Page 36 of Shadows and Flames
He too didn’t watch the food. No, he was busy looking at me like I was about to disappear into the aether. Like he had to savor every moment of my being here.
I cleared my throat. “Open,” I said, and he did. Opened his mouth to the point that I could see his tongue, his fangs.
My navel fluttered, but I ignored that as well while I fed Elián the rest. He kept his arms around me, and we didn’t exchange any words.
When the plate was clean, neither of us rose. With the fullness of our bellies and the contentedness in holding each other, there was no rush.
Last night had been like a storm, but this moment was like the next morning, with raindrops still falling from branches as cool wind whipped through the trees. Though the sun was shining, the remnants of thunder were everywhere.
He was the first to call attention to it. “What changed?” He didn’t need to specify what he was referring to, but he held my hand in his to emphasize anyway.
He traced his callused fingertip around the black skin, passing it over knuckle, around fingernail, then back down. Over and over.
As much as I wanted to clamp my mouth shut, change the subject or bite at him so he’d drop it, that wasn’t the way. He deserved so much better. More.
“That…is a hard question to answer because I’m still parsing through it myself.”
“Are your powers different?”
I nodded and leaned further into him. For strength. My temple nuzzled into his cheek, and he accepted it. Accepted me. “Yes. They feel steadier. Easier to control, mostly. I have greateraccess to them as a result. But, what all that might entail, I’m still unsure.”
Echoing last night, he said softly, “Show me.”
I gnawed at my lip but nodded because this line of curiosity was safe. Much safer than the other path laden with traps and truths I wasn’t ready to share.
Even though Elián deserved to know most of all.
The dagger I conjured was the easiest to show him. Ebony like the halls of the Temple of Rhaea, the hilt and blade were both black, as was the sharp guard. I hadn’t consciously designed it, but the grip and rounded pommel fit my hand perfectly. The metal detailing, like royal filigree, was also not purposeful, but it felt right, looking down at it.
I twirled the blade in my hand, so familiar with this type of weapon that it was merely an extension of my hand. Given that it was made from the power woven through my soul, it literally was.
There was no need for a poisoned blade when the whole thing was made of Death.
After showing off a final twirl, I commanded it away, and the blade disappeared, leaving only a tendril of smoke. Like the trails from a snuffed candle.
“How long has it been,” Elián resumed his tracing, now that the blade was gone, “since the marks appeared?”
I locked everything away. Down. “Two years, two months, and fifteen days.”
“Why?”
I stiffened, but after his response mirrored mine, I forced myself to relax. Bit by bit. He wasn’t accusing. Wasn’t blaming. I hoped. “Again, I’m unsure. But Rhaea has not been exactly forthcoming with me. Ever. So,” I chuckled, “why would She start now?”
Elián grunted again, seemingly satisfied with what I’d given him. The half-truths.
His heart beat a steady song, and it was some breaths later that I realized mine had synced to the rhythm. I’d blame what I said next on that.
“You’ve fucked, held, and fed me now. What’s next?”
Elián pulled away, just enough to be able to look me over, and I almost took the words back until amusement shifted his stoic features. He didn’t say anything, just continued to stare and smirk.
He cradled the back of my head, and I shivered at the wash of heat. “Do you hate it?” He raised a brow, like the quirk at the end of a question, and I elaborated. “My hair. Or, lack thereof.”
Not that he’d outright said he’d liked it before. But I wasn’t stupid.
As if remembering the mass of coils that used to be there, Elián passed his thumb over the mussed curls that were certainly no longer slicked to my scalp in orderly waves.
“No. I do not hate it. I don’t think I could hate anything about you, to be honest.”
