ever been a part of.

The creature in her stomach wasn’t entirely identifiable, but its presence was clear. Still unfamiliar, its white eyes glowed a little less than they had in that moment, but its teeth sharpened nonetheless.

There was no reason to avoid him. No good reason, at least.

On a long exhale, she turned away and ducked back into the hull of the ship.

Adrenaline seemed to spike in her veins as she walked down the corridor leading to their quarters. Vaasa pushed through the door to find Reid sitting upon the bed, no longer spattered in blood. He was only dressed from the waist down, his blood-soaked shirt nowhere in sight.

Her nails dug into her palm and her chest burned at the memory of how she’d found him here.

Reid looked up and furrowed his brow. “Are you all right?”

Silently, she clicked the door shut behind her and ambled to the space in front of him, inspecting the faint red lines on his wrists herself. She turned his palm over in her hand and tentatively touched.

“It doesn’t hurt,” he said softly. “I have no magic; they were a precaution at best.”

The creature in her paced, her mind reviewing each detail of the fight, eyes trailing to the tattoos she rarely gave herself liberty to gaze upon. The ink traveled all the way over his left pectoral and beneath his collarbone, falling down his upper arm to his elbow. It looked to be a detailed depiction of Mirehan armor, the lines of their pauldron drawn with precision. On the curve of his shoulder was the Mirehan sigil: the wolf. The same ones that howled at the Settara at night. The one he was named after. It looked so vivid, so real, she couldn’t help but run her fingers over it.

His skin pebbled at her touch.

Gazing up at her, he slid his hand over her own like he wanted to keep her there. “You aren’t going to talk, are you?”

She didn’t know how to say it—that she didn’t have words to explain herself. That all she had was the remnant of a panic she didn’t understand and this visceral fear she had never experienced for anyone but herself.

This coldness .

She’d dived into that hull without a second thought—into a fight that had almost gotten her killed. It was reckless and stupid, and she realized she never would have done that for someone before this.

And that thought absolutely terrified her. It was the opposite of what she was supposed to feel.

Holding his gaze, she remained silent.

“All right, then I’ll speak.” He rose from the bed and walked to the bolted-down dresser of their tiny room, where he plucked out one of his enormous shirts. No signs of pain crossed his features, and the fact that he only sustained minor injuries was a testament itself to her timing. He extended her his shirt. “Dominik is responsible for this, isn’t he?”

She couldn’t breathe. Or disagree.

So she looked away and tightened her jaw, running her tongue over her teeth and taking the shirt. Marching into the barely arms-length latrine chamber, she tried not to hit her elbows on any of the walls as she took off her bloodied blouse and trousers and changed into Reid’s shirt.

Of course her brother had planned this. No matter how it ended, he came out on top—either he gave Vaasa a way to prove her loyalty to Icruria, or the only threat to his throne was eliminated.

Yet it wasn’t herself that she feared for. She’d long come to terms with Dominik’s desire to snuff her out of existence.

But Reid ?

Months ago, she wouldn’t have cared if he died, and now it was all she could focus on. She had to finally admit to herself how much it mattered.

The magic at her core morphed into the simmering embers of a flame, low and threatening and cracking with sputters. In the wake of the icy cold, this angry warmth was welcome.

“Why did you leave the oarsbank?” she demanded as she burst back into the room.

Silence.

Now sitting under ivory sheets, Reid leaned back into the headboard. No words fell from his lips; instead, he inspected her balled fists and taut shoulders.

Approaching the bed where he had made himself quite comfortable, her tone sharpened. “ Why did you leave the oarsbank?”

If he’d have stayed, he never would’ve been caught.

Those men hadn’t breached it.

But an awful thought sprang to life—perhaps it hadn’t been breached because they’d already found what they were searching for.

“Answer me.”

Lips pursed, he shrugged. “I was looking for you.”

“You shouldn’t have done that.”

“I will never not do that.”

It wasn’t up for debate, judging by the strong hold of his jaw and his unwavering gaze. Or perhaps it was the way he snuffed out the lantern and left her standing in the darkness that assured her he had no intention of admitting his own stupidity.

“You’re a fool,” she snapped, turning and trying not to stumble through the dark to get to the other side of the bed.

“Why am I the fool, Wild One?”

Wild One. The way he said it dragged down her nerves, infuriating her to her bones. Scoffing, she finally managed to find an edge of the bed his body didn’t cover. Crawling up it and under the blankets, she begged her magic to settle. To breathe. To stop clawing at her insides.

It didn’t. Though she’d once considered herself ruthless and unmovable, her magic tightened around her throat. Legs curling up to her chest, she formed a ball to press down the low knots in her stomach.

Her hands began to shake.

