Page 32 of Of Night and Blood: Special Edition

My eyes flew open, locking on Bellamy’s with little effort, as if my body was hyper aware of his. He slowly unlatched his cloak, the muscles in his arms and shoulders straining against his tunic as he slid it off in the most outlandishly obvious show of his assets.

I was ashamed to admit heat pooled low in my stomach. When he smirked as if he knew the way he affected me, that shame turned into anger.

Bellamy brought the cloak around my shoulders, his fingers never making contact with my skin.

“Your eyes are so beautiful—gray, like a storm cloud,” he whispered, his breath visible in the frigid night. Our bodies were nearly touching. He stared at my irises as if he were seeing them for the first time.

I never enjoyed talk of my eyes, because the memory of someone else’s love for them hurt a piece of my soul that I had long since buried. Even worse, any compliment geared towards my eyes was a reminder of another prince.

“Sterling used to say it was his favorite feature of mine. He enjoyed pointing out the color, as if he could think of nothing better to note,” I said, my voice flat.

I did not know how to feel about the late prince. Bellamy killing my fiancé and then taking me provided little time to process. Was I mad at Bellamy? Thankful? Scared?

The demon prince’s jaw clenched, his neck tightening at the comparison I made. Abruptly, he turned and walked further into the grassy area. I followed, not knowing what else to do. The tension in the air was thick when he whirled around to face me. We squared off, my mind on high alert for what he might do. But Bellamy did what I had quickly come to associate with him, he relaxed his body and smiled slyly. He was many things, but dejected was not one of them. I admired the way he could shine, how he quickly bounced back from unease or displeasure.

What a contrast, to be a Fire who easily angers but also a calm and composed Water. The witless side of me wondered how soon I would see the bravery of an Earth and the wildness of an Air within him. My rational side reminded me that all I would ever get from Bellamy were lies and betrayal, regardless of his mood.

I knew I never would move past the way he had deceived and manipulated me. How long was I carefully watched and assessed by him? Just as he was doing now. Eyeing me like I was an anomaly that he needed to study so he could find advantage within it. To him I was little more than a means to an end.

Each thought swirling through my head sparked my anger like a flint, lighting a fire in me. I desperately wanted to knock him to the ground.

“That is it Princess, let your wrath loose,” he said teasingly. I balled my fists in an attempt to resist his taunts. He took a step forward, but I refused to back down from him. His smirk irritated me, but I was here to learn, not be made a fool of. “Come at me Asher,” he encouraged.

I shook my head, prepared to protest. In the blink of an eye, he closed the space between us, and without much thought, I jabbed my fist out. I struck him in the nose, his head jerking back from the force.

Screeching at the pain shooting through my hand, I tried to hold back the tears, but still they relentlessly ran down my cheeks.

“I think you broke my hand you dimwit,” I hissed, panting heavily through the pain. Blood was pouring from his nose, but still he laughed.

“You broke your own hand. I cannot believe you just hit me.” The surprise in his voice brought a scowl to my face. As if he thought I would just sit back and let him attack me. Perhaps I should have hit him harder.

“Maybe if you would have—oh I do not know—told me we were starting rather than running at me like the lunatic you are, then I would not have hit you!” At this point I was shouting, but I could not help it as the pain and shock mixed with the rage within me. Would it be ludicrous to hit him again?

“I think you like that I am a lunatic, Asher,” he said, somehow flirting with me through the pain he had to be feeling. His teeth were crimson from the blood that seeped into his mouth, matching the red of my split knuckles. “And anyways, I was hoping to gauge how much you know and what instincts you possess. Apparently, I underestimated you.”

Another casual shrug of his shoulders sent my rage climbing once more. I would get nothing done training with him.

“I want to train with someone else,” I blurted through clenched teeth. If the searing pain was not enough of a sign that this pairing ultimately would not work out, then the way we seemed to gravitate towards each other was. We stood there, nearly chest to chest again somehow, both staring at the other as if we could will submission.

Bellamy turned to spit out some of the blood in his mouth onto the dewy grass, then glared down at me.

“And who exactly would you like to learn from?” The bite of his tone did not go unnoticed, but I could not afford to spare his feelings when this information was fundamental to not only my escape, but my survival.

“What about the pumpkin demon? He seemed fit enough,” I offered, waving my good hand towards the double doors behind us. When I did, I took in the sheer size of the estate that Bellamy called his home. It was a mirror of the interior, a towering dark presence. In the distance I could see the village and the market beyond, which were all so white they practically glowed in the fading moonlight. An interesting contrast.

A short stone path ended at the double doors that led inside, which were shaped like an arch. Four large cylinder towers reached towards the sky, four stories in height, connected by flat structures in between and on either end that sat three stories high. Most of the windows were shaped similar to the double doors in the front, arches of glass rather than wood. However, the fourth story of the far tower facing the sea had what appeared to be floor-to-ceiling windows, replacing the walls. This tower was thinner than the rest, the odd one out of an otherwise symmetrical design.

It was undeniably beautiful, Bellamy’s home. That much I could admit.

“You want Henry,” Bellamy growled, cutting off my mentation.

It sounded like more of an accusation than a question, but my hand hurt, and I simply wanted to see a Healer and move forward with training, so I swallowed the bitter anger. I turned back towards the demon prince, first taking in a breath of fresh air before the scent of him distracted me. Then I smiled up at him and spoke with as much sugar in my tone as I could conjure.

“I would love to train with him, as well as see a Healer.” When he did not so much as flinch, I gritted out, “Please?” Why was it so difficult to be kind to this male? Was it normal to simultaneously want to smack and kiss someone?

I tried to think of some way to salvage the conversation that I had already so foolishly bludgeoned. Glancing up at his bloody nose, which would heal incorrectly if not realigned by a Healer immediately, I saw that the red liquid had already stopped flowing. “You should probably see a Healer too,” I pointed out.

He chuckled then. A full, deep rasp that nearly brought a smile to my face. When he closed the small space between us, I felt the rumble of his chest and the warmth of his skin through his clothes. I pictured what it would be like to spend our days like this, laughing and training and touching. Then I quickly shut down the thought, because what would never be was not worth fantasizing over.

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