Page 97 of Heavenly Bodies

There was another clap of thunder, and the heavens opened. Rain poured, fat drops of it pounding down, warm in the humid Helion air. The rain began to soak him, his arms crossed in that ever-arrogant stance, drenching his loose white shirt. It triggered an irritation in her, and a stronger emotion was hiding somewhere deeper. Her palms itched.

‘Coward.’

Black wreathed out of her, her shadows itching and leaping to be released after weeks trapped within her nerves. They twisted and formed from her palms as she held them out, eyes flashing. Monstrous shapes streamed, not animals, but somethingother.

The rain beat down, soaking her to her skin, but all she could feel was the furious darkness within her. The twisting shapes lunged at Enzo. He gave a vacant laugh, light blasting from his hands and turning her shadows to ash as he sprang up.

‘Now that’s more like it.’ He whistled. Lightning forked the sky up above. She stiffened, flexing her fingers, wet hair sticking to her skin in sheets.

‘Have I gotten under your skin, princess?’

She bared her teeth, twisting her hands. The landscape changed, the rain still pouring, but her illusioning had brought them both to a place devoid of stars, of light. Instead, this was a place so black and so overwhelming that it weighed on them.

‘Nice spot,’ he said in a dry voice, casting his gaze aroundbefore he sent a wave of fire to her. She threw up a shield of shadow which ate the fire whole. He sent another and another, and she wiped them out one by one, her magick craving them. Craving more.

The illusion finally shattered with a burst of his light, and she found herself panting on the lawn, water running down her.

‘Is that all you’ve got?’ he called over, and she roared, rage flying over her as she launched herself at him, and they tumbled to the sodden grass. She had no blade, nothing but her hands, which bunched his shirt between her fists.

‘What about that silver magick you summoned at the bottom of the lake?’ he gasped, breathing heavily. ‘You have any of that to throw at me?’

Elara stilled as scrambled memories surfaced of Enzo drowning while skeletal tails and dark waters surrounded him.

‘No,’ she snapped. ‘I don’t know what that was.’

He pushed himself forwards. ‘Then what other weapons do you have at your disposal?’ He tilted his head. ‘Tell me, princess, do you still carry that dagger on your pretty little thigh?’

His burning hot hand skimmed up her leg, her sodden skirt riding up. His fingers brushed her outer thigh.

‘Ariete took it,’ she replied raggedly.

She stopped breathing as her focus narrowed on his rough thumb resting lightly on her naked thigh. She could see the raindrops forming on his lashes, dripping off his lips. Enzo tilted their balance so she had to lean back on her elbows as he prowled further forward between her legs.

‘What do you feel, Elara?’ His voice was low and soft. Her chest heaved.

‘Anger,’ she hissed. ‘So much anger.’

‘Is that all?’ A slow grin spread across his face as he tiltedhis head, studying her. His hand didn’t leave her thigh, his mouth now sharing her breath.

‘Hatred.’

‘Mmm,’ he rumbled. He leaned into her neck, his smell filling her senses. There was a tickle of breath, and then his nose ran up the sensitive column of her neck. She drew in a ragged breath. Desire, another foreign emotion, swirled through her. He breathed out a laugh, and in the same instant flicked his tongue on the sensitive spot behind her ear. She exhaled an unsteady breath, eyes closing.

‘Are you sure that’s all you feel?’

Her eyes flew open. ‘Yes,’ she snarled.

His half-smile remained on his face as the soft rasp of drawn steel filled the space between them. Her dagger appeared before them, and he held it up to her as he whispered on to her lips, ‘Then why don’t you show me how much you loathe me?’

Her eyes widened as she saw the weapon. ‘How do you have that?’

‘I took it from Ariete at the Opera House.’

‘And you waited until now to give it to me?’ Elara was shaking with rage, with exhaustion, with desire, with relief. All emotions so foreign to her after numbly wading through nothingness for so long.

She grabbed the dagger, though her eyes remained on him—his wet curls, his soaked, near-translucent shirt clinging to his muscles. Her emotions poured molten hot, and she had half a mind to fling the blade back down at him.

But instead she pushed off him, casting one last look filled with loathing. But behind it, there was want, and they both knew it.

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