Warmth coated her as Reid’s body pressed against the back of hers, one arm falling over her waist to capture her hands. “ Breathe , Wild One.” The other hand searched for a way to wrap his arms around her. She was in too tight a ball, and she shifted away from him.

“I am breathing,” she snarled.

“Slowly.”

A small sigh of frustration made it past her lips.

His hands tightened on her wrists.

“You don’t have to do that,” she spat. “I don’t need to be contained.”

He froze for a fraction of a second and then tugged, forcing her to her back so he could kneel next to her, his large body leaning over hers, one leg slipping between her thighs. She went rigid. Then she forced herself to uncurl. Darkness bathed them both, but her eyes had begun to adjust, and she could see the angry line of his mouth. The narrowing of his eyes and the strands of his hair that almost covered them as he inspected her. “If you want to pick a fight, look at me while you’re doing it.”

“I’m not picking a fight.”

“You are. You always pick a fight when you feel out of control.”

Magic rose in her like bile. She wouldn’t lose her grasp. She wouldn’t. But this power needed an outlet, a way to course through her veins and leave her empty.

Shit. He was right.

He gestured with his chin toward where he held her, her arms bent with wrists almost pressed to her jaw. To the magic, growing on her hands locked between them. “What do you need?”

Torn between anger at such an observation and shame at it, too, she looked into the lightless room. “I just need a second.”

She needed to come back to herself.

“Then take a second,” he said, refusing to let go of his vise grip on her. Like he knew the magic was dangerously close to loosening and that here, on this ship, there was no place she could go.

Dipping her eyes to the incremental space between them, she gritted her teeth and tried to run herself through the cycle. To feel, to accept, and to release.

All she did was feel.

The magic riled and lifted. Her breath caught. She didn’t know how to release a little without releasing it all.

“It hurts.” Her eyes squeezed shut. “I can’t.”

“Control the release. I know you can.”

On an exhale, the magic started to move. She felt it first on her fingers, consuming both of their hands in cold mist between them. Small trickles of power threaded from her. She tried to pull back, but he chastised her, squeezing her wrists harder. He was too close, seeing too much. Panic pressed to her chest at what he might think. “I don’t want you to see this.”

Yet Reid didn’t flinch at the sight of her magic coating his skin. Instead, he brought his lips down and ran them along the top of her mist-coated knuckles. Heat crawled up her neck, but her lips parted.

“Let it out,” he insisted, mouth brushing past her wrist. “Turn the bed black.”

Obstinance drained from her at the same time she had difficulty swallowing. He continued his downward descent, his breath coasting along her forearm. She let out another trickle of power, and this time it sighed with her. Dancing along the ivory sheets, the black mist crept across the pillows and down to where his knee pressed into the blankets.

The sting started to ebb.

He nipped at her skin, dragging his lower lip as bumps rose along her arms.

A bit more of the magic trickled out and she gripped it, stopping the release before it flooded. This was working .

“Good,” he praised. “More?”

“More,” she rasped.

Lifting her wrists above her head, he used one hand to push them into the pillows.

A thread of awareness rode her nerves, and she instinctually arched toward him.

At her invitation, he lowered his mouth to where the borrowed shirt covered her breast. He paused. The icy feel of his inhale caused her breasts to peak, and he ran his teeth over the new curve, licking the fabric of the shirt. Desire curled down her hips. On another sigh, she let the power out again, the pressure in her stomach subsiding.

He hovered over her covered breast, this time stopping to pull it into his mouth and suck.

Each cavern the slow release of magic created instantly flooded with yearning, which was easier to manage than the anger or the sadness or the fear. Her senses turned and bowed to where he knelt. To where he touched. She felt his skin against hers, felt the proximity of his broad chest and how when she took a deep breath, her wrists strained against his grip.

On her exhale, she directed it outward again, the magic slithering farther along the sheets.

His voice rose to linger directly above her. “More?”

As she opened her eyes, she found his gaze measuring the space between her parted lips.

“More.”

He lowered and captured her mouth with his own, stealing the sound from the air as if he wanted to make sure it belonged to him and only him. His tongue immediately snaked between her lips, and she melted against him, the fire inside her becoming hotter as he swept into her mouth and tasted her.

At their lips’ touch, the magic ebbed, then spread like steam from a boiling pot. It surrounded them, black mist smothering the bed and the floor in a hiss as it melded from an angry bird of prey to the surface of the Settara. Lapping against her insides, it was capable of great calm or immense storms.

When he released her wrists, her body chose storms.

Like a band snapped, she kissed him wildly, hands sliding into his hair and body lifting up to his. When he slid his hands behind her back and used them to spin her, she lost all sense of caution.

She wanted to forget anything that could ever harm him.

