His brows knit together, the cruel slant of his mouth thinning before opening again.
His eyes pinned me to the spot as one dark brow lifted. “Who are you?”
39
VEYKA
It was a nightmare. It had to be.
Any second I would wake to find myself alone in that stone bedroom, the four walls closing in on me like a prison. The place I’d thought was a refuge, that had called out to me with the promise of family and home, was slowly making me lose my mind. Tomorrow, I’d leave for the coast and the amorite mines. Whatever excuses I had to make to Elayne, I’d find them. I just could not stay here. The echoes of Arran were too strong. Now I was having visions of him while waking.
“Who are you?” he asked again, singling me out from the crowd of terrestrials.
Wake up.
I blinked my eyes rapidly, trying to clear the fog that had conjured this vision. Nothing happened, nothing changed. The wine must have been drugged. My hand flailed behind me, reaching for—
“Your Majesty,” Lyrena murmured, appearing at my shoulder. I recognized the warmth of her flames, still dancing at her fingertips.
Arran’s dark brows rose higher still on his golden forehead.
“Elementals,” he growled.
Damn it, Veyka. Wake up.
Wake up. Wake up. Wake up. Wake up.
“Arran,” Elayne’s voice sounded in my ear a second before she swept by me, putting herself between me and Arran.
There was only one reason she would do that.
I had come to know the Lady of Eilean Gayl over the last few days. I believed I had seen her true heart, and I’d shown her mine in the ways that I could. I knew that there was only one reason she would stand between me and my mate, knowing the depth of my loss, the guilt and longing that plagued my every breath.
This was real.
I was not dreaming.
My mate had risen from his enchanted sleep, healed and whole and powerful once more. And he did not know who the fuck I was.
There was such stillness, we could have been a painting.
Arran and I, staring at each other, while every single being around us held their breath.
He might not know who I was, but he’d marked me nonetheless. I was not wearing a crown, no magic danced around me. But he still singled me out. Some part of him knew, even if his mind did not.
A low, rumbling growl filled me. Arran’s beast brushed up against my consciousness, sliding into me with familiar ease, caressing the parts of my soul that not even I was brave enough to touch. But Arran’s face did not shift. The male was not awareof the what the beast did. Or, at least, did not recognize the meaning of his beast’s reaction to me.
I could not move. I could not think. The golden thread of our mating bond was strong around my heart, compelling me to go to my mate and seal our reunion with a physical touch. I’d always been able to sense his nearness or distance through the bond. But over the last few weeks, it had been so frayed I’d detected nothing beyond its existence. Now, the force was strong enough that it took all of my own strength to keep myself from falling into his arms.
Arms that would not close around me. Would shove me away. Might even draw the battle axe from his belt.
His belt—the jeweled scabbard.
It was there.
Relief washed through me. He was safe, at least.
Arran seemed to realize at the same moment, his thumb stroking over the lip of the scabbard while his eyes fixated on the one at my waist, the twin to his own. The matched pair. As we were meant to be.
