Page 34 of Burning Ice
Mirel lifted the glass and took a sip. A drop escaped, sliding down his chin to his throat. Kylix followed it with his eyes, the urge to taste it sharp as hunger. His fingers reached out to the delicate skin and swiped the drop away.
“More. Finish it.”
Mirel hesitated, then obeyed. Another drip ran down his throat. A tremor passed under Kylix’s thumb where it rested at the pulse. He could smell his own soap and linen still clinging to Mirel, threaded with his scent from the clothes. The mix hit something deep and territorial.
“Now look at me.”
Golden eyes rose. Brighter than the lamp. Brighter than he deserved.
“Why didn’t you tell me? That he was your brother.”
Mirel’s mouth worked, then stilled. He looked away, to the floor, the corner of the rug, then back again, as if the truth had weight he could only lift in short pulls.
“Shame,” he finally said, little more than breath. “Dirt. I-I can’t.”
Kylix felt something mean and tender move through his chest. “You can now.” His tone stayed soft, the command underneath unyielding.
A small, stubborn shake of the head. “Not much.” He swallowed.
“Enough.” Kylix’s hand closed around his chin, forcing his gaze up. “You’ll eat what I give you. You’ll sleep where I sleep.” His grip lingered a second too long, thumb pressing at the hollow beneath Mirel’s jaw until the pulse beat hard against it. The sound pleased him. He hated that it did.
He should be out there hunting whoever had breached the prison. Was it Attica, or something worse? Whoever it was had freed Bekn from walls believed unbreakable for centuries. Yet Mirel’s trembling anchored him. One heartbeat under his thumb and the world went smaller, quieter, and unbearably focused.You’re wasting time,reason whispered.This time is mine,he answered.
“Tell me what today did to you.”
Silence balled tight in the room. Finally, Mirel said, “Light in chest. Loud.” He touched his sternum. “Hurt. Good hurt.” A swallow. “Afraid. Happy.” His lashes flickered once.
Kylix’s mouth curved. “Both are true.”
“Yes.”
Pretty choice. Fire deserves ice.
Kylix thought of Aviel’s earlier words, half-mocking, half-knowing. You never knew with that man. He had laughed it off, calling Aviel a fool for reading destinies where there were none. Now, with that heartbeat under his palm and those gold eyes fixed on him, laughter felt like a lie. Fate was for storybooks, yet the pull in his chest felt older than reason. The odds of a fatedbond were numbers, not miracles, but if it was real, he’d burn for it.
Kylix hovered over Mirel’s seated frame and began unfastening the buttons of his suit one by one, slow and steady until the panic eased. “My clothes look good on you.”
“Y-yes.” At least they agreed on something.
Kylix’s lips tipped up. Each fold revealed a new stretch of pale flesh, smooth and tight over bone, a body built for movement, for running, for being caught. “You’re trembling,” he murmured, dragging his knuckles down the exposed line of Mirel’s chest. “Beautiful when you’re scared.”
The suit slid from his shoulders like spilled water, pooling at his elbows. Kylix let his hands wander, thumbs grazing collarbones, palms flattening to ribs. “You were made too fine for this world,” he whispered, voice heavy with want. “Mine to ruin, if I want.”
His knuckles grazed hipbone, thumb circling a bruise until his little ghost gasped. “That’s it. Let it sting.” Kylix’s smile flickered sharp, pleasure of control humming through his chest. “Good.”
The sight of Mirel bare beneath his hands fed a dark satisfaction. Power had a taste and he wanted to bite down on it. The bruises on Mirel’s wrists were already fading to violet. The bites along his throat had darkened in the lamplight. Heat prickled across Kylix’s skin as he studied him, curiosity threading with hunger. The rhythm between dominance and fascination steadied his breath, keeping the balance exactly where he wanted it.
The bed looked too clean for him. Kylix liked the thought of soiling it with this.
And yet, he should have walked away hours ago. This was supposed to be about control, not need. But the longer Mirel stayed silent, the more Kylix’s restraint frayed. He told himselfhe wanted obedience, not warmth, but the lie thinned with every breath.
His multi-slate dinged. He opened the door, took the hot tray from the hall, and nudged it shut with his boot before setting it on the table. Mirel hadn’t moved from his seat, his suit half open, cock still painfully hard under the garment and his protected hand.
“I don’t know if you have always had trouble talking, or if it’s something that has grown over the years. You won’t tell me anyway, and I’m guessing it’s the latter. I wasn’t lying when I told Cyprian I’m having something made for your throat. You’ll get it soon.” He sat down across from Mirel. “They’ll make your throat feel better. Now, eat.”
Mirel hesitated before diving in. He still ate like a starved man. Part of Kylix felt annoyed because he should have kept a better eye on him. He’d never ask him for anything, not even when he was hungry. Especially when he was hungry. And while a good chase was in Kylix’s DNA, something about Mirel broke that rule. Especially not when his little ghost was hungry.
So he watched as Mirel ate. He rolled a red-cinder between two fingers, lit it, and set it in the tray without drawing. A small red eye watched the room. He reached for the brass puffer, let it hiss softly to life, exhaling ribbons of sweet opium that coiled toward the ceiling as he leaned back and hummed to a tune that sat somewhere in the background.
