Page 50 of Vathia
“Fucking fates,” I whisper in horror, covering my mouth.
He chuckles darkly. “Before you ask, I can’t see out of it. It’s basically decoration at this point. Fates, I should gift it to Nero.”
I smack his shoulder lightly. “You will do no such thing.”
He boops my nose and smiles slightly as he wipes a stray tear from my cheek. “It’s nothing, compared to what you went through…” His fingers slide under my sleeve, tracing the heavy scarring around my wrists. “I wish you would tell me what happened,” he growls in frustration.
With a shake of my head, I pull my arm away from him. “Not yet. But I promise I will one day. I just can’t relive that right now.”
The muscles in his cheeks bulge as he clenches his teeth. But not even a moment later, his expression clears and he’s grinning ear to ear. “Come on. We should get to breakfast before the others come looking for us. Fates know they’ll just burst in here without a care if we are…indisposed.”
Mirth dances in his eyes and I can’t help but laugh, the weight of our discussion dissipating a bit. But I swear to the fates themselves, if I ever come across his father and Lady Verlice, I’ll fucking gut them and feed their entrails to Nero.
A COUPLE OF days go by in a flash, and things between my males—should I be calling them ‘my males’? I mean they are my mates… I’m just going to do it. Things between my males and I have been going great. Even with Talyn, though we haven’t talked. He isn’t avoiding me or glaring daggers, so I’m taking that as a win.
I haven’t heard any updates from my friends yet, which has me worrying, but Aemon assures me that the moment he hears anything from his spies, that I’ll be the first to know. I have to trust in their abilities, otherwise I will drive myself crazy.
“Okay, I think that’s enough for the day,” Killian states, nodding. “You’re improving and fast. That’s good.”
I practically preen at his approval, even though I’m drenched in sweat, and huffing so hard I’m afraid I might burst a lung or black out.
“What the fucking fates did you do to her?” a voice calls out.
Killian grunts, “Training.”
Talyn comes into my vision. “It looks like she’s about to keel over and pass into the aether.”
I wave him off, swallowing down some air. “I’m fine.”
“Such a good girl,” Killian growls. Which sends shivers down my spine for an entirely different reason.
Killian smirks and winks which has me blinking to make sure I’m not hallucinating. “We were just about to go another round. She’s fine, right Ravina?”
Talyn growls and scoops me up off the ground. “She’s done for the day.” He starts heading back inside before I realize what’s happening.
“I’m fine, Talyn. Put me down. Why do you care anyway?” I snap, struggling to remove myself from his grasp.
He scoffs. “You’re my mate. Did you forget that?”
With a newfound practiced ease, I use air to blast myself out of his arms, renewed with energy thanks to the anger that’s now coursing through my veins. “No, but since you’ve gotten back it seems like you did. What kind of ‘mate’ treats their partner like that? Not one of mine, I’ll tell you that much.”
Talyn crosses his arms across his chest. “Shit hasn’t been easy for me either. Have you ever thought about that? While you got to hide away and shirk your duties, playing make-believe in a small village, the rest of us have been trying to saveyourfucking realm. So excuse me, if I try to make sure you don’t kill yourself before you can sit that pert little ass on your fancy throne.” A touch of regret and what I think might be confusion rests in his brows but it’s smoothed out before I can blink.
He turns and strides away, leaving me standing there gaping. Is that what the void he thinks I was doing? Fucking living my best life in that fates-forsaken village?
“You’re a fucking piece of work, you know that?” I bellow after him but he ignores me, turning the corner out of my sight.
I storm in the opposite direction, heading off castle grounds toward the Dragon’s Keep. I haven’t visited Vasari today. Maybe she has some insight on how to deal with that particular male.
Nero soars down from the sky, landing with ease on his favorite shoulder. “Speaking to your least favorite mate?” he asks.
“How did you know?” I mutter, swiping a loose lock of hair behind my ear.
He chitters. “Well he’s the only thing that makes you angry around here and the bond is brimming with seething sexual frustration.”
“He’s just a know-it-all male who seems to make all the wrong assumptions about me instead of having a conversation. I think I’m allowed to be snappy with him until he pulls his head out of his ass,” I tell him, ignoring the one part of his comment. Sometimes it’s better not to feed into his delusions.
Vasari—clearly listening in to our conversation—adds her two coins in. “Maybe the male is traumatized and doesn’t know how to deal with it. You know how I would handle it?”
