Page 115 of Blinding Light

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Cyprian sighed against warm skin, burying himself as deep as he could in the most intoxicating scents—pine tar, opium, and the remainder of their lovemaking. Arrogance. Home.

Mate.

Moargan was snoring softly in Cyprian’s ear, one of his heavy arms draped around Cyprian’s midriff, a heavy thigh wrapped around his waist. He must have fallen asleep sometime during the night. Cyprian had seen him sitting on his spot by the windowl, smoking and texting, for hours. Only after he’d heard the Imperial bark that he needed to get some sleep, his voice so loud that it had reverberated through the entire room, did Moargan come to bed.

Memories of last night started flicking through his mind. He’d been on his way to Archer. Cyprian blinked. He remembered Archer laughing during their call, but he didn’t have any recollection of being at his house. Had they met at campus? “And how did I end up here?” He whispered to himself, still feeling dazed.

Archer. His gaze shot to his wrist, and he reached out tocheck for messages. His friend had texted him, asking when he’d show up. Three, four messages, the final one just before five yesterday afternoon. He’d left and gone home from the underground parking.

So, he hadn’t been at Archer’s.

Theo. The blond-haired guy had been there. But where? Black Mohawk. The press conference. Cyprian’s eyes widened as his memory flooded back.

His eyes popped open. “Moargan?” He didn’t want to wake up the Imperial Prince, knowing that Moargan needed more sleep if he was going to search for his brother the next day, but this was important. It could change everything. And after what had happened yesterday, after all the things Moargan had gone through, he owed him clarity.

The room was covered in pitch-dark, which Moargan preferred. But Cyprian needed his attention. “Moargan, please.”

A light flickered.

The Imperial prince rumbled something in his sleep, mind still far away, though his hand blindly reached out to find Cyprian’s. “Helianth?” He jumped up. “Brother!” He brought his gaze to his multi-slate and started scrolling. “How long was I asleep?”

“Not much. You need your strength…”

“Good light.”

Cyprian watched as Moargan climbed out of bed and headed for the door. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

“Orders from the Imperial, I’m afraid,” came the muffled sound. There was a growl, followed by the unmistakable slap of skin hitting skin. And then Moargan was shoved back into the room by two uniforms. He looked furious.

“You can’t just keep me here when my brother is missing!”

“Three hours more is all your father asks.” Cyprian recognized Zimeon’s voice, the Imperial’s right hand. “You need yourrest, Moargan. Then a car will pick you up and you can boss them around for as long as you want.”

“You fucking—” The door shut and Moargan punched the wooden panels, growling.

“Angel?”

Moargan stopped banging and shuddered visibly. He turned to face Cyprian, his gaze wide and filled with a sadness that made Cyprian’s eyes burn. “I love it when you call me that,” Moargan whispered.

“Come back to bed, please.”

“I need to find him.” Moargan swallowed but stumbled back. “What if he needs me? What if they’ve left him out there to rot like they did Kylix? What if he’s already dead? My father doesn’t understand. He—he—” His voice was ragged, and he seemed lost. He didn’t finish the phrase.

“Come here.” Cyprian’s arms squeezed Moargan’s broad frame, pulling the warm sheets around them. “Your father is protecting you. A break, that’s what he’s giving you. Nothing more. Let me take care of you, let me talk to you, then we’ll wash, and you can go out there again. We will bring him home.”

“Home.” Moargan’s nostrils flared, and he shook his head lightly. “Yes.”

Cyprian grabbed Moargan’s hand and pressed their palms together. “I woke you, because I believe—I believe I’m ready to embrace my Dariux.” As soon as the words had left his mouth, what felt like a tornado rumbled through the pit of his stomach, strengthening in power with each thorough wave. “Look at me.”

Moargan did, opening his eyes, and gifting him with an amethyst glow that stole his breath. A glow that set everything aflame.

“Good light.” Cyprian stared at their connected hands. “Look at that.”

Silver threads showed through Cyprian’s skin, running from his palm up his arm. Moargan’s mouth fell open, and he lookedup at his arm, only to see more of the brilliant glow, all the way up to his shoulder.

“Take it off,” he growled. He helped Cyprian get into a sitting position. They pulled up his sleep shirt, gasping at the way Cyprian’s entire body seemed to radiate with the silver thread.

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