Page 33 of Burning Ice
“I don’t know what’s happened to you, or where you left my stoic cousin, but I like this version,” Helianth said. He claspedKylix’s shoulder, quick and rough, whispering something Mirel couldn’t catch.
“Ice and fire work well together,” Aviel murmured from the stove. Mirel felt those dark, unsettling eyes follow him.
Cyprian walked them to the door. “Promise me I’ll see you soon. Oh, do you go to the Academy?”
“Not yet,” Kylix barked.
“Will you stop talking for him for once?”
Mirel glanced up. Kylix’s mouth twitched. “Perhaps. When I feel like it.”
They left.
The car ride back was swift, the darkness a quiet comfort. Kylix’s hand stayed over his, resting on the chain. This time Mirel didn’t pull away. He had met his brother. After all the years of silence, he had finally spoken to Cyprian.
He had imagined this meeting a thousand ways, scenes shifting with hunger and hope, but none matched the calm that filled him now. Not even the prison outbreak, not the strange images on screen, not the danger beside him could dim it.
Outside, the city blurred to pale streaks, towers dissolving into glass. Mirel leaned back, eyes half-closed, letting motion carry him. The hum of the engine blended with the quieter hum beneath his skin, the bond alive and steady. For once, he let it stay.
Because with his brother in the world, he could face it.
10
He had fucking done it.
He’d managed to get Moargan to agree he’d take Mirel home. He probably shouldn’t have. No, scratch that, it was a bad idea. A terrible idea. Every decision he’d taken from the moment he’d chased Mirel through the city down to the graveyard had been reckless. Maybe that’s why it felt so good. Kylix hadn’t done anything reckless for years. His heart pumped faster, fire licked through his veins. Even his mind was sharper, and that all because of his little ghost.
The kitchen still echoed in his head. Yure’s voice over the static, the black door pulsing on the screen, that impossible signal rewriting itself. Whatever it was, it hadn’t left his nerves. It hummed beneath his skin like an aftershock. The image of those crossed lines in a circle kept flickering behind his eyes, a reminder that something was watching them back.
“Up here.” He motioned for Mirel to follow him through the dimly lit house. Somewhere in the background, music played. Kylix liked it for company. He thumbed the brass puffer on low. One breath at a time. Scent, not sleep. The faint hiss followed them up the stairs.
“Wh-where are we?” Mirel asked when they reached the landing.
“My bedroom. Now it’s your new bedroom too.” He closed the door behind them and let Mirel take in the space.
The quiet hit first. After the noise of the kitchen, the silence felt almost alive. The faint hum from Yure’s screens still rang somewhere behind his temples, but here it met the hush of flame and iron.
Like every room in Kylix’s house, this one was cut for control. The air was alive with the hiss of the hearth and a faint bite of metal that stung the back of the throat. The black-glass wall turned the city into weather. At the center stood a low ironwork bed, broad and built for command, its frame forged black with seams of gold running through the metal. Leather lashes coiled at each corner, worn smooth from use. The mattress was deep, draped in dark linen that caught the light like oil. A narrow hearth burned clean and obedient beside it. Near the hearth sat a small brass puffer, a delicate device shaped like a serpent’s coil, exhaling slow ribbons of sweet opium that softened the air.
Mirel looked around with parted lips, clearly in awe. “U-us?” he stammered.
“That’s right. You heard the Imperial heir before, didn’t you? Moargan allows you to stay with me. Do you understand what that means?”
Mirel’s cheeks flushed. He quickly looked away.
Kylix grinned. “I thought you would. I’ll take good care of you.” He shrugged off his jacket and slung it over a chair. “So you’re Cyprian’s brother. Why didn’t you tell me?”
Mirel shrugged. Like this, with his shoulders sagged, his blond hair a mess, and those hypnotic eyes, he looked fragile.
Which he wasn’t. Kylix knew that. Mirel was Dariux. Engineered to be loved and adored by the Helion population. Ice could spill from his hands. He was determined too. Years ofsurviving the graveyard had taught him that. And Kylix would teach him the rest, to use his voice, to yield, to give Kylix what he needed.
The thought made the room feel warmer. Blood slid south, hardening him. He’d been aroused from the moment he first saw Mirel. But patience was a virtue, even for Kylix. Especially for Kylix.
“Drink the water, Mirel. Do you think I didn’t notice? You need it.”
Mirel dropped into the chair across from him and wrapped a hand around the glass. Long, slender fingers, perfect for rings. Kylix swore under his breath at the thought.
His little ghost hadn’t touched a drop all evening. Kylix hadn’t wanted to make a scene back there, not with tempers high, but here Mirel wouldn’t stand a chance. He’d see him fed. He’d get more flesh on those bones.
