Page 60 of A Sword of Ice
Now that she’d awaken those parts, he couldn’t imagine being without her warmth. Without her care. Without her.
But the moment their minds brushed, he felt her build a barrier, higher and tighter than any iron wall.
The rejection stung and grated.
His head snapped in the direction she’d gone. The direction where Clay had followed after. Where she would lean closer to him. And Clay, bastard that he fucking was, would allow it.
Rationally, Ryker knew the two were just friends. Unfortunately, he could no longer rely on that rationality. His thoughts were possessive, feral. He wanted to rip Clay’s hands off for daring to touch his mate. The first time, he could have forgiven, but he did it too liberally and too frequently. His fingers trailed against Shula’s arm, her hair, herears,every spare chance he got.
Like he was baiting Ryker every time he marked Shula with his disgusting scent. Embers and confection andchocolatemingled with the richness of roses and wine.
The only thing keeping Ryker sane was imagining flaying Clay’s flesh from bone. For being a barrier between Ryker and Shula. For holding her as she cried.
It should have been Ryker kissing away the tears from her cheeks. It should have been Ryker who she confided in.
Why was it so much easier for his mate to turn to Clay than to Ryker? His fingers twitched, bringing attention to the burn against his palm. He did not begrudge her for lashing out, as it had been accidental. His injured hand rose to his face, over the scars that marred his skin. Was he so monstrous on the outside and within, that she did not feel comfortable enough speaking the truth to him? Was it because Clay was prettier to look at and therefore, easier to trust?
Well Ryker would never be Clay. He would never be pretty and easy-going. He had suffered phantom pains in places that Clay could never imagine, and would continue to do so. He could not change what he was or what he looked like and he did not care to.
But for a brief moment, pain built an ache in his chest and for the first time in his life, he wished…
The door opened once more and Clay filed out with Shula close behind. Ryker’s eyes snapped to his mate, but she studiously avoided his gaze. Not before he caught her puffy, swollen eyes. Not before he caught her leaning closer towards Clay as if searching for his support.
Those elegant, unmarked hands reached for Shula, giving her hand a squeeze.
It took everything within Ryker not to gnash his canines or rip out his friend’s throat. Every instinct in his body roared in a vicious demand for blood. He would have run forward and yanked them apart. He would have dug his hands into Clay’s neck.
He would have…
Had Shula not turned to him then. A brief, flashing expression came over her features. Of pain and hurt and something else even more terrifying.
Regret.
The truth of it was there in a blink before she turned away once more. Feet of space separated them, but the distance had never felt so vast, the space between them had never felt so empty.
And Ryker’s heart had never felt more broken.
30
The West Isles
The West Isles were surrounded by iron, just like Iona had said they would be. Iron eroded from the sand like stone circles in the Unseelie Courts of Tir na Faie. They spread out across the shoreline like a wall to keep intruders out. The docks were more like a long metal bridge. They expanded miles out onto the sea that people walked across and made it to the entrance, a wrought iron gate manned with humans holding lethal weapons.
“Well, we can’t go in through there.” Iona sighed as she slammed the spyglass closed. They were miles away from the Isles still, and they needed a new route if they wanted to somehow get past the wall. “Go around,” she ordered. “We’ll see if we can find a place to enter.”
“How exactly are we going to get past them undetected?” Uric clipped. “We’ve seen them, it won’t be long until they see us.”
“You have so little faith,” Iona teased, even while clenching a fist, lest she send it flying for his bastard nose. “Prince Valerio, please turn the boat. We’ll circle the island.”
The prince didn’t question her as he turned the wheel of the ship, changing their course. And before Uric could open his mouth and speak again, she stepped towards the front of the ship.
“Shula,” she called out, turning to meet the fire Fae’s gaze. Burning embers met hers with determination. Iona didn’t know much about the other Fae, but she felt a kinship all the same. There was something just beneath her surface that was primed and ready to prove. Like a fire licking past the windows within a burning building, waiting for the perfect opportunity to erupt. “Ready to create fog?”
A knowing look passed over her expression and her lips tilted in the smallest of smiles before she stepped next to Iona.
“Steam the ice, Shula Azzarh,” Iona whispered.
Her hands glowed blue and snow and ice began to form against the surface of the water. As soon as it hit, crystalizing the surface, Shula’s own hands shot out and plumes of steam emerged until the ice was melted entirely.
