Page 65 of Burning Ice
That was all. The rest was breath and fury.
Frost bit the air the moment Kylix crossed the threshold. The gates hung half-open, crusted white. The ground cracked under his boots like glass. Gravestones rose out of the fog like ribs. Each step forward deepened the chill until even the sirens grew faint, their sound swallowed by frost and fog together.
He saw movement ahead, a loose ring of figures shifting through the red haze, too many, too quiet. The fog shivered with heat and cold both, as if the world couldn’t decide which element would win.
A gunshot split the mist.
“That’s Vandor!” a Luminary shouted.
“On him,” Kylix snapped.
The guards surged forward. Shadows broke apart under the red wash, figures scattering like ghosts when the Luminary light caught their faces. The smell of fear and powder mixed with cold air, and in the center of it all stood Vandor.
Vandor’s back was to a smaller figure half-shadowed by the fog, his little ghost, pale and trembling, frost spidering from his feet.
Kylix stopped just long enough to take in the sight. Vandor’s stance was protective and steady, still holding Mirel behind him. Jealousy burned through Kylix’s chest, raw and humiliating. The air flared around him before he forced it still.
Vandor turned as the last of the attackers fled, eyes widening. He stepped aside immediately, creating space. “Sir, he wanted to go to the graveyard. I tried to?—”
“Shut up.” Kylix’s tone hit like a cut. He didn’t look at him again.
He crossed the final stretch of ground, heat rolling ahead of him like a warning.
Mirel swayed. Kylix caught him.
Red lights bled across their faces, sirens still screaming through the night.
“Lock them down,” Kylix barked. “No one leaves the grounds. Get those bastards cuffed and catalogued.” His voice cut through the noise like metal striking stone. Guards moved instantly, scattering through the fog in pursuit.
Vandor approached, breath rough from the fight. “Sir…”
“Save it.” Kylix didn’t look at him at first. He still held Mirel close, the frost bleeding through his sleeves. Only when Vandor lingered did he finally turn, eyes narrowing. “You were standing too close, weren’t you?”
Vandor stiffened. “Sir, I was protecting him.”
Kylix’s mouth curved, humorless. “Of course you were. Looked almost tender from where I stood.” He shifted Mirel higher against his chest, voice low, laced with a heat that hurt. “But I think you forget yourself, soldier. He doesn’t need your arms. He has mine.”
Mirel tensed, a faint shiver running through the body pressed to his. Vandor’s jaw tightened, shame flickering across his face.
Kylix laughed quietly, a dark rasp. “You see? Even ghosts can blush.”
Then, with Vandor still standing there, he tilted Mirel’s chin and claimed his trembling mouth. The kiss was not soft. It was punishment and possession, for the men watching as much as for the one being kissed. Heat shimmered around them, steam coiling where skin met.
When he pulled back, Kylix’s smile was faint and merciless. “Now you know where he stands,” he said, voice a calm blade. “And where you don’t.”
He turned away, still holding Mirel, leaving Vandor in silence as the sirens began to fade. Frost cracked underfoot as they moved.
“Move.” Kylix’s voice was sharper this time. His hand stayed on Mirel’s arm, guiding him toward the waiting hover car while his guards swept the perimeter, dragging attackers into the light.
“I shouldn’t have come,” Mirel stammered, voice rough and thin.
“You think?” Kylix snapped. “I leave you one day and you nearly get yourself killed. You had guards, you had orders, andstill—” His breath caught. Anger shuddered through him. “Stars, I should chain you again.”
“I didn’t mean to,” Mirel whispered. “They didn’t want me.”
“What?”
“I thought I could go home.” The words shook apart. “But it’s gone. They don’t want me anymore.”
