Page 73 of A Sword of Ice
Clay threw his head back and laughed. “Don’t I? Who the fuck do you think she goes to when she’s crying over you? Who holds her while she sobs over a mate who treats her like shit?”
Something stabbed through Ryker’s heart at those words. At the fact that his mate went somewhere else, to someone else instead of him. To Clay of all people. This fucking pretty boy bastard. He’d known, but having Clay taunt him with it made it that much more real.
“Stay away from my mate.”
“No. You get no say in who I see or in who she sees. You don’t get to treat her like shit and then claim her in the same breath. It doesn’t work like that, and if you think it does then maybe she needs a new mate. Someone who can appreciate her.”
Before the words were even fully out of his mouth, Ryker charged, ducking low and grabbing Clay across the waist, sending them both sprawling in a heap across the floor. His fists flew, each impact a song of his rage, as if trying to silence the heavy implication of Clay’s words.
“Shula ismine,” he snarled. He felt Clay’s blood against his knuckles, felt his own scarred hands split open, but he couldn’t stop.
Clay grunted and kicked with surprising strength, sending Ryker flying. He landed on his back with a whoosh of breath and quickly pushed to his feet to face Clay.
“You push so hard for her to change. You demand more, more, more. Hasn’t she given enough? She joined us, changed her ears, saved all of our fucking asses, and still it’s not enough for you. You want her to be what you think she should be, because Mairin’s death has you so fucked up you can’t appreciate her for who she really is.”
Everyone had turned to stare at them, to listen in to their argument, but Ryker didn’t care. He was blinded by the words being hurled at him, one after the other. His chest heaved, his canines were snapping, and all he wanted to do was rip Clay’s throat out.
“Fucking self-righteous hypocrite. As if you were a fucking gift from Mana. You arenothing, and you’ve given her nothing, changed nothing for her like she has for you. No wonder she can’t even talk to you. She may be your mate, but you don’t fucking deserve that title.”
Ryker went after him again. They met in the middle, a tangle of fists and violence. Blood flew across the deck, and Ryker absorbed the blows with grunts and feral cries, hitting Clay back with all his rage the words provoked, the hurt they caused.
But even as every blow struck against the sensitive skin of Clay’s face, Ryker wasn’t sure if he was punishing Clay…
…or if he was punishing himself.
Ryker took a hit to the nose and he retaliated with one to the gut. Clay grunted and then Ryker felt the raw sting of magic flood through his system. It was a subtle tug at first, followed by something sharper. Like his blood suddenly stopped flowing. His heart suddenly began pounding. Blood began to slowly drip from his eyes.
He jerked away from Clay, whose own eyes were crying tears of blood.
The price of his destructive magic.
Crimson pooled from Ryker’s ears. He grew weak, stumbling backwards. A vessel in his eye broke, his vision was tainted red…
Valerio cut in between the two of them. “Enough!” he barked.
Clay lowered his hands and just like that, the pressure in Ryker’s body eased, but he ached all over. And because his magic didn’t work on himself, he would have to deal with the pain. He tried to ignore the part of him that said he deserved it, but it was strident.
Clay swiped the back of his hand against his face, wiping away the blood at his cheeks. He glared at Ryker and spat out one last knife to his heart.
“No wonder she doesn’t want you anymore.”
34
A Healer’s Impulse
After the fight between Clay and Ryker, things on the boat became strained. Shula didn’t come up from below deck, and everyone grew focused on sailing and leaving the ocean behind. They had a mission to accomplish and now that Iona was done holding them back from it, she figured they were impatient to move along.
Days on the boat blurred together in seeming silence. The tension was like a dense fog through the air that Iona nearly suffocated on it. She was on the deck, trying to dispel that energy, leaning against the barred edge and staring down into the water when she sensed another’s presence at her side.
She turned with raised eyebrows to meet Weylyn.
The Fae was eerily silent. He always moved like shadows, always blending into the background so most times, Iona found herself forgetting about him entirely. He didn’t look as formidable as Uric and Valerio, or as friendly as Clay, as strong as Julius, or as brooding as Ryker.
In fact, he was on the lithe side, with an unimpressive muscular frame, but passably tall height. He didn’t appear threatening, but there was a gleam in his golden eyes that was almost… malicious, mischievous. There was something about him that seemed to be layered more deeply beneath his golden-bronze skin and almost laconic demeanor.
His thin lips twisted into a smile, a gesture that seemed almost cruel and knowing. He stared and Iona stared back, meeting his golden eyes until his seemed to penetrate hers, like he was looking so deep into her soul, he could rip it straight out of her chest.
She shifted just as those golden eyes rolled to the back of his head, and his whole body froze. Iona looked side to side, but everyone was busy, and no one was paying attention. She looked back at him and stepped close, reaching her finger out to poke his chest.
