Page 41 of Burning Ice
Mirel shook his head.
“That’s too bad.” Kylix smirked, eyes flashing with malice. “Now, let’s get that hungry stomach fed, shall we?”
Mirel smiled. “Thanks.”
Kylix tilted his head. His thumb traced the angle of Mirel’s jaw. “Thanks? For making you come like you’ve never come before? For feeding what’s mine?”
Heat climbed up Mirel’s throat. He shrugged, suddenly unsure.
“For kidnapping you? For keeping you in my bed?” Kylix waved him off. “You’re very welcome. I loved your hand around my dick. Can’t wait to feel your mouth and ass soon.”
“Kylix!” Mirel’s cheeks flamed.
Kylix smirked as he got out of bed, muscles rippling as he stretched. His body was taut, skin darkened by the sun, each movement controlled and deliberate. “You’re right. Let’s focus on more pressing matters right now. Such as getting you breakfast before we’re going out.”
Mirel’s mouth watered at the sight, but he shook himself out of it. The thought of going to the hospital was enough to fill his stomach with a mix of dread and anticipation.
“We’re meeting Moargan in one hour in front of the hospital.” Kylix tapped on his multi-slate. “You will go with Cyprian. We will accompany the both of you.”
He was going to meet his mother. The thought was nearly too much. For so many years he had dreamt of her. Mirel’s chest ached as if the word itself had weight, the sound shaking something loose inside him.
The thought sent a tremor through him. What kind of woman was she? A stranger who shared his blood, or someone who might see through the frost and call him by name? He tried to imagine her voice, her face, the sound of her breathing. Nothing came. She existed only as a shape in the distance, a rumor he had never dared approach. Now he would stand in front of her, and that not-knowing felt heavier than fear. Hope was a dangerous thing, it pressed too tight against his ribs.
Would Celia Fandi know who he was?
His stomach clenched, the ache spreading until it reached his throat. He had wanted this for so long, and still, the thought of her not wanting him hollowed him out.
He looked away, suddenly struck by a sense of grief. Ludo hadn’t wanted him or Cyprian. What if their mother was the same? But then Cyprian had told him she was sweet. Still, perhaps she looked at Mirel once and decided he wasn’t going to be good enough.
Kylix watched him a moment longer, something rare flickering behind his eyes. His hand brushed Mirel’s knuckles. “Your father was a beast,” he said quietly. “But your mother is sweet. She will be glad to see you.” The words were almost gentle, and for a breath, they steadied the air between them. Then he turned away, reaching for his clothes. His voice sharpened again, cold and sure. “Get ready now. We’ll also go to the Green Mansion. The Imperial Milanov wants his look at you.”
At the mention of that title, fear tightened around his lungs. The thought of being dragged before that power made hisstomach clench. Cold slipped under his ribs. He wanted to stay where the sheets still remembered heat.
Kylix opened a tall door at the side of the room, revealing a closet. “Your clothes are there,” he said. “The bathroom’s just there. I’ll wait for you in the kitchen.”
Mirel watched him leave, the quiet click of the door echoing after him. For a moment, he stayed in bed, blanket drawn around his waist. Then, with a small breath, he rose and crossed the floor. Pale light seeped through the glass, washing the room in quiet gold. From somewhere outside came the sound of shifting water and a faint morning chime, marking the change of hour. The estate outside had begun to wake, a low hum threading through the walls.
The closet light blinked on. Inside hung rows of clothes. Gray school uniforms, soft shirts, trousers in neat lines. The sight made his chest tighten. He hadn’t owned clothes like these in years. He touched the fabric once, half afraid it would vanish. His heart clenched. He dressed slowly, the fabric strange and clean against his skin.
The sound of the shower died away, replaced by distant voices and the faint whir of machines beyond the walls. Steam clung to his skin as he moved toward the door, the air cooling around him.
Questions lingered as he took his shower. Outside, faint music carried through the vents, a soft rhythm he’d never noticed before. It reminded him that life here continued even when he couldn’t see it. The water was hot, the soap smelled like coconuts, the cloth clean. It was the first real warmth he had felt on his skin in years. The heat stung at first, then melted into him, loosening every knot and shiver left by cold nights. Mirel could have stayed there forever, under that hot rain, washing away all those years of filth and cold.
The clothes were soft. Dark trousers. Soft black shirt. He kept on staring at himself in the mirror, not recognizing the man he saw. Pale. Skinny. Platinum hair falling down his head, curling under his ear. Wearing the fanciest clothes he’d ever seen in his life.
What did Kylix want with him?
No one wanted to keep Mirel.
Kylix waited in the kitchen. The space felt warmer than Mirel expected. A soft tune played from the corner, something he’d heard once in the river quarter and liked. Morning pooled on the stone, light steady and calm. Kylix leaned against the counter, a red-cinder cigarette glowing between his fingers. He took a slow drag, then gestured for Mirel to take one. Mirel hesitated. Those cigarettes were expensive. Back in the graveyard people would have killed for those. Besides, the offer itself unsettled him.
“Sit,” Kylix said.
Sitting here without chains felt strange, like he’d stepped into someone else’s life. Steam lifted from the kettle, mixing with the faint music and smoke. Kylix took a fresh cigarette from the pack and placed it between Mirel’s lips. His thumb steadied the filter, eyes fixed on his mouth as he struck a lighter. The flame flared, and for a heartbeat Kylix’s gaze turned hungry. Smoke curled up when Mirel took a drag, uncertain and slow.
Kylix’s grin sharpened. “Those are special cigarettes. They make you feel good.”
Mirel didn’t answer. He watched the ember burn down, smoke rising in thin, slow ribbons. The glow lit Kylix’s mouth when he drew another breath, the hollow of his cheek deepening before the exhale. It was hypnotic, the movement, the calm, the heat held so close it felt deliberate.
