Page 56 of Sundered By Fate

“Vanishingly few in Astaria understand the true power of our magic. Fewer still how to wield it to best effect. But you, Aric, eclipse them all.”

Valerian traced a finger along Aric's lips, and in that instant they both seemed to know what came next.

Suddenly, Valerian's lips were on his, hungry and demanding. Aric gasped, his protest smothered as Valerian's hand slipped behind his neck, drawing him closer. It was a kiss that tasted of desperation and longing—of needs that had been denied for too long.

Aric sank into it, letting the fire burning in his veins consume him. This was what he wanted—what he craved with every fiberof his being. To be seen, to be desired—not as a tool or a pawn, but as something more.

And yet, as Valerian's hands began to roam over his body, Aric couldn't shake the feeling that this was all wrong. That this wasn't who he was meant to be with—that there was someone else out there, waiting for him. Someone who understood him in a way that no one else ever could.

He tried to push the thought away, focusing instead on the feel of Valerian's fingers working the fastenings of his coat. But then Valerian's hand found the hardness beneath his trousers, and Aric's mind went blank.

"You are a treasure beyond imagining," Valerian purred, his lips trailing down Aric's jaw to his throat. "Even more beautiful than the fabled Blade of Light. To possess you, to wield such power . . . It would be a dream come true."

Aric moaned, his hips bucking involuntarily into Valerian's touch. He wanted this, wanted to surrender himself to the promise of pleasure and power that Valerian offered. And yet, even as he lost himself in the heat of the moment, his treacherous heart still yearned for someone else.

Malekith.

The demon prince's face flashed through Aric's mind, those dark eyes boring into him with a hunger that made his blood sing. In that moment, Aric knew with absolute certainty that this was wrong—that he belonged with Malekith, not Valerian.

But oh, how he wanted it all the same. The desire was a physical ache, a throbbing need that threatened to consume him. Aric's body trembled as Valerian's hand continued its teasing caress, each touch stoking the flames higher.

"Tell me you want this," Valerian commanded, his voice low and seductive. "Tell me you'll be mine, and I'll show you pleasures beyond your wildest dreams."

Aric opened his mouth to answer, to yield to the temptation that Valerian represented. But the words wouldn't come. Instead, he saw Malekith's face again, those dark eyes filled with a longing that mirrored his own. Images flooded him—memories of another lover, another time. Dark eyes glinting in the moonlight, a sly smile playing on full lips. Hands that could be gentle or cruel, depending on his mood. A voice like velvet over steel, whispering promises in the dead of night.

Even now, Aric couldn't explain the pull he felt towards the demon prince. It was more than just physical attraction, though that was certainly a part of it. No, it was something deeper—a connection that went to the very heart of who he was.

And he knew, with a certainty that shook him to his core, that he would do anything to protect that connection. Anything at all.

"Aric." Valerian's voice snapped him back to the present.

Aric froze. He wasn't sure why—the dream he'd been clinging to had just burst in a shower of golden sparks around him.

He grabbed Valerian's wrist, holding it still. "I'm sorry," he said quietly. "I can't do this."

Valerian's expression shifted, the heat in his eyes cooling to a calculated anger. "What are you saying?"

Aric released his grip on Valerian's wrist, scrambling for an excuse. Anything to explain why the haze had broken suddenly, why he'd no longer been able to follow Valerian's touch so easily down that path.

But Malekith had burned through him like fire as soon as his hand had touched Valerian's, and nothing Aric could say could erase the hunger Valerian must have seen etched in his features before that. It would be so easy to seize this chance, the softening of Valerian's anger that whispered he might forgive him for this transgression if only he would give him the right words . . .

He did not know Malekith was alive, but . . . these memories were making him doubt.

"I'm sorry," Aric said again, turning away from Valerian and sitting up straighter. "I—I thought I wanted this, but it's too much. The memories of my time with the demons, the cruel games they played . . ." His voice broke on the word, and a shudder ran through him. "I wasn't—I wasn't prepared."

Valerian's anger faded, replaced by something that almost looked like concern. He reached for Aric's hand once more. "Aric, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to push you." But his eyes were sharp, assessing, and Aric had the sudden sense that he'd been found wanting. "It's just—after everything you've endured—I wanted to show you there was more to life than pain."

Aric fought back a wave of nausea, not from Valerian's touch but from his own self-loathing. He was poisoning this—he would poison anything good in his life because he was still so tethered to?—

No. No. He couldn't think that now.

Not now.

"I should go," Aric said thickly.

As Aric prepared to leave, his eyes fell on a strange artifact on Valerian's desk. It was a small, intricately carved stone that seemed to pulse with an energy similar to the anomalies Aric had encountered. The stone was set within a larger object that resembled a royal staff, implying its significance to Valerian's ambitions. Valerian noticed Aric's interest and quickly moved to conceal the object, but not before Aric recognized symbols similar to those he'd seen in his dreams of the demon realm.

"Forgive me," Valerian said, his voice tight. "A personal matter I've been attending to."

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