Page 85 of A Storm of Fire and Ash
I looked him over, standing like sin with his bare chest and delicious muscles. I gave him a tired smirk. “Killed a few men. They were touching what does not belong to them. So I dismembered one, shoved a stick up his ass, and killed the other two with my daggers,” I said casually. “You should’ve seen it—blood, thorns, screaming. It was actually kind of therapeutic. I used my magic, but only Kalista lives. She won’t tell anyone.”
Zayn blinked once. Took two steps towards me and stopped. Then his lips curved. Slowly.
“You’re a little wicked, aren’t you?” he murmured, setting the book aside.
I shrugged one shoulder. “Takes one to know one.”
Without another word, I walked to the bath chamber. I filled the copper tub with warm water, steam curled over the edge like an invitation. I slipped out of my clothes, every movement slow, deliberate. Blood fell in drops on the marble floor. I stepped into the water and sank down with a hiss.
It stung. But it was quiet.
And for the first time in a long, long time—I wasn’t afraid of my power.I sat in the tub for—I don’t know how long. Long enough for the water to go cold until I reheated it with my fire. Long enough for even my Fae skin to start pruning. My knees were pulled tight to my chest, my arms wrapped around them like a shield, or maybe a cage.
I’d killed three men.
I should’ve been trembling. Should’ve been weeping into the bathwater, begging the gods for forgiveness.
But I wasn’t.
Because it felt… good.
Not just right. Good.
There was a darkness inside me, and tonight it had bloomed like a flower made of thorns. And instead of cuttingit down, I welcomed it. I gave it water. I gave it blood. And now… I wasn’t afraid of it anymore.
I didn’t even hear the door open. Didn’t hear the footsteps, soft across the stone. I only noticed him when I heard the sharp intake of his breath. I didn’t move. My bare back was to him, pale and soaked, scars like silver rivers running across skin that he hadn’t known were there. I’d almost forgotten what they looked like.
I felt him come closer—so close the air changed. His presence pressed into the room like a storm on the horizon.
His fingers brushed one of the scars. A thin one that curved beneath my shoulder blade. I tensed, not from pain, but from the way his touch set electricity to my nerves. Magic sparked beneath my skin—mine and his, intertwining in some unspoken call and response.
He hissed softly. An expression I haven’t seen yet washed over his face. It’s like he was struggling to breathe. “Who did this to you?”
His voice was low. Too low. That kind of quiet rage that simmers before it boils.
I didn’t turn. My voice came out steady, cold. “The King.”
Silence.
Then his voice, sharper. “I’ll kill him.”
That was when I moved.
I stood, water cascading off my body. I turned to face him, fully exposed, not flinching. Not hiding. His eyes locked on mine—but not before they darkened, dragging slowly down my form like gravity had its own hunger. His jaw clenched. His breath hitched. I could see the storm in him breaking open.
“No,” I said, voice calm, but resolute. “I will kill him. The King is mine to kill. And mine alone.”
I stepped out of the bath and felt his eyes on my naked body the entire time. I wanted to smile and face himagain. A part of me liked the way he looked at me—like he was starving. I grabbed the robe from the nearby hook but waited just a moment longer to put it on.
I glanced over my shoulder with a smirk.
“You planning to stare all day?” I echoed his own words back to him, letting them drip with satisfaction. “Perhaps you should clean the drool off the floor.” And then I slowly pulled the fabric over my shoulders.
I caught the flicker of amusement in his darkened gaze, just before he turned sharply and strode out of the bathroom, the door swinging closed behind him.
I stood there for a moment, the heat still pulsing beneath my skin—not from the bath, but from him. I looked at myself in the mirror. I wondered what I’d look like with my Fae ears…
I looked at myself, my fingers hovered just above my collarbone where Zayn’s glamour pulsed faintly beneath my skin like a second heartbeat. It had been woven there so long, I hadn’t even noticed the way it dulled me. Softened me. Made me human.
