He closed his eyes, his nostrils flared, his jaw tightening as his hands found my hips and squeezed. “It’s healed.”
“Did they hurt you?” I asked.
Rhyan was silent for a moment, the wind howling at the windows, before at last he said, his voice dull, “Mending broken bones … always hurts. And happens slowly when you’re bound.” He released a long breath. “This is the same place I was in the last time that had to happen.” Eyeing his bedroom warily, he swallowed. “Gods. I hate it here.”
“I know.” I pulled his face down, kissing his forehead, then pressing it to mine, stroking his cheeks. “Did they do anything else to you? Your father?”
His chest rose and fell heavily for a moment. Then instead of answering, his lips found mine and we were kissing, his tongue already seeking mine, his hands on my ass, pulling me against him.
“Rhyan,” I gasped.
Before I knew what was happening, he was walking me backward, back to his bed.
“I’ll kill him,” he muttered, his lips skimming across my cheek to my ear. “Kill him for touching you. For hurting you.”
I felt the same way. The same rage was burning inside of me. We didn’t have time for this. We needed to talk. But the frenzy of touching him again, of feeling him so solid and hard against me, of feeling him healed, and alive, I couldn’t stop. I knew we were about to be separated and I didn’t know for how long. I pulled him closer.
I reached for his belt, tugging at the buckle, and sliding my hands beneath the leather of his armor, inside his tunic, my fingers grazing his belly. His skin was cold. I pushed my hands deeper, exploring more of his torso.
His abs tightened, as he let out a cry of pain.
I stepped back. “What the fuck? You are hurt!” I was already reaching for the buckles of his armor beneath the freshly pressed material of his new soturion cloak. I realized then that everything he was wearing was brand new. Black leather over metal, the material shining. No sign of wear or battle.
It was traditional Glemarian armor, the sigil of Ka Hart carved into the torso. No seraphim or moon for Ka Batavia. No sigil representing our kashonim. Our connection. I hated it. I wanted it off, and I needed it off so I could see what had happened. So I could fix it.
Already my palm was heating, the light of the Valalumir glowing from inside my heart. I welcomed the fire, the burn, if it meant he’d be all right.
“Fuck! No!” Rhyan suddenly stepped back, alarm in his eyes. “Lyr, please. Don’t!”
My voice darkened, and I could feel my aura flaring in anger, little embers sparking around me. “Rhyan, what happened? You have to tell me.”
He stepped back into me, and took my hands in his, keeping me from reaching for him again. “My father …”his mouth opened, like he was going to be sick as his chest heaved, “he … stabbed me.”
Immediately, I was struggling against him, trying to free my hands, to touch him, to examine him. To undo and fix whatever had happened.
But he tightened his hold on me, fervently shaking his head. “It’s healed. I’m fine, I swear to you. He’s done it before, remember? I’m just … sore.”
“If you’re just sore, then why can’t I touch you? Why won’t you let me?”
“Because …” His chest was rising and falling quickly, as his jaw tightened. “Because, I’m still healing, and I don’t want you taking it on! Because it’s not a big deal.”
“Not a big deal? Rhyan, he stabbed you!”
“I know!” he roared. “I was fucking there when he did it! I’ll be healed by morning. I heal fast. It’s only taking longer because of the binds—that’s it—I promise. I don’t want you feeling this—don’t want you weakened anymore. Okay?” His voice cracked, his eyes watering. “Partner, I won’t budge on that. Now what about you? Tell me the truth. What happened?”
I sniffled. “We negotiated.”
He exhaled sharply. Rhyan had told me he’dnegotiatedwith his father many times. It was never a simple conversation. He took my hand and our fingers intertwined.
“He showed me your name in blood. That gryphon-shit-Moriel-fucking-bastard. I swear on the Gods. I’m going to get us out of here as soon as possible. Whatever you agreed to, whatever he forced you to sign, I don’t care. It doesn’t fucking matter. I’m taking you away from here as soon as I’m strong enough. You and Meera. I swear it.”
I squeezed my eyes shut. “You can’t.” I rubbed my thumb over his palm. “You can’t take us anywhere. You’re bound. And the only way he’ll remove the binds is if you agree to everything I agreed to. That’s the deal. You have to proveyour obedience to him. Make him believe it, or he’ll keep punishing you.”
His lips twisted, and I could almost see his thoughts, hear him say that he didn’t care if he was punished.
“No,” I said. “I don’t want to see you bound. You can’t be if you’re going to heal. And neither of us will ever have a chance at freedom. You have to play along.”
“Fine. Done. I’ll agree,” he said quickly. “I’ll play the game, I’ll follow his orders. I’ll be the perfect Heir, perfect soturion, perfect—” he swallowed roughly. “Whatever it takes. And once the binds are off, we’re gone!”
