Page 119 of A Bond so Fierce and Fragile
Merrick might have enjoyed meeting her beautiful eyes everywhere he turned if he hadn’t been so vigilant, thanks to the eeriness that layered all around them—that seemed as if it should mist the silver-mirrored water whirling beneath them, beside them, and above them.
Even his souls were quiet. Too quiet. So quiet that he tried to pull on his magic, let that sticky feeling coat his increasingly frosty skin. But there was nothing.
Merrick tried again.
Only emptiness met him.
The feeling was nothing like the Vincere’s effects: no pain, no magic fighting beneath the surface to escape the liquid’s hold.
But more like… it wasn’t there.
He snapped his eyes to Raine, stating what he suspected. “My magic doesn’t work here.”
Raine nodded, taking a step toward the still teary Frelina.
As Merrick’s eyes wandered over her face, the face so similar to Lessia’s but which didn’t evoke an ounce of the feelings that filled him when he met his mate’s warm gaze, he could tell she and Raine had had some kind of moment.
Raine’s cheeks looked suspiciously pale, the hands by his side too stiff, and Frelina didn’t bother hiding that she must have been crying her eyes out when he’d brought Lessia down into the ship.
Merrick had been worried about Lessia breaking down when he’d carried her inside as well, but she’d only asked to sit on the counter while she allowed him to heat her some soup to try to give some color to her ever-paling cheeks.
Merrick had felt her eyes on him the entire time, but when he finally met them… they hadn’t been filled with the sorrow he’d gotten used to in the past days. No, they had been filled with mischief, and when he’d frowned at her, she’d actually giggled before teasing, “I never thought I’d see the Death Whisperer cook for me.”
He’d fought the smile tugging at his lips as he stalked up to her, trying hard to keep the scowl that used to feel natural, but that, whenever Lessia was in the room, was impossible to wear for long.
Placing his hands on her thighs, Merrick leaned in close. “I wouldn’t call heating up days-old soup cooking.”
Lessia leaned right back. “You’re feeding me, so I’d say it counts.”
He had to fight harder when her breath whispered over his mouth, her smile widening when his muscles coiled in response.
If she wanted to play…
He’d play.
Positioning his lips right over her own, so close their warmth mingled but they didn’t touch, Merrick whispered, “I’d do anything for you. Cook a whole feast if that’s what you want.”
He’d meant it to come out teasing, had dropped his eyes down to her lips when he spoke, but there must have been a note of vulnerability sneaking into the words. Vulnerability that he would allow only Lessia to see—to hear.
Hewoulddo anything for her.
Even if it damned killed him, he’d do it.
“I know,” she whispered back, pressing her lips softly against his. “That’s what kills me.”
He hated that the playfulness in her eyes wavered for a second—that those clouds he wasn’t used to made the golden flecks within them murky.
He’d promised himself to give her time. He’d promised himself to give her everything she wished for.
Merrick hadn’t trusted his words when he noticed her fingers trembling by her sides, so he let his lips and hands respond instead, preparing to make her forget all about any sadness he’d reminded her of when they’d sailed into this damned mirrored land.
Against Lessia’s protests, he’d stopped what he’d started, gently tugging her down from the table with a raspy promise that he’d get her up there later. Get her up there and fuck her until her back was raw from sliding against the wood.
She’d blushed at that, but her eyes had flared, that lightheartedness returning.
Something Merrick was grateful for as they ascended the stairs onto the deck again and stared at the mirrored world that was wrapped all around them.
Merrick shook his head as he stepped closer to Lessia when their ship slowed to a stop, the reflection of it—and them—shining everywhere.
