“He’s right.”
I don’t reply. I memorize all of her unique features, like those sharp, angled eyes that the fae of Solaria are known for, along with their sun-kissed skin and rich, dark hair.
Selene clasps her hands, “We will train everyday. If Galen comes to watch, which he never does, we’ll pretend it’s my normal sparing routine. Tristen, you’ll need to stay vigilant while on guard and alert Titus if you sense anyone approaching.”
Just like that, she’s all hard edges and impenetrable walls once more.
I square my shoulders, facing her. A braid holds her hair in a tight, high ponytail. Her face is bare, green eyes cold and serious like an age-old tree that belongs in shadowy lands.
No matter the garment, Selene has the power to silence.
“That’s your training uniform?” My words are more of a wheeze.
“This is a traditional fae uniform,” she deadpans.
“I like it,” Tristen coughs. “Vampires should adopt a similar fashion.” He’s provoking me. Testing if what he thinks is happening between Selene and me truly is the word I won’t utter yet.
“Leathers like these can not be fitted to form to beasts,” Selene jabs. “One must have sophistication, not feral instincts.”
“Every beast can be pacified.” Tristen smirks.
I elbow Tristen.
“Now I know why my brother picked you, Titus. Tristen and I would have gotten along.”
“And that’s a bad thing?” I grunt. Jealousy sits on the tip of my tongue.
“Yes. When you get along with someone, you become relaxed. You let your guard down. We need all our senses on high alert. There is a storm coming. It has inched over our horizon. The time to prepare is growing slim. When it comes upon us, I fear it will change everything.” Her last words fade into a smoky whisper, like frost on a windowpane, blurring the view.
I try to breathe some hope into the narrative. “We’ll survive.”
Why does she look away?
Her grasp shifts toward her dagger’s hilt. “Not every storm is about survival, Titus. Some storms are a lesson in endurance, as I fear this one may be. Come along.” Selene strides past us.
I reach out and grab her hand. Searing heat floods me. Her eyes widen, then narrow.
She feels it, too.
Flames erupt. The fragrance of magic pollutes the air. My fire magic springs free, covering her hand in flames. Selene’s inhale is so alarmed, it stabs my gut.
She tugs her hand back, trying to break my hold.
Tristen rushes forward.
“It’s okay!” I insist. “It just wants to feel you.” I can’t hide the grin on my lips as my flames hug her hand.
Selene tries to pull her hand free again. This time, I let her, but my magic stays cocooned in the palm of her hands just as dust clings to cracks. It doesn’t want to be swept out; it wants to remain tucked away in this embrace.
Happiness engulfs me, ripples down my spine as land quakes to move. Whatever these feelings are, they have migrated, inching us closer. In doing so, they’re causing harm to everyone.
Selene’s panic vanishes once she realizes my flames mean no harm. The fire transfixes her eyes. For one moment, that gets lost between her inhale and exhale, she smiles, a smirk so stunning that my knees tremble.
“You can control the temperature,” she states in awe.
She’s impressed. Why does her approval feel so damn gratifying?
I nod. “It comes in handy if I need to conceal myself in flames.”
