Page 50 of Bound to the Shadow Queen
I saw Kyros looming over me, Alaric’s determined features in the instant before they were turned into mist. I saw myself, bloodstained and unconscious against a stone wall.
Defenseless and weak.
Somewhere through it all, there was freshly fallen snow, edged in juniper. The roaring of a fire. A squeak of indignation and furs pulled tighter against the chill of the night air.
Then it was gone, and I was dragged into nightmares once more.
It was warmerthan it should have been, but that wasn’t what woke me. There was a scratching sound at the window again, and every muscle in my body tensed before I remembered where I was.
Polished walls. Silver fur rug. Massive bed and a complete lack of color everywhere I looked.
I was back at the Winter Palace, and it was Batty making that sound.
I repeated the reassurances like a mantra while I rose to open the window, trying to calm the rapid beating of my heart with each step. I was halfway to the window when I remembered the ice.
And Batty needed to…take care of her business.
Damn it all to hells.
Was it possible to train a skathryn to use a regular chamber pot? Regardless, I couldn’t very well do it in the next two minutes.
Which left me with exactly one option.
Shards damn blasted everything.
The mana coming from the room next to mine was subdued, but nonetheless unmistakable. Draven was in there, and he was the only one with the power to de-ice my windows.
Steeling myself, I padded over to the narrow door that separated our rooms. I reached for the handle, and my talons emerged from the tips of my fingers.
“No.” I spoke the word aloud, shaking my head for good measure. I had known nothing but weakness in front of the singularly unyielding male I was bound to. I could damned well walk into his room without a panic attack.
Squeezing my eyes shut, I forced the talons to disappear before turning the handle and pushing into the room without knocking.
The door was halfway open when frost crackled through the room like a whip, racing along an icy gale of power that stopped just short of my bare toes. I froze, lifting my eyes to where Draven lounged in his bed.
All at once, the subdued mana made sense. He had been sleeping. It should have been obvious, but the idea of him lying peacefully in his bed was so at odds with the unending rage I had felt over the past weeks that it took me several heartbeats too long to process it.
Then several more not to resent him for it.
He sat upright, and the motion dislodged the blankets, leaving him bare from the ridged muscles of his shoulders down to the defined V of his abdomen.
Yet, my gaze remained solidly fixed on the raised, crimson scar that marred the flawless skin of his chest. Where the arrow had sunken in.
“Morta Mea.” His voice was rough from sleep, the deep timbre resonating through me.
I lifted my gaze to his narrowed eyes, forcing myself not to falter under the weight of his stare—or his mana.
“I need you to open my window.”
He blinked once. Then twice.
“No.” His tone was flat. “You’ll have to find another way to get yourself kidnapped this time.”
My hands curled into fists at my side.
He really was such a frost twat, but I couldn’t very well tell him that in the same breath I was asking him for something. I let out a slow, controlled sigh.
“It is not for me. It’s for…” I trailed off, wondering too late if he would take his fury out on my skathryn. He had let her stay before, but that was when he held more indifference toward me than outright hatred.
