Page 79 of Claws of Death

A heavy leg refuses to make it up the next step, but I will it into submission.

“I’ll always do that.” He waits as if for me to ask what he means, but I bite my lip, pushing myself higher. “I’ll always cheer for your achievements, no matter how big or how small. I’ll be there to watch you shine and grow.”

My toes slide over the edge of the next step—only, there is no next step. I’ve made it to the top of the stairs, legs shaking and arms quivering. I can’t let go of the handrail, so I lean against it, heaving a breath to loosen my tight chest.

The room is still a good fifty feet down the hallway, and my legs are killing me.

Myron steps up in front of me, smiling down at me like a blessing of the Guardians, but his eyes give away how much it costs him not to scrape me off the railing and throw me over his shoulder. “May I please carry you to your room, Ayna?”

No.I want to sayno, but my knees buckle, and my hands slip from the carved wood I’m leaning against as I slide to my ass.

Myron is still waiting. “My arms can do wonders, transporting you from one place to another, Ayna. I assure you it’s a luxury service you won’t regret using.” Humor dances in his eyes, a sight so exhilarating I can’t help but sigh and nod my approval. “Don’t tell the others.”

“Of course not.” So gently I barely notice he’s touching me at all, Myron sweeps me up from the glimmering tiles, wrapping me in his arms, head resting against his shoulder, and marches down the hall.

Ayna

The arena isslick with rain, rocks dripping and dust swirling in little puddles where the water collects on the uneven ground. I’m drenched to the bones, leathers sticking to my body like a very tight, very uncomfortable skin, but at least I’m still wearing them. A week of practicing shifting has worked wonders for Clio’s mood with not having to replace my wardrobe every time I manage to return from my bird form to my human form. I’ve tried to get my water magic to return at full force yet haven’t been able to summon anything remotely as spectacular as the armor the water from the lake at Myron’s palace formed around my body.

The Crows have been taking turns working with me on my Crow powers. All but Herinor. It wasn’t him refusing to help me, though; I decided to not put him through any more risk after seeing him bleed the day he hinted that Silas knows something about the un-mating situation. I absently rub my hand along the edge of my bicep where the burn wound is almost gone.

Today is Royad’s turn. He’s sitting on the highest wall encircling the arena, legs dangling and chest bare.

“Why is it that Crow males never wear proper shirts?” I shout up at him instead of attempting another shift. I’ve done three without losing a buckle on my jacket, and I don’t want to push my luck. Clio is scary enough as it is; I don’t need her to take my head for another set of leathers I make disappear. I don’t even want to know if there’s a secret stash of clothing tucked away in the in-between that will one day drop onto my head when I least expect it, or if they dissolved into dust and wind during shifts.

Royad holds out both hands to the side in a shrug. “Habit.” Within a few heartbeats, he shrinks into a feathered bird and flutters to the lower levels of the arena where he shifts back. “I grew up without a shirt. I believe I only wore one at your wedding because Myron forced me to.”

“You wore a shirt at my wedding?” I clearly have no recollection of that day or the horrors I endured when I believed Myron was going to eat me alive on our wedding night.

Royad shrugs again. “Does it matter? When given the choice, I’ll always choose shirtless.” He circles me, scrutinizing me from head to toe. “You know your stance is shit, right? You won’t last a minute in hand to hand combat.”

We’re not here to train that, but I know enough about hand-to-hand from my time on the Wild Ray, have fought my fair share with fists when capturing and looting ships. So, I adjust my feet anyway, bracing for the impact a moment before it comes.

Royad’s hand is at my shoulder so fast I lose balance before I can even hope to fortify my standing—good for a human opponent, but for a fae?

I land on my ass the way I seem to be doing every other day now, be it from exhaustion when climbing stairs or from harsh training in the arena with any of the Crows or fairies.

Royad chuckles, offering a hand to help me up at the same time.

I hop back to my feet without his help.

Again, his hand lands on my shoulder, same spot. And I land in the mud.

“What, by Eroth, was that for?” I spit out the rain and wipe a splatter of dirt off my cheek.

Royad grabs my hand and pulls me up without warning, setting me to my feet and kicking them slightly apart so I end up in a proper fighting stance. “You keep forgetting that your magic will not be worth a thing if you end up on the ground and can’t find your footing. The Flames will burn you. The Crows will rip you apart with their claws. And the humans will inject you with their drug and drag you right back to Erina’s chambers.”

There’s wisdom in his eyes, despite the mocking of his tone.

Turning on the spot, he puts three long strides between us. When he faces me again, his features are grim.

“I thought I was here to improve my shifting.” That’s what he said when he picked me up for training a long, wet hour ago.

Royad nods, water dripping over his ears from the bun tied at the back of his head. “That’s where this training started, but we’re far from done. Myron has been cautious with you because he doesn’t want to break that fragile thing you’re regrowing between the two of you. His main priority is to give you time to heal from what Erina did to you. He’s so focused on not pushing you that he keeps forgetting it won’t matter if the bond still exists when Erina gets his hands on you. He’ll do it all over again just to spite you. Tobreakyou, Ayna.” His brows knit together, his tan skin pale in the morning light. The ocean blue of his eyes is an exact copy of Myron’s, but where Myron has been careful and deliberate with me, Royad is losing patience. Not with me but with his cousin. “He’s destroying himself over you, Ayna. Day and night, he’s waiting, listening, searching for a sign that you’re ready. That he can shove you into the next stage of training, tell you the truths of what life will be like if we lose this war.” He swallows, hands balling into fists as he approaches—one step, then another, exasperation and determination warring on his features. “I can’t watch him break. I’ve seen it happen in the Seeing Forest. I’ve seen him give up hope. I’m not ready to see him break for good this time, so you better learn to defend yourself on every level that counts, or I’ll hold you personally accountable for it when he shatters over the loss of you.”

My body turns cold, center of gravity lowering as I bend my knees. Royad has been quiet the past weeks, a shadow aiding Myron, consulting Tori and Recienne, cheering up Kaira and helping me improve my already mastered skills. I’ve never seen him like this, but he’s right.

I’ve been wasting so much time hesitating that I can’t tell anymore how strong the bond between Myron and me has regrown. I haven’t dared tug on it to see if he’ll feel it—for fear he would and fear he wouldn’t.

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