Chapter 11: Lucas - Bound to Ruin

BAUER ESTATE, PRESERVATION DOMAIN, ASTRUM FOREST

The sun blazes down upon me as I begin to take form several inches above a pristine slate platform. My teeth grit as I’m stretched and pulled from the effects of an improper transportation circle. My injured knee screams, and my chest, where Alasdair partially ripped open my scar, drips blood onto the platform. Oh fuck, I’m about to be ripped in half.

Then in a blink, it’s over. My form fully takes shape and gravity grabs me. I land face first on the polished slab with a wet smack, my ripped-open shirt fluttering down to rest on my back.

My brain sloshes in my skull and I don’t have the energy to even groan. My threads splutter before dissolving, and my burning-hot rings cool to black. They leave behind a raw, blistered pain that melds with all the other aching parts of me. My scar pulses like something with razor-sharp teeth suckles at it. I twitch, but can’t do more than that to alleviate the discomfort.

The ringing in my ears fades to be replaced by trilling songbirds and rustling leaves overhead. Focusing my eyes, I blink, slowly assessing my surroundings while immobile. Lush jacaranda trees in full bloom surround me in a perfectly manicured garden. The out-of-season chill and storms of the city are shockingly absent. The summer heat is suffocating, and the stillness of the air offers no alleviation from the shock of the temperature shift.

My stomach is a rioting mess as my hazy, bruised brain fights to connect something. The dripping, purple flowers swing and branches creak, but the hot air doesn’t move.

A purple flower brushes the back of my blood-coated hand with a soft slurping stroke, only to leave behind a streak of cleaned skin. Teeth glint in the flowers, and a hissing fills the air as more of the branches lower down. My stomach rolls. Oh, for fuck’s sake. I cannot catch a break today. Out of all the places for Tori to send me, the center of a carnivorous tree grove was the farthest in my mind.

I try to even my breathing and center my mind in preparation for yet another battle, but it’s no use. My ribs are screaming, and I can barely take even a half breath. My fingers are cooked. I can’t even twitch one to try to get the threads out to stitch parts of me back together. I have no idea what’s wrong with my knee. Hopefully, nothing permanent. I doubt I’ll be able to find a skilled healer sometime soon.

In the end, it doesn’t matter if I could move my hands. My rings are ice cold. The magic has retreated deep within my tokens to lick their wounds. The severing Alasdair did to them mid-curse-break was brutal. They were already damaged by The Arachnomicon’s venom. Back-to-back intense battles have done my token connection’s healing no favors.

I need to heal. My rings need to heal. And these flowers need to fuck off.

Boots falling on soft grass alert me to someone’s approach. The carnivorous flowers withdraw, and the relief is staggering. In its wake is a bone-deep exhaustion that I have nothing left to fight against. My eyelids grow heavy and droop so low that I barely see the pristine, expensive clothing stepping into my line of sight.

A familiar drawl shivers down my spine as my vision begins to fade. “Well, well, well. I expected my wayward beloved and found a magician instead.”

Breathing is difficult. Little flashes of light flicker in my periphery. The footsteps stop. “Magician?”

The darkness is closing in. Hands grab me, and a hissed breath penetrates the fog clouding my mind. I’m rolled over and the pain throbs. The sun is too bright through the jacarandas and shadows the man kneeling over me. Strong hands with long fingers grip my face. The smell of fancy cologne overtakes the flowers’ potent fragrance, and I breathe it in deeply, my bruised heart fluttering in recognition.

A desperately whispered, “Lucas,” is the last sound I hear before the darkness consumes my mind.

For a single blissful moment, I believe I’ve awoken in Tori’s lavish bed. It fades quickly when my eyes blearily squint open. The silk sheets below me are black, not a comforting cream color, and the four-poster bed has heavy curtains that are drawn back. The canopy above has detailed embroidery of the night sky that shimmers with enchantments. I slowly turn my head and flinch with a long hiss. Alasdair really did a number on my neck and probably left behind bruising to prove it. I manage to turn enough to behold a marble-topped side table with a gold ticking clock and a tall glass of effervescent blue liquid.

The soft light filtering through the open windows permits me to examine my injuries while lying down. There’s not a trace of blood left on the parts of skin I can see. Even my nailbeds are squeaky clean. The rest of my hands are encased in thickly wrapped bandages. I lift one, even though it’s like lifting a bar of lead, and run it over my bare chest where a thick line of padded bandaging is taped over my scar. There’s not a trace of dirt or sweat to be found. Or clothes.

A soft snap of a book closing has my head whipping to the other side. I choke on a yelp and clutch my aching neck. Holy gods, that hurt.

A tongue clicks disapprovingly before a familiar, low, aristocratic voice tugs on my heart. “You’d think being a talented thief would mean you’re intelligent enough not to hurt yourself, but perhaps I’m too unfamiliar with humans. Tell me, does your kind usually enjoy pain or are you special?”

My head spins, and I’m not sure if it’s from the trauma of getting my ass handed to me in a fight or my heart being ripped to shreds by a letter only hours before. Slowly, I finish my turn without passing out.

