Page 41 of Trials of Dusk and Dreams
Squealing, I launch myself at him, planting a kiss on his cheek. He stiffens, pushing me away. Odd, but I probably surprised him. Before he can complain, I do the same to Bodin. Their flustered looks make me want to do it again. Instead, I say goodbye to Geraldine and head out.
These Sluagh have been known to lie. I don’t want to give them the chance to change their minds.
Chapter 18
Bodin
Styx meets us in the snow-encrusted front courtyard dressed in only threadbare breeches. No shirt. No shoes. His hair is tousled, fingers stained with charcoal. A smoking cigarillo of something decidedly not tobacco dangles from his mouth, its sweet, cloying scent making my eyes water. Judging by his half-mast eyelids, it’s not his first indulgence of the night. A flash of irritation sparks through me. We need him alert, not lost in a haze of artificial bliss, especially considering our Shadow’s penchant for calamity.
I shouldn’t have challenged her during the training session. Now, I have to deal with distractions.
I pluck the offending item from Styx’s lips and stomp on the embers, watching them die with grim satisfaction.
“Why did you do that?”his thoughts slur into my mind.
“You need your wits tonight,”I return, my tone brooking no argument.
Calamity’s voice cuts through the tension. “Aren’t you cold, Styx?” she asks, rubbing her arms vigorously before blowing on her hands. A puff of breath escapes her lips, arousing the air into a misty cloud.
She adamantly refused Legion’s third attempt to have her don something less revealing. Now, she clearly regrets her decision but is too stubborn to admit it.
“Nope,” Styx answers, his speech a poor imitation of mortal cadence. He’s likely been eavesdropping on the thoughts of old-worlders all day. Goosebumps break out on his flesh as we speak. “I’m just your transport. Don’t need a coat.”
“Or clothes, apparently,” Willow snorts.
“You can talk.” Styx prowls around her, his gaze a physical thing as it assesses her revealing attire. “Not much left to the imagination, is there?”
His steps falter as he circles behind her, his gaze sweeping down to her shapely behind. Sensing his pause, she glances over her shoulder. He quickly scowls, but not before I glimpse the raw need in his eyes.
Those two are more alike than they care to admit. They’ll be thick as thieves once he overcomes his distrust. Trouble loves company, after all.
Legion shares a derisive look with me, no doubt sharing my sentiment.
“Let’s go,” I growl, stepping closer to Styx. His skin is like ice as I take hold of his closest arm. Maintaining an excellent grip is imperative to avoid being thrown whenflickering. Legion does the same, standing behind Styx on the opposite side.
Styx smirks at Willow’s dubious stare and beckons her with two hands. “Time for a hug, fangs.”
She hesitates.
He drops his arms. “What now?”
“Just wondering where I should—ahem—hold on?”
“Anywhere you want,” he purrs. “I’m not precious.”
Her snort of amusement confuses him. I’m about to bark for them to hurry, my patience wearing thin, but then she stepsforward. Willow encircles her arms around his waist and presses her body flush to his front.
He’s not the only one taking a hitched breath at her scent, at her maddening nearness. My senses have been heightened all day since our sparring session. My cock grows hard until I feel it press against Styx’s thigh. If he notices, he doesn’t reveal it.
Remembering Legion’s warning from earlier today, I splay my hand on Willow’s lower back and tug her flush against Styx. Her suffering is the last thing we want. She squeaks in surprise.
“Hold onto her,” I growl to Styx. “Tight. And if you fuck this up because you’re stoned, then you know what will happen to your entrails.”
Styx’s face pales. Legion’s lips curve. Willow’s lips part, brows furrow. Before she can question my comment, Styx slips his hands around her waist, and the worldflickersaround us.
The scenery changes with every blink, a dizzying kaleidoscope of places and times. For a moment, I catch glimpses of unfamiliar landscapes, echoes of laughter, and flashes of golden feathers spattered with blood.
When we land, I am thoroughly disoriented. The heady air is humid and thick with the scent of night-blooming jasmine and exotic spices. A rhythmic beating of drums competes with my galloping heart, the primal rhythm sending vibrations through the soles of my feet. I step back, frowning at the familiar breezy curtains dangling between low-hanging branches, their gossamer fabric shimmering with an otherworldly radiance. Bonfires flicker in the distance, casting long shadows that dance and writhe like living things. A gathering crowd laughs and converses, their voices a melodic hum punctuated by occasional bursts of tinkling laughter. Some kind of grassed dais is being set up for dancing, its surface sprinkled with luminescent petals that glow softly in the fading light. A pole at each corner connects lanterns swinging on chains overhead.
