Page 112 of Burning Ice
He had his wrist looped in the same chain Kylix had once used to bind him as a prisoner, collarbone sharp as glass under thin fabric. He wore a thin sleeping gown, half-open at the waist, the loose folds barely clinging to his hips. His hair was a soft, golden mess, longer than Kylix remembered, falling into his eyes like he didn’t care who saw him. That sharp nose, that cut of lip always caught between silence and defiance. Eyes like sun through ice, watching him, waiting. And that throat, long, pale, exposed, always too delicate for how strong he really was. Waiting.
Mirel blinked slowly. His voice came quiet, rough at the edges. He didn’t speak often. But when he did, it was to get what he wanted. “Maybe I want the trouble. Maybe I like when you lose control.”
Kylix stared.
The bond thrummed.
And something in him snapped.
He crossed the room fast. Didn’t speak. Didn’t ask. Just took him, fingers dragging Mirel by the jaw, mouth claiming, biting.
The first touch was rough, then desperate. Heat and cold met, metal met water and a hiss rose between their skins.
Kylix tasted salt and rain on Mirel’s throat. It grounded him more than any drink. The city storm still pulsed in his blood, every heartbeat felt like thunder looking for somewhere to strike.
He dragged his mouth lower, biting until Mirel’s breath broke, then catching it again with a softer kiss that almost undid him.
“You should hate me for this,” Kylix said.
Mirel’s hands found his face, palms cold, fingers shaking. “I never could.”
That answer hurt worse than silence. It left no place to hide.
The Waltr’s glass mirrored them in split fragments, fire in one curve, frost in the other. He watched their reflections blur as breath fogged the surface. He thought of how easily things vanished when heat met cold.
Mirel moved first this time, hooking a hand at Kylix’s belt, pulling him close until their chests met. His lips brushed a question that didn’t need words.
Kylix answered with motion, not mercy. Every thrust was penance, every gasp proof of life. His hands gripped too hard, Mirel’s nails raked his back. The sound of it filled the Waltr until there was no storm, only them.
When it broke, Kylix collapsed against him, breath shaking. The frost spread again, thin and spidering over the glass beside their faces. Each vein of white caught a flicker of flame from the lamps.
“You burn and I follow,” Mirel whispered.
Kylix looked up at him. “You freeze and I still burn.”
They stayed that way, forehead to forehead, until their breathing evened. The silence wasn’t peace, but it was close enough to pretend.
Outside, lightning flashed. For an instant, the whole city lit white. Kylix saw their reflections again, two figures caught between elements, fire bright on the glass, frost veined beside it.
But Mirel didn’t resist.
He didn’t yield, either.
The spark was already in him. His breath came harder, pulse unsteady, as if something inside had already caught fire. The Dariux didn’t sleep in him either. Not tonight.
No, tonight he let it happen.
And Kylix hated how much he needed that.
Mirel pressed his nose to Kylix’s throat and inhaled slowly, dragging his breath in deep. “You smell like regret,” he whispered. He didn’t say it to hurt, just to name what clung to the air.
Kylix shoved him against the glass, just enough to make it rattle.
“I almost burned the whole district.”
“I know.”
“I thought he’d be there. I thought I fucking had him.”
