Even as her closest confidant, even as her best friend, Bruin doesn’t know the true extent of the blood contract between Aerin and her father.
“Gods, Aerin, it’s been eight years. I thought you moved on,” Bruin chastises.
The anger grows, and like a spear through her chest Aerin realizes that Bruin, the creature in her life who is supposed to know her best, maybe doesn’t know her at all.
“They are mybond-mates. I will never move on,” Aerin growls.
Bruin swings back to face her, halting his pacing. “They mean nothing! Bond-mates mean nothing!” His voice rises.
“Maybe to you!” Aerin screams back at him. “Because you don’t have any! You have no idea what it’s like!”
Flames burst from the floors around them, lining the walls. Aerin isn’t scared of the fire, and she isn’t scared of her brother.
Taking a metered breath, Bruin puts out the flames with a wave of his palm. “Bond-mates aside, you need a personal guard. You’ve needed one for a long time.”
“That’s bullshit and you know it. Father just wants to control me, even more than he already does.”
“Not everything is about Father, Aerin!”
“Then explain it to me, in graphic detail, why I need a personal guard in the safest City-State on the continent.” Aerin folds her arms over her chest, glaring at him.
“There have been attacks. Dark Creatures. Rogues who’ve?—”
“Rogues?!” Aerin shouts, her anger rising once again. Aerin can hardly be convinced the Dark Creatures are more than scary bedtime stories. And Rogues are not even allowed to enter Valtara, so far behind Fae in technology and societalsophistication that considering them a threat to someone like Aerin is laughable. “That’s a flimsy excuse at best!”
“Gods, Aerin, would you just listen to me?” Bruin shouts, his voice rising to out-do hers, the argument escalating to a level only a fight between siblings can.
“No! You’re turning into a miniature Father, like his clone! I thought you wanted to be different. I thought?—”
“Enough!” The flames burst back into existence, higher than before.
Aerin’s rage surges—the betrayal, the excuses, the way her brother is transforming before her eyes into someone she doesn’t recognize. Anger, Aerin’s old friend, is the only response she has. The one that grips her tightly and lashes out before she can reign it back in: whether it’s her magic or her words, she aims to hurt.
“You’re pathetic, Bruin. Look in the mirror now and tell me you don’t see Father looking back at you.”
Just as the hit is intended, it lands. Brutally. Bruin’s face contorts in anger, his flames reaching out for Aerin like hands. Before they can touch
her, magic bursts out of her in an explosion, the likes of which Aerin hasn’t achieved in eight years. The porcelain around them shatters, the mirrors fall into thousands of pieces on the floor, the pipes in the ceiling burst. Water floods over them in a downpour, extinguishing Bruin’s flames.
Aerin’s panting when the door to the bathroom slams open and the Dragon-Fae bursts inside. He’s a force to be reckoned with as he shoves his way between the two Tolvare siblings, creating space where there had been almost none. His icy eyes look down at Aerin, unease filling them as he evaluates her.
Hardly sparing him a glance, Aerin steps around his massive bulk to scream at Bruin, “You are supposed to be on my side!”
“When will you see, there are no sides?” Bruin shouts back, his own guards attempting to usher him out of the bathroom. Bruin forcefully shoves them off.
Someone outside the bathroom says, “I need a crisis management team to the east bathroom.”
The Dragon-Fae raises his wings, blocking Aerin’s line of sight. Aerin tries to look around him again but when she can’t, all the anger still swirling inside of her turns on him instead.
“Get out of my way!” she shrieks. Instead of moving the Dragon-Fae looks at her critically, appraising her. His eyes roam from her face to her chest, down to her shoes and back up.
“Get out of my way!” Aerin repeats, shoving against his chest. The Dragon-Fae rocks back on his heels, though if he’s surprised, he doesn’t show it.
Aerin shoves against him again, but her ire is already draining like the water around her. Swirling away into nothingness, gone as fast as it came. The Dragon-Fae’s large hands wrap around her wrists, holding them to his chest. Aerin weakly tries to pull away, but as her adrenaline falls so does her energy. The Dragon-Fae’s returning pull on her wrist causes Aerin to stumble forward, closing the space between them, her forearms pressed into his firm chest.
“Let it go, Princess.”
The tenor of his voice sends a shiver down Aerin’s spine. It’s sharp, demanding. Aerin always lashes out at being told what to do, but this command is one she almost wants to follow.
