Page 99 of Kissed By the Gods
He holds me tighter, as if he can feel the dream unraveling at the seams. Can he see the way the obsidian has curled around me, too?
“I’m so tired,” I whisper, eyelids growing heavy. My grip on him slackens.
“No,” he says softly, but I’m already slipping away.
He dissolves.
Or maybe I do.
Most of the men in this stronghold are blind as molebats. Strong warriors, every one of them, but put a tender thing like love in front of their noses and they’ll miss it entirely.
Still, for those of us whodohave eyes, Thalric and Nyrica are something extraordinary. Not loud or performative. Not the kind of bond that demands attention. Just… steady. Fierce in its quiet. A love that’s been forged in fire, tempered by grief, and bound not just by history, but by choice. Truly, it is the kind of love the bards would write about, if we hadn’t banished both love and music from these stone halls long ago.
The archons? Also blind as molebats. But I suspect the Ra’veth cast sees it too. How could they not? That kind of devotion doesn’t hide. It glows.
Let the archons and the others pretend otherwise. I’ll keep watching. It is, after all, an inspiration.
E
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
Nyrica slams Thalricto the ground in an incredibly masculine display that would have my blood pumping—if Nyrica wasn’t grinning down at Thalric with his heart in his eyes. And if I hadn’t spent the last two nights having entirely inappropriate and exhausting sex dreams about Ryot of fucking Stormriven. I’ve awakened in a tangle of sweaty sheets and with want that spirals through my blood like a virus.
I’ll admit, I’d started to fear my dreams were some kind of divine power from the gods. I snort and then slap my hand over my mouth to cover a delirious laugh, because I highly doubt the gods are blessing me with sex dreams of Ryot. My restless sleep is nothing but my own nightmarish past, my own forebodings, my own desires. Still, I wish I could somehow snuff them out altogether. They always leave me feeling muddled the next morning. I cradle my head in my hands and rub at the ache that spreads out from my right temple, my fingers gliding over the raised edges of my scar.
In a motion that’s a blur, Thalric intertwines his feet with Nyrica’s, tripping him and pulling him to the sand. The pit—where the men engage in less formal fighting and sparring thanin the outdoor arena—is in an indoor area of the Synod reserved for training. There’s also an enclosed gymnasium, a weaponry, and a weights room. This room is slightly sunken, with a sandy pit at the center.
A flash of lightning momentarily brightens the poorly lit chamber through its one high window. The quick burst of light—followed by the boom of thunder overhead—makes me wince as my head pounds.
There’s been no news from Carrisfal. The men blame the lack of word on this behemoth of a storm that rolled in yesterday afternoon and hasn’t eased up since, not even for a few minutes. The faravars won’t fly in it, they tell me, not unless they have to. Still, worry for Ryot has haunted my waking hours, just like need for him haunts my sleep.
Nyrica quickly pins Thalric beneath him. The two of them stay like that—chests flush together, hands intertwined, heavy breaths intermingling. I avert my eyes from the match, giving them a little privacy. My eyes drift upward, to look toward the high window. Even today, most of the men are outside taking advantage of the foul weather to get in elements training.
My time spent training in the godforsaken elements did not help my headache. I struggled through a lesson on building a protective shelter with Caius, before deciding it was literally impossible. The wind ripped the hides that were supposed to form the walls of my tent to shreds. The incessant rain and mud made anchoring anything impossible. My lesson ended with me wrapped up in one of the animal hides on high ground, curled up in a ball trying to retain body heat.
Caius laughed, told me I looked like a drowned rat, and sent me here to learn sparring. That was an hour ago. My wet hair is still plastered against my face, my drenched tunic is clinging to my skin, and my feet are soaked in muddy, water-saturated leather. I’m fucking freezing. It would’ve been heavenly to havetaken a warm bath or, at the very least, change my clothes. But wards aren’t permitted to clean up or warm up until the end of the day. It’s part of our resilience training. Godsdamned elements training and resilience training are for the birds. My mouth twists down in a sardonic smile. My entire life has been a lesson in resilience training.
I don’t need to walk around in soggy boots to know my own strength.
“Leina,” Nyrica calls out. “You’re not paying attention.”
I jerk my gaze over to see Nyrica standing in the center of the pit with his legs spread wide and his arms crossed over his chest. He’s covered in sand. Thalric is rising from the ground, meticulously wiping the white sand from his black leather pants.
I sigh and get up from my seated position on the cold floor.
“Why don’t you two go into the bathing chamber and clean up?” I nod toward the door on the other side of the room. It leads to one of the many bathing chambers scattered around the Synod. Every training area has its own, most of them located in the depths of the earth, where hot springs bubble up and fill natural caverns with delicious warmth.
They both stiffen.
“What did you say?” Thalric asks, his voice low. I shift my gaze between the two of them. I can’t tell if they’re offended, so I tread carefully.
“I’ll stay here,” I gesture vaguely at the sparring room. “And review …” my pounding, frozen head is having a hard time coming up with anything. “Meditation.”I’ll keep watch,I try to tell them with my eyes. “You two can go get cleaned up before we move on to the next session.”
Please, go relieve some of that sexual tension for all our sakes.
