I remember the boys in the major Houses pushing me around. But that was when I had no power to fight back. “You didn’t use your gift against them?”
Surprise flickers in his eyes. “It’s interesting that you call sorcery a gift.”
“Sorcery gained through murder is an abomination—to kill others to make yourself powerful is nothing short of true evil—but to be born with it... You can choose what you do with it.”
His hand strokes mine. “To answer your question: no. I didn’t hurt them. A sorcerer’s greatest power is secrecy.” It’s his turn to shrug, his broad shoulders lifting and falling, making his muscles tighten and relax beneath my palm. “Of course… if someone suddenly becomes ill and dies, it has nothing to do with me.”
I shudder, but sudden anger flares inside me. “Did you create the curse that killed the last Storm Princess?” My beautiful friend, Mai Reverie who was the Storm Princess before me, was killed by an intricate web of spells that had been made to look like the Storm. It was her death that gave the Elven Command the power they needed to create the curse that would force my husband to kill me. That curse died with Gideon Glory.
Grayson is unfazed by my accusation. “That wasn’t me. I had nothing to do with you or Baelen Rath until I took Gideon’s place on the Elven Command a month ago. Which is why I was surprised to discover that you are far from the ugly female Gideon described to me.” His gaze travels up to my tiara. He abruptly changes the subject. “The emerald stone flares more often than the others. Why is that?”
I’m wary of answering his question and giving him too much information about my heartstones, but it wouldn’t take him much to find out the answer for himself. “That’s Virtuous. She was a powerful healer; also very compassionate toward others. Empathetic. Kind. That is my power to heal and to perceive other’s feelings.”
Grayson asks, “So it keeps you alive but it also senses my emotions?”
If I was wary before, I’m even more so now. “Something like that.”
The pressure of his palm over mine eases, becoming even softer than before, but not letting me go. As I consider whether it’s time to fight myself free, he reaches for my other hand. Again, he keeps his movements unhurried, measured, watching me while I watch him. At the last moment, he snatches hold of my free wrist, an abrupt change of pace. His hand closes fully around my lower arm, wrapping his fingers and thumb across the delicate bones. His grip is firm, verging on painful.
He snarls, “Does it tell you what I’m feeling now?”
I don’t need Senturi’s Sight or even Virtuous to perceive Grayson’s emotions. “Anger. Vengeance.” I swallow. Oddly, I feel curious instead of afraid because there’s a deeper emotion forming the foundation of his wrath: pain. “You’re angry at me about something. Something that… hurt you.”
I’m not sure what it could be. My inner voice quietly asks me a more important question: why haven’t I pummeled this guy yet? What’s stopping me? Is it Virtuous and all her empathy about Grayson’s childhood? My healing power must be working overtime since Grayson hasn’t stopped touching me, so it’s probably messing with my emotions. Bethany warned me not to draw on Virtuous too much. I can’t think why else I’d stand here and let Grayson grab me like this…
I stiffen, but it feels like an afterthought, something I do because I’m supposed to. Why am I not more afraid right now? Why am I still standing here?
His lips part and his expression changes. So does his grip. He trails his thumb across the end of my sleeve, pushing the material down to expose the sensitive inner skin of my arm. He doesn’t stop there, gently dragging his hand all the way back up to my wrist, lightly circling my skin with the pad of his thumb.
He leans in, angling his body toward me. “What about now?”
I shiver, confusion flooding me. For a moment it felt exactly like Baelen was touching me, not Grayson, right down to the soft scrape of Baelen’s calloused palms.
I say, “Now you don’t hate me at all.”
He releases my other hand—the one that was pressed against his chest—running his fingers along that arm, stroking up to my shoulder, grazing his fingertips along my neck, brushing gently against my cheek, tucking my hair behind my ear, gently stroking my neck again…
Baelen’s hands…Baelen’s fingertips…
Sensation shoots through my spine and all the way to my toes, turning my bones into liquid. Confusion is a storm inside me as Grayson pulls me closer, much closer, guiding my hips to his, one hand caressing my lower back while his other—the one that was playing with my hair—lightly runs across my eyelashes.
“Close your eyes,” he says. “Tell me what you feel.”
I allow my eyelids to droop as he presses his palm across them, keeping them closed. His breath whispers across my cheek. His lips follow. I inhale and my head fills with Baelen’s scent, the touch of his lips against the corner of my mouth, the press of his body against mine. All of this male pressed up against me. All of it is Baelen. My heart rate increases and so does my breathing. I can’t control my body’s response as need rages through me.
Grayson’s exhale teases my bottom lip, not quite connecting but far too close. “Tell me.”
I can only form one confused word. “Baelen.”
I sense Grayson smile, but the sudden space between our lips is unbearable. Without thinking, I pull him closer to me, reaching for his shoulders. I want to kiss him. I want to press my lips against his, to drown in the taste of Baelen’s mouth, losing myself to his touch, to his fingers tangling in my hair and the shivers racing down my spine.
Now my inner voice shouts,Stop! He isn’t Baelen.
Grayson whispers, “What about now?”
I’m shaking. Shaking so hard. But I suddenly realize that I don’t need to tell him. Grayson knows exactly what I’m feeling.
I wrench his hand away from my eyes so I can see him again. For a second—the smallest moment—his true reaction is open to me: he is watching my lips and he is not in control. He leans toward me for a moment as if the sudden distance between us is painful. Then a mask drops over his face, over his whole body. He is calculating and measured again. He assesses my reaction, studying my face. I want nothing more than to hide my response, take back my hands gripping his shoulders, take back the way I pressed into him, stop it instantly, but it’s not possible. Baelen’s impact on me is a storm I can’t control, what I feel for him goes beyond physical. It’s emotional and mental and I can’t turn that off cold, not like Grayson has. But what really scares me is not the way Grayson hides his emotions so quickly behind an aloof mask.
It’s the crimson glow that fills the air around us, a glow that’s coming from the Rath Heartstone in his back. What terrifies me is the fact that Grayson was drawing on the Rath Heartstone while he was holding me. Baelen used that stone to bind himself to me for life, promising to love, protect, and honor me until the end of time. Until his death. It contains every emotion of love, need, protectiveness, and worst of all, the soul-searing desire that Baelen feels for me and me alone.
It contains everything Grayson needs to control me.
