Page 14 of Wings of Cruelty and Flame

I stared at Varidian, my heart fuelled by insult and offence now. The desire was still there; it was affronted, too.

“No.”

He dragged his teeth over his bottom lip, frustration showing. “You won’t even let me touch you. Do you think I’m a brute?”

I frowned. “No.”

“But you won’t let me touch you?”

“I’ve told you—”

“It’ll be over quickly,” he interrupted me, grabbing my hand too quickly for me to avoid the touch. I stared at him in horror, my heart crashing.

“You stupid,stupidman!” I cried, ripping my hand from his before he could make the cut, each breath coming sharper than the last. I warned him! “Your stubbornness has killed you; I hope you’re satisfied.”

“I don’t feel particularly dead,” he drawled, but his expression turned grave when he grasped how serious I was. I was on the verge of a meltdown, gasping, my head spinning, waiting for the screams to start. I remembered the screams of my baby sister, remembered the piercing howl of the clergyman I killed by accident, before I realised what dark gift god had given me. My eyes stung, tears forming.

“Ameirah,” Varidian said, catching my shoulders, squeezing with warm hands. “Breathe, dearling. I’m not dead.”

“You—no, you’re not,” I realised, frowning in confusion even as relief hit my system so severely that my knees weakened. He wasn’t dead, wasn’t screaming. I hadn’t killed anyone else. “How?”

“What do you mean how?” he asked so gently, like I was a wyvernling spooked before her first flight.

“My touch kills,” I hissed, because he knew damn well— “Oh. You don’t know. That explains a lot.”

Amber eyes narrowed. “Like what?”

“Why you’re taken with me, why you seem to want me, why you’re not running for the hills to escape your murderous wife.”

“You’re right,” he replied, stepping closer, making my heart skip when he slid a warm, solid arm around my back, pulling me flush to his bare chest. I was so focused on the placement of my hands, making sure not to touch him, that it took me a moment to realise he was embracing me. “Iamvery taken with my murderous wife. Did you really mean to kill me?”

That bolt of offense was back. “You were the one who grabbed me! Maddening man.”

Varidian laughed. Why was he laughing?

“I killed my sister when I was seven,” I said angrily, trying to cover the thorns that cut up my throat when I spoke the words. “A gentry man was talking about my mother, and I became so worked up that my magic awoke. I always thought I’d have sunlight magic, or maybe power over fire, but god gave me the touch of death. I reached for her hand, and she screamed, and kept screaming until her heart stopped. She was four. The same happened to the clergyman who tried to help me. I killed them both, each with a single touch of my hand. I’ve worn gloves ever since, and I never—never—touch someone with bare fingers. You should bedead.”

Varidian grew more tense with every word I spoke, the languid embrace he held me in stiffening, tightening until he was hugging me fiercely. He should have been pushing me away and running. Or I supposed since this was his riad, he should have cast me out on the street.

“You really could have killed me?” he asked, something bald and genuine in his voice—no amusement, no anger, no rumbling intrigue.

“Why do you think my father was so thrilled to be rid of me? I’m a pariah, Varidian. I’m dangerous. A monster.”

“I love it when you say my name,” he groaned.

I drew back an inch to give him an incredulous stare.

“You didn’t kill me, dearling,” he said, meeting my gaze. “I’m still here, my heart still beats.”

I shook my head, struggling to accept it. It didn’t help that this whole night seemed surreal, every note of fascination in his voice and bright interest in his eyes making it seem like a dream. I would wake up any moment, dress for my wedding, and find out my husband was a cold, calculating monster like the world believed of Varidian.

He wasn’t cold or calculating; he was just utterly, unapologetically mad.

“You can kill someone with a single touch,” he mused, glancing down at the hand I’d balled at my side. “Every time?”

“Since my magic bloomed, I’ve only touched two people. They’re both dead.”

“But not in a very long time,” he murmured, eyes on my face. “Touch me again.”

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