Page 108 of Of Wind and Terror

My father must see something on my face because he holds his hands up placatingly. “I didn’t mean it like that, son.” He cants his head to the side. “Does she know? About…you?”

I don’t respond. Don’t allow him to see any flicker of emotion on my face.

“I’m not saying this to hurt you, son, but I know firsthand what it’s like to love and lose someone.” Grief flashes across his face, and I wonder who he’s thinking of. My mother, who died years ago? One of his other lovers?

His mate?

I know he had one long, long ago.

I also know she died of old age.

I tighten my grip around the armrest as I think about losing Kassandra in such a way.

Holding her frail, brittle hand as she lies on her deathbed…

Hearing her last rattling exhale…

Watching the life drain from her brilliant blue eyes…

My heart constricts, and it’s suddenly hard to take in a breath.

I don’t give a damn that she may turn old while I’ll remain young forever. I will love her regardless.

But I won’t be able to handle watching her die.

I fucking refuse.

“That won’t happen,” I tell my father curtly, my words superimposed over a growl.

“Blaze—”

“I’ll figure out a way to make her immortal like me,” I snap. “I won’t let her die.”

Some of my father’s skepticism is replaced by fascination. “You love her, don’t you?”

This time, I don’t even need to think of my answer. “With everything that I am.”

“Good.” My father rubs a hand over his whiskered chin. “I was beginning to worry about you.”

I stare at him in confusion. “What do you mean?”

“I’ve watched you for centuries, Blaze.” A wry grin touches the edges of his lips. “You only really did three things—fought, fucked, and coveted my crown. I thought there was something wrong with you. How could you not fall in love at least once? But now… Now, I know the truth. You were waiting for her. For your mate.” He shifts on the chair. “I pray that you find a way to stay with your mate. Gaia only knows what you’ll do to this world if you were to ever lose her.”

42

KASSANDRA

I’m not surprised when Blaze escorts me to his personal chambers and then leaves for a meeting with his father.

I am surprised when he turns towards the nearest guard—a tall, older fae with burnished red hair that flickers like firelight and hazel eyes—and snaps, “Guard her with your life. But she is not, nor will she ever be, a prisoner here. She can go where she wants to go.”

The guard seems just as shocked as me—his mouth opening and closing repeatedly—but nods adamantly.

After Blaze leaves, I make quick work of studying Blaze’s bedroom—though it’s actually a series of small rooms, all connected by a sitting area in the center. The second largest room boasts a four-poster bed and an auburn canopy that may have given it a feminine feel if it wasn’t for the fur rug on the floor and the antlers mounted above the fireplace. Various weapons, most of them swords, line the wall in an artistic display that screams Blaze.

Another room has a claw-foot tub and a chamber pot. The water in the basin appears fresh, and it still emanates steam. The final room is an office that superimposes as an armory. If I thought Blaze had a lot of weapons in his bedroom, that’s nothing compared to this room. Swords, axes, daggers, and katanas line the wall, their blades gleaming silver in the flickering torchlight.

I timidly reach for the nearest blade and run the pad of my thumb over the edge. There’s a sharp prick, and a tiny bit of blood drizzles to the ground.

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