Page 52 of A Storm of Fire and Ash
Fintan took me again.
And then again.
We lay there, panting and sweaty.
Fintan turned to me, his head leaning on his hand. “He might have made you come, Elara, but don’t forget who your heart belongs to. You are mine, and no one else’s. This won’t happen again.”
Worry washed over my face.
“I-I’m so sorry. Are you mad? I don’t know what got into me, but—”
Before I could keep going, Fintan gently kissed my lips.
“I don’t know what got into me either, but I’m glad you felt good. Enjoyed yourself. I obviously did as well…” Confusion washed over his face for a brief second. “I’m not into men, so I’m not sure why I allowed Makar to touch me like he did… But I enjoyed myself because I was with you. I love you, El. You are mine, and I want you to be my Queen.”
His lips met mine once again before he grabbed me and made me straddle him.
“Now, ride my cock like the Queen you are. I’m going to fill all of your holes with my cum until you can’t be filled anymore.”
He slipped inside of me easily. Lubricated by his own seed.
I rode him again, giving myself and him the pleasure that we needed. In this moment, it was only us.
We finally fell asleep, a tangled mess of limbs, ourbodies intertwined.
Chapter Fourteen
The memory of last night still clung to my skin like starlight on silk.
I lay sprawled across my bed, the afternoon sunlight peeking through the curtains cast lazy golden streaks across the sheets.
I didn’t regret any of last night. Not the way they looked at me. Not the way they touched me. Not the way I cried out their names, or how I took them both without hesitation.
If anything, it made me feel powerful. Unashamed. Like I was more than just the girl shaped by grief and fire—I was something raw and untamed, something divine.
But Fintan… he hadn’t looked at me the same this morning. He hadn’t said much at all. His mouth pressed into a thin line, his eyes flicked away whenever mine found his. He hadn’t even said goodbye before leaving with his guards at dawn.
I sat up slowly, letting the cool air kiss my bare skin before reaching for the silk robe beside the bed. As I wrapped it around me, I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror—hair tangled, lips swollen, eyes shadowed with makeup.
He needed to feel whatever he needed to feel. I would not bury myself beneath someone else’s guilt.
Not anymore.
At least, that’s what I tried to convince myself of.
I crossed the room, my fingers trailing along the cluttered desk until they landed on a worn book bound in violet leather.The Trials of the Sorceress. I hadn’t opened it in days, but it had lingered in the back of my mind.
I flipped it open, and the same page found me again, as if it had been waiting.
The Mage Hand is not summoned. It is born. Not an extension of the mage, but a fragment of their soul given purpose.
My heart skipped.
As I read the words again, a strange heat sparked in my chest. My magic, always humming beneath the surface, began to flicker—like candlelight caught in the wind. I set the book down, suddenly breathless, as a shimmering sensation climbed down my arm.
I stared at my hand.
Dark, swirling light coiled over my fingers like ink in water—smoky and silver-veined, pulsing with something ancient. Not summoned. Not forced. It simply… came. As if I were now worthy of its appearance.
