"I did it," he says, grinning at me with those orange-tinged eyes. "I actually did it."
"You did." I pull him in for another kiss, savoring the taste of his fire on my tongue. My hands slide down his back, gripping his hips. "Again. Show me you can do it again."
He does, and this time the wings are even brighter. The wings rustle with a sound like crackling embers, casting dancing shadows across the training room walls. Heat radiates from them in waves I can taste on my tongue.
"Perfect," I murmur, running my hands along the edge of one wing. The heat is intense but not painful, and I greedily drink in the essence. My cock strains against my pants, desperate for friction. "You're perfect."
Stellan's cheeks flush, the wings flickering brighter in response to his embarrassment. "I'm really not."
"You are to me."
The words slip out before I can stop them. That’s when I realize the truth. I'm falling for him. Maybe I already love him just as much as I love Rumi, in a different way but no less intense. The realization should terrify me, but instead it just feels right.
"Jade..." Stellan starts, but I shake my head.
"We don't have to talk about it right now. We have training to do." I step back, giving him space even though my body protests the loss of contact. "Dismiss the wings, then call them again. Let's see how many times you can do it in a row before one of the staff come looking for us." The lack of consistency in Grimrose is giving me whiplash. Sometimes every step is watched, and other times, like now, we're barely even monitored.
Until someone decides to care that we’re not with the rest of the students.
We continue to work through it again and again, building muscle memory, learning the triggers and the limits. By the timewe finally leave the training room, Stellan can manifest his wings on command about half the time.
It's not perfect, not even close to what we'll need when the Council shows up. But it's progress.
Now we just have to make sure the Council doesn't take him away.
Because if those essence hunters try to strip Stellan's essence, they'll have to go through me first. And I've spent too many years starving myself, suppressing myself, and trying to make myself small and harmless.
I'm done with that.
6
HARLOW
IwatchStellanpracticein the courtyard on the day after Varden's ultimatum, noting the way his control wavers whenever his emotions spike. He can manifest wings now. Jade's training session was clearly successful, though I'm trying not to think too hard about what exactly that training entailed based on the marks I saw on Stellan's neck this morning. But full transformation still eludes him, and more importantly, Stellan can't regulate his temperature.
My wraith nature runs cold. When I first came back, I couldn't control how much cold I generated—it took months to learn regulation. Stellan needs to find that same balance, and I know exactly how to help him.
The problem is that I'm exhausted. Between keeping an eye on the others, monitoring for any sign of those essence hunters, andtrying to sleep in a bed that feels wrong when Skye isn't in it, I'm running on fumes. But Stellan needs this, and I'm not going to let him down.
"You need an anchor," I say, stepping into the courtyard and letting myself become more visible so he sees me coming. My body flickers between solid and translucent, the death realm pulling at me like it always does.
Stellan looks up from where he's trying and failing to create a controlled flame, sweat beading on his forehead despite the cool autumn air. The visible frustration on his face makes something in my chest ache. "What kind of anchor?"
"Something to pull you back when you go too far." I move closer, letting my cold become palpable. His fire flares hotter in response. "Right now, your fire is all or nothing. You need the middle ground."
I hold out my hand, pale and slightly translucent in the afternoon light. My fingers are always cold now, have been since I drowned. "That's where I come in."
Stellan eyes my offered hand warily. "You're made of ice, basically. I'm made of fire. Won't that just hurt both of us?"
My smile is small but genuine. "Try me, babe."
I keep my hand extended, steady and patient, even though the death realm is tugging at me harder with each passing second. Stellan hesitates for a long moment, gathering courage, preparing for pain. Then slowly, giving me every chance to pull away, he reaches out and takes my hand.
The moment our skin makes contact, there's a hiss of steam where heat meets cold, and both of us tense. The burn of Stellan's fire against my death-touched skin should hurt. I'm sure he feels the icy bite of my essence. But then something remarkable happens.
Instead of fighting each other, our essences begin to balance.
Stellan's fire dims slightly, regulated by my cold. My death-chill warms just enough to be comfortable instead of freezing. We exist in perfect equilibrium, ice and fire, death and rebirth, two extremes finding harmony in each other. The sensation is so intense it makes my breath catch.
