Page 23 of A Kiss of Embers
He swallowed.
Falling over dead would help no one. But giving the Ember Queen the very secret to kill him? He wasn’t sure if he should risk giving her the knowledge.
When he returned his attention to Seraphina, he found her lying down with her knees tucked beneath her stomach and her arms folded to give herself a pillow for her head. Her wings draped over her back like a blanket, and her eyelids were closed.
Unable to help himself, he snorted. “There is no way you actually sleep like that.”
Her only response was to turn her head away from him.
He sighed deeply. “Can you at least push me to the side? Something is digging into my back. Probably a rock.”
She ignored him.
“Fine. Pretend I don’t exist. I will sing at the top of my lungs until you acknowledge me.”
Her wings twitched. Otherwise, no response.
He inhaled a deep breath before belting out to the skies, “I once knew a fairy who walked on the moon. She danced, and she sang, and she drank from a spoon—”
All too suddenly, Seraphina smashed her palm against his mouth to silence him, her eyes two glaring daggers that could rip out his soul. She moved closer until only a breath separated them. And usually, when he might offer a jest or lick her palm to get her to retreat, he remained frozen as he gazed back into her eyes. His heart beat a disjointed rhythm, his pulse skipping through his veins as he stared back at her.
She was beautiful. Deadly. And far more alluring than he was comfortable with. The irrational, dumbstruck side of him wanted her to lower her hand and kiss him with lips that likely tasted of fire and smoke. The rational part of him fled entirely, especially when her thumb slipped on his mouth and brushed his bottom lip.
Seraphina’s eyes widened as she jumped backward, a haunch to her wings as she avoided eye contact. “I told you to be quiet,” she hissed, turning away from him entirely.
The woman settled back down in the same position as before, and his gaze couldn’t help but glide over her smooth hair, the bare skin around her wings, her flattering form. He asked the one question plaguing his mind since his capture.
“Why did you come alone?”
Her eyes appeared far away, her fingers clenching into fists before she maintained a neutral expression. “Because I ordered my people to stay behind. It was the only way I knew how to save Pri.”
She said nothing more as she turned away from him again with finality. But he supposed her logic made sound sense. If it had been him, he would have preferred going alone or with a small, trained group to keep out of notice.
In a quieter voice, he continued his tune, “Her hair was like gold, and her eyes were like gems. She plucked up the sun as if right from the stem…”
“What is the song you are singing?” Seraphina asked, and he found he held her captive attention as she shifted from her knees to her side, her knuckles resting beneath her head.
“A folk song.” He grinned. “About the most beautiful woman in the valley.”
All too quickly, her mouth dropped into a frown, and she tossed a pinecone at him. It thumped him in the chest.
“What?” he groaned, giving her a mock pout. “You don’t want to hear the rest? I think I’ll end it with something like…” He raised his voice and belted out another verse. “There were flames in her eyes and more flames in her hands. And when she got mad, she would tighten my bands!”
“Bastien!” She kicked his foot and glared at him, but he didn’t miss the mirth dancing in her fiery eyes. “Stop singing.”
He opened his mouth to start another verse but froze when a deep groan shook the entire forest around them and turned his blood cold. Seraphina shot to her feet, both of them staring in the direction the sound had come from.
Wind picked up the leaves around them, scattering them about the forest floor as if a storm brewed overhead. The temperature dropped exponentially in the space of seconds until a chill raked up his arms and dotted his skin in gooseflesh. His limbs began shivering despite his lack of control over his own body. His teeth chattered enough to rattle his skull.
But still, he watched the path behind them with hard eyes. His hands itched to reach for a weapon. Frustration clawed at him when his body refused to obey his command to move.
The wind ceased moving, and all was still on the path as the leaves settled with the faintest whisper of warning.
Frost crawled along the ground, curling its fingers around scattered leaves and weaving around vines and branches. The temperature dropped further until frosty breaths escaped Bastien’s mouth.
He dared not utter a sound, and behind him, neither did Seraphina.
Yet, the frost continued to claim their surroundings little by little, climbing over fallen tree logs, squeezing the life from once-thriving grass, and creating a stinging, brittle texture to each breath he drew into his lungs.
