“And are there many priests in your kingdom?” he demanded.
“No,” I said, shaking my head. “He was the only one.”
“Then why has your father arrived with a priest at his side?”
My hand flattened against my stomach and nausea surged and flecks danced across my vision. The priest was alive. I had felt the knife plunge into his heart. That was not an injury any Mortal could survive.
“I need you to tell meexactlywhat he did to you.”
My mind was spinning, and I was grateful for his hands around me. Without them, I may have fallen.
“The bloodlettings were my treatment. They said my condition was an imbalance in my blood. That if they didn’t drain it out, the madness would swallow me.” I hadn’t meant for my voice to crack, but it did. Betraying me.
The Commander made a broken sound that radiated danger, a mix between a snarl and strangled gasp.
His shadows burst outward in an uncontrolled pulse, the nearby candles sputtering violently. “Those weren’ttreatments.” His words were a snarl. A sick twist curled through my stomach. The commander cursed in the Fae language.
“They wereusingyour blood Lyra. That’s why the priest didn’t fucking die.”
Forty-One
Dominance
The Commander lifted me into his arms without hesitation, and I curled into his chest, breathing him in. He smelled like cool night air, sharp and clean, softened by the deep, molten sweetness of caramel that made my mouth water.
It was the smell of safety, of what had becomehome. The rising storm inside me slowed and panic melted away.
“Fuck the alliance,” he murmured, voice raw. “I want to watch you drown every single one of them.”
A small smile curved my mouth, not because he was right—we needed the alliance, but because he had accepted me. All of me. Even the darkest parts.
“I want to, but the Fates said to unite the Kingdoms to stand against the Seven Hells.”
They had also said if I didn’t save the Commander, I would become the destroyer of everything, but I kept that to myself.
A muscle ticked in the Commander’s jaw, and he lowered me gently onto the edge of the bed. His hand cupped my cheek, his thumb brushing my lower lip.
He was the missing piece I had needed to feel whole, and somehow, he had been holding a part of my soul for a thousand years—waitingfor me to claim it.
The Fates were right about one thing. If I couldn’t save him from his darkness, I would drown the whole fucking world.
“I cannot face them just yet, Little Drownling,” he said, voice low, frayed. “Not when you look at me like that.”
“Like what?” I taunted, knowing full well I was staring at him like he was the moon that pulled my tides.
His eyes darkened, devouring me where I sat in my silk dressing gown, the thin fabric slipping down one shoulder.
“You know exactly what you are doing,” he said with gravel in his voice, pushing up the sleeves of his black button-up shirt over his corded forearms. Gods, how did he lookmoredevastating this way?
“Maybe I do,” I said, leaning forward and gripping his belt buckle. His breath faltered. Just slightly. Just enough for truth to spill into the space between us. He needed me just as much as I needed him.
His forehead pressed to mine, breath shaking, lips barely brushing mine. “Lyra,” he whispered, like a prayer and a threat rolled into one.
I closed the distance and kissed him, pouring every overwhelming feeling I couldn’t voice down our bond.
I forced his lips apart and drove my tongue in without permission. He made a low broken sound beneath me, instinctively yielding as I set the pace and refused to let go.
My hands slipped up his chest, over the soft fabric of his shirt, the hard muscles shifting beneath. I ripped at his shirt and the buttons popped free as the fabric tore beneath my grip.
