Page 27 of A Chill in the Flame
There were only three people in the world Tyr hated morethan Dwyn. He’d see them all dead the moment he had the power he needed. He’d like to see her dead, too, even if he couldn’t be the one to kill her.
“Get off me, dog!” Dwyn hissed. She wriggled against him, and he tightened his hold to keep the serpent in a woman’s body against the wall. Her teeth flashed with anger, dark eyes smoldering like blackened coal. She held his gaze with a challenge in her eyes, as if refusing to give him the satisfaction of looking away.
He towered over her from where he had her pinned against the stones of the castle’s outer wall. The wind and waves splashed against the cliffs behind them. His flexed muscular forearm crushed her windpipe as her feet struggled to find purchase on the soil.
“Did you think I wouldn’t find you here? Did you think you were alone?” Water dripped from his hair, running down his jaw and neck, washing the tattoo that wrapped its way just past the collar of his shirt.
“I’m not in Sulgrave any longer, Tyr. The clan has no power in Aubade. If Anwir wanted me, he should have come for me himself.” She released a frustrated grunt as shestruggled, but her sounds were washed away by the cries of gulls and the waves.
“You’re a small fish right now, and I think you know that.”
Her eyes burned with hate as they bore into his dark eyes, his hair, his fucking tattoo. Goddess above, how he despised the matching ink that marred their skin. He’d pluck the knife from his hip and peel the tattoo from his skin right now if he thought it would free him, but their curse was far cleverer than mortal tools.
He returned the burning glare. His reflection in the mirror had once looked back at him with kind eyes. They’d been the rich colors of coffee and earth and the forest. As he pinned the siren to the wall, he hoped they were glazed like the dirt used to cover graves, not unlike the one he wanted so badly to put her in.
Motherfucking Dwyn.
He’d followed her across the Frozen Straits, though his hunt for the witch had begun far, far before that. He knew what she was. He knew who she wanted. He didn’t know how, when, or where she’d infiltrated Farehold’s royal family, but she’d beat him to it in spectacular fashion.
“What are you doing with the princess?” His question was a thinly veiled threat. It came out in a low, angry growl.
“You know why I’m here,” she said through clenched teeth. “The same reason you are.”
“Berinth won the blood race. It’s over. Go home.”
“After you,” came her taunting reply. He searched her face for further explanation. When he didn’t budge, she laughed. “Noble, stoic, stupid Tyr. Do you really think it’s over? And, what, I’ve stayed in Farehold because I love their backwater culture? Why did the goddess curse me with such an idiot for a shadow.”
His nostrils flared as he struggled to control his emotions. She wasn’t wrong. At least, not completely. He’d followed Dwyn across the Straits because she held the secrets he sodesperately needed. He hadn’t understood what had driven her to Farehold until he’d caught her skulking about Castle Aubade. International politics had never been of interest to him, but he struggled to understand how the southern kingdoms could be so ignorant and barbaric as to still utilize monarchies, unless they didn’t understand the implications.
But, surely, they knew. Everyone knew. Didn’t they?
“Ask me,” Dwyn said, biting down on the words. “Ask me how I’m going to do it without you.”
“You can’t,” he snarled.
“Oh, but I can.”
A sound behind him told him she was summoning water, but he was as quick as shadow. He opened the door that led to the castle’s back entrance before the salted waves crashed down onto them, dragging the siren into the corridor with him. Water rushed in at the seams and hinges, splashing under the doorframe and wetting their feet just as he slammed it behind them.
“I’m no threat to her.” Dwyn slammed her foot down into Tyr’s instep and he grunted, but it did not have the desired effect. He did not release her.
“You’re no friend to her, either, witch.”
She laughed. It was a dark, humorless sound. She was unfazed as she stared him in the eye and said, “There’s more than one way to obtain a royal heart, dog.”
He bared his teeth in an ongoing growl, and she mirrored the expression, sharpened canines reflected against the dim, flickering lights of the corridor.
He pressed harder on her windpipe. She gripped his forearm uselessly as she began to bargain. “You plan to focus your efforts on me while Berinth lives? You’re a fool. You saw what he did with Caris. You know what he may yet accomplish. He’ll have the southern kingdoms long before you and your precious band get what they want. If he succeeds, it won’t matter what I’m doing with the princess.” She spat and the froth of her spit clung to his face.
The sound of footsteps scraped from the distance beforehe had time to respond. Tyr slammed his hand down over her mouth just as she sucked in a breath to cry for help. She brought a knee upward in an attempt to harm his manhood, but he rotated in time so that she struck only leg. He had only moments before whoever approached caught him in the castle.
As the individual neared, Tyr vanished.
Dwyn kicked slightly until the tips of her toes met the earth. He could no longer be seen, but he wasn’t going anywhere.
“Dwyn?” called a man’s voice. Tyr recognized it as belonging to Ophir’s bodyguard before the man rounded the corner. “Are you there? I need to talk to you about…” Harland’s voice trailed off as his gaze raked over the awkwardness of her stance. Tyr flexed in frustration as he understood what the guard must see. She was not relaxing against the wall. She was not breathing easily.
Fuck.
