Mates normally couldn’t keep their hands off one another when they first met. Yet given our situation, we hadn’t so much as kissed. Fuck, this was the closest she’dwillinglyallowed me.
I shoved down all thoughts of intimacy. In their place, pain licked up my spine, hot and jagged stabs accompanying each movement in my lower back. With the reminder of how the robbers had almost taken Sylaira from me, I punished every step as I climbed up to the second story.
More magic reached for the key and slotted it into the lock to the attic room. I peeled the door open, then carried my mate up the remaining spiral of stairs.
The room held a chill, and she shivered as I placed her on the bed.
“Wait here,” I told her, more threat than promise.
“As if I could go anywhere else,” she snarked as I returned to the base of the stairs.
I shut the door behind me with more force than necessary. Locked her in for good measure too.
I barely registered the conversation with the stablehands as I handed the horses off to them. On my return trek, I picked upSylaira’s discarded crutches and dragged in steadying breaths through my nostrils.
You are in control, Vaeron. Get a fucking grip over your emotions. You know the consequences of letting them get the better of you. You remember what he did the last time.
A flash of my father’s favorite dagger entered my mind, along with a phantom bite over my heart.
I paused at the attic door, hands braced on either side of the frame. I studied each knot in the wood, trying to calm my racing mind. Trying to find my center. Trying to find the silence when all she caused was noise in my head.
Being confined with her in such a small space was going to be torture. But I’d survived worse. I could weather the onslaught of her storm.
Resolve hardened, I shoved the key in the lock and entered.
Sylaira had removed her cloak and braced against the headboard. Her eyes flicked around the room, taking in the sparse furniture—besides the bed, there was a small washbasin and a dresser. A cold fireplace decorated the opposite wall.
Setting down our belongings in one corner, I tossed in a few logs, then lit them to bring warmth to the room. Summer held the forest in its clutches, though with the thick canopy filtering out much sunlight, it was chilly.
“Have fun wandering freely?” Sylaira drawled.
I paused in front of the cabinet. My fingers flexed, opening it anyway. “I had to take the horses to the stables. Not like you’d care.”
Finding a blanket, I flung it in her direction. It landed with a thud mere inches from her bad knee.
Fury sharpened the sneer on her lips as I faced her again.
Of course, she wouldn’t appreciate that I was helping her. She never would. Should have left the damn thing locked away and savored her suffering.
Gaze still locked with mine, she reached for it like she was accepting a vial of poison and shrugged it around her shoulders. I settled at the foot, back to her, staring into the fire.
I’d carried her into the attic like she was mine. Yet in every way that mattered, she wasn’t.
Never would be.
Because she was right.
I was a monster.
And a vicious, broken one at that.
23
Silence reigned between us, punctuated by sharp cracks of burning logs.
“I can order us some food,” I offered eventually.
“Not yet. Maybe later,” she murmured, her voice melodic and low instead of snarky and biting. For once.
