Page 20 of Wicked Depths

"We are bound," she murmurs, her lips so close, I can feel the ghost of her breath against my skin.

Her nails graze my ribs again, slow, deliberate.

"If I were to harm you," she continues, her voice a dark whisper, "I wouldn’t be keeping up my end of the bargain." She leans in, and for a fleeting moment, I wonder what it would feel like to have her hands roaming the places no one else has ever dared touch. To feel those cool, delicate fingers against the hottest, most heated parts of me.

The thought burns through me like a slow, consuming fire.

She smirks.

She knows.

Her gaze flickers to my lips, then back to my eyes.

"And I," she says softly, "always collect what I’m owed."

The weight of her words settles between us. A small relief, knowing she is bound by the same magic I am. That some part of her—no matter how wicked, no matter how cunning—cannot betray me.

But it also means something else.

It means avoiding my own end of the bargain may be harder than I thought. I let my head rest back against the pillows, masking the war in my thoughts behind a slow smirk.

"Then let the games begin."

Chapter

Six

NYXARA

Pain lingers, dull and stubborn, despite Vaela’s touch having soothed most of the damage. The magic she wielded was unlike anything I had ever felt before—cool and fluid, yet sharp, like the push and pull of the tide. Even now, as I lie in my chambers, propped against silk pillows, I can still feel the ghost of her fingers tracing over my ribs, healing me, teasing me, unraveling me in ways I refuse to name.

She sits across from me, perched on the edge of the chaise near the hearth, watching. Always watching. Her luminous, pearl-like skin glows in the dim candlelight, her silver hair tumbling over one shoulder, a contrast of softness against the sharp, knowing gleam in her icy icy-blue eyes. She has not stopped studying me since she pulled the wound from my body, since she ran her fingers over my skin, teasing power from me in a way I both loathed and—

No. I shove the thought away.

"What?" I snap, my voice rougher than intended.

Her lips curve into a slow, wicked smirk. "You're unusually quiet, Dragon Queen. I thought you’d be more… grateful."

I roll my eyes, shifting against the pillows, feeling the pull of the wound that is no longer a wound. She healed me. She gave me something I needed. And I hate it.

"I already thanked you," I say, dragging a clawed hand through my hair before letting it rest against the arm of the chaise. "That should be enough."

She hums, tapping a finger against her knee. "Gratitude isn’t the only thing I expected."

I arch a brow. "Then what?"

She tilts her head, her silver hair catching in the firelight. "Tell me about you."

I narrow my gaze. "Why?"

Vaela leans forward, elbows braced against her thighs, voice teasing but curious. "You act as if the world should already know. As if your existence is a legend we should all worship. But I want to hear it from the Dragon Queen herself. Who are you really, Nyxara? What made you this way?"

I exhale slowly, the scent of rain drifting through the open balcony doors. "That is not an easy question to answer."

"Try me."

I hesitate. I should shut her out. Should keep my silence. But something about the way she watches me—curious, but not entirely unkind—makes me relent.

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