He moved her with grace as he landed with his back against the headboard, dismissing the darkness that crept along the bed. Gripping her thighs, he slid her legs to either side of him and settled her hard against his lap, his mouth only leaving hers to start a teasing descent. Teeth grazed the curve of her neck and he lifted his other hand higher, fingers toying with the bottom hem of her shirt. He slid his hand beneath the fabric and his fingers scraped over her bare hip.

He froze. She felt him harden at the same time he said, “You aren’t wearing anything underneath that.”

She never did. Vaasa started to pant. Started to tilt her hips up to him.

“Do you ever wear panties underneath my shirts?”

Biting the inside of her cheek, she shook her head.

A low sound emanated from the back of his throat as he kissed her mouth again, biting down on her lower lip. “I’ve clung to that barrier, Vaasa. Told myself it would be inappropriate to push them to the side and take you.”

Desire shot down her spine, and she pressed harder into his lap, her own hips begging him to take it further. To do as he wanted. She had no resolve against these words—hearing them in Icrurian only burned hotter, like her ear bent to his language just as she did to his touch.

“All I needed was an excuse,” he whispered. “And permission.”

“Have you found one?” she dared ask.

His grip tightened. “We could pretend that it’s because it’ll help you fall asleep, that I’m selfless and altruistic.”

“That’s not the truth?”

“No, that’s not the truth.” His fingers curled against the crease of her leg, sliding to the inside of her thighs, dangerously close to where she wanted him. Stroking up and down. “The truth is that all I can think about is sliding my hand between your legs until you come so hard you forget you ever hated me.”

Vaasa whimpered against his lips and lifted herself, so his hand slid closer to the wetness waiting for him. “You’re being selfless, altruistic,” she assured him.

“Good. That only leaves permission, Wild One.”

There it was again—that question. This time, it wasn’t the least bit disarming. “Please,” she begged into his mouth.

He kissed her again, tongue brushing her lips, and then his fingers dipped and slid down her core.

Her breath caught and he groaned at the wetness he found, fingers finding a rhythm against her as she tried to kiss him back. Tried to retain some control. But then he released the grip he’d kept at the base of her hair and lowered that hand between her legs, too. As her hips rose, he slid two fingers inside of her. Pleasure jolted down her spine, and once again, her magic spun over itself into something new. Something she’d felt earlier—the white eyes and sharp teeth.

Her mouth opened against his, hips rocking up and down as she rode his hands. He pressed circles into her core, stroking her, letting her set the rhythm with how deep he went and how fast he got there.

The magic in her rose and tightened. Different now from anything else she’d ever felt. She hadn’t dared finish herself with this unpredictable power, not with him so close. But he knew the force by now, and she knew with certainty that it knew him, too.

Knew herself.

She wouldn’t hurt him.

The thought sent her barreling upward. Her mouth parted against his and he kept the pace. Didn’t dare push further or change a single thing about the rhythm they’d found. He only captured her mouth and reveled in her parted lips and how she couldn’t manage to kiss him completely through her sounds. Crying out, the last of her pent-up magic burst out of her in a wave of black that snuffed out any bit of light in the room. She came as hard as he’d wanted her to, her whole body tightening with the wave.

Reid kissed her, hands keeping the rhythm until her hips slowed.

Darkness bathed them both, and she could hardly tell the color of the bed any longer. Black mist floated through the entire room, coating each surface and hissing against the walls.

But she was empty—sated, no longer desperately containing the magic. It didn’t claw at her insides or prowl back and forth. She laid her head against his shoulder. Took a deep breath, letting his scent fill her senses.

Salt. Amber.

The magic settled into the calm flow of water, as if it, too, could reflect the moonlight.

“Glad to see we found a solution,” Reid whispered in her ear as he released her hips. Confusing as it was, he didn’t ask for an explanation—or more. There was a part of her still desperately on fire and willing to go up in flames with him. To do anything he wanted for however long he wanted it.

But his quickness to rise made her stifle such words.

Vulnerability pulsed in her chest at the sight of his back when he walked into the bathing chamber.

Wrapping her arms around herself, she pushed it all down.

The magic. The wanting.

Quickly, he came back into the room and settled into the bed, giving her respectful space. “Sleep, Wild One. You need it.”

She squeezed her eyes shut. The truth was that he wasn’t the fool—she was. Against all rationale, she’d gone looking for him, too.

How could she ever admit that?

No language had given her the words she needed to explain herself. No language could quite convey the longing she felt in his presence, or the confusion that overrode her own assurances. But mostly there were no words to say how people, much like homes, would always be taken away.

And she had no clue how to let someone close enough for that to hurt.

Perhaps that was why he didn’t take it further.

Perhaps he didn’t know how to, either.