Valentin Bauer the Sixth lounges elegantly in a comfortable-looking green velvet chair at my bedside. He’s wearing expensive linen slacks with a crisp white button-up that stops mid-sternum to display his prominent collarbones and lickable dip at the base of his throat. His sleeves are rolled up to his elbows to reveal a wyvern skin watch with multiple faces to show different time zones. A gold ring with the Bauer crest on it catches the light on his left hand, the sign of him being the next in line for head of his family.

My stomach drops as my heart kicks up into an irritating tizzy, like my body can’t decide on how to react. I should’ve known this is where Tori would send me. The estate is extremely well protected, and Valen is a talented healer. But then I remember she wanted to stay away from Valen. In fact, she couldn’t bring herself to contact him about the dead body’s suspected identity.

So, if the body in our bookshop isn’t Vincentius, then she sent me into a hornets’ nest of problems when the Preservation Councilor discovers me in his precious son’s care.

I don’t need this level of complication right now. I have Tori to save and can’t be derailed by the very specific kind of distraction that is being around Valen. The more his light blue gaze holds mine, the more a tingling awareness shivers over me. I’m pinned under the weight of it, the memories of our time together attempting to resurface. Then there’s that simmering rage and pain from his letter.

I need to get out of here, yet I can’t move. Alasdair thoroughly beat my ass senseless. He captured both Tori and Jinx. Even when I’m fully healed, I doubt round two will result in a different outcome, unless that outcome is me spit roasted for his sadistic game.

There’s a glimmer of hope for me here that I can’t ignore. What I need is help, and help is sitting his pompous ass right in front of me. Valen is powerful. He has connections. He could even get his father to angle the weavers’ in-fighting to my advantage if need be.

Which means nothing if Vincentius is dead in Peripetia’s basement. A chill shivers down me, and my aching hands tighten. Would Valen still help me if Tori killed his father? I never got a definitive answer on whether or not Tor was guilty of that.

Too many loose ends with too many unanswerable questions. At the very least, if I play my cards right, I might get some answers.

I swallow my pride and paint a smirk on my face to hide my turmoil. My usual cockiness is easy enough to slide into. I nod towards the blankets that hide my nakedness. “You tell me, blueblood. Am I special? Or do you routinely strip your guests and take advantage of them?”

Valen’s lips tilt, his gaze darkening. Fuck, all I can feel are those lips on my cock while he licked me and Tori that night in Nora’s spare bedroom. My hands tighten too hard, and I flinch when a zing of pain shoots through my fingers.

Valen’s eyes flick down to inspect my hands before meeting my gaze again. “I can assure you, I restrained myself. Fucking a near-corpse is not one of my many kinks. That can change, though, now that you’re less corpse-like.”

Heat radiates from an incriminating flush on my chest and neck. Damn it. His smile grows.

I clear my throat and lift up on my elbows to ease into a sitting position. Pain lances down my chest, paralyzing me with its intensity. Red flashes before my vision and my back hits the plush mattress. Valen’s chair screeches and it kicks back with the force of him standing.

I snap out my hand to stop him when he reaches towards me. My voice strains as I snarl, “Do not touch me.” Valen freezes, those artist’s hands remaining outstretched towards me. I pant and try again in a calmer tone. “I’m fine. I can… do this…”

Through sheer force of will, I sit back up. My stomach clenches rhythmically and cold sweat drenches me. Valen’s hands curl into fists before they relax and he flicks his fingers. The pillows rearrange themselves into a nice slope for me to ease back against, and the glass of blue liquid hovers under my nose.

“Swallow all of it,” he commands.

I cover my queasiness with a smirk. “Not the first time.” I chug the whole thing, and my stomach instantly settles. The pain sizzles away, all except the scar over my chest. That still throbs. I frown down at it. What did Alasdair do to me?

Valen’s eyes sparkle. “Don’t tempt me. I did enjoy⁠—”

“Stop.” I’m not sure if I’m talking to myself, Valen, or both of us. My teeth grind and my eyes squeeze shut. All confident bravado strips from me as my insides roil. Playing with Valen is too damn tempting. Feeling his barbed, sensual words sink into me is a special kind of pleasure that I find myself craving. But a pain in my heart stops me. “Your letter told me everything I need to know, Valen. No need to keep doing this.”

Valen’s eyes shift and his throat works. I look away as well. I’d told him that I didn’t want to be used, and that’s exactly what he did. He selfishly sucked and kissed and toyed with my body in ways I haven’t permitted in years just so he could satisfy his lust. He gave no thought about how I would feel after.

Hate me if it will make it easier.

Gladly. I will hate him. I’ll play nice because he didn’t have to patch me up, but he did. I’ll give him that. But he tried to take Tori with him and abandon me with nothing. Now he’s flirting with me? My teeth grit and my hand tightens on the empty glass. Fuck him.

Great. Ten minutes in and I’ve already lost sight of trying to get Valen’s help. I sigh and rub my eyes. Tor. How am I going to save you?

Valen rights his fallen chair, and it creaks when he retakes his seat. “Would you like to talk about it…?”

I growl through clenched teeth, “No.”

“Fair enough. Then let’s discuss the most pressing matter.” His gaze darkens, magic sparking in his irises. “Who did this to you?”

My heart pulses and teeth click together as I grind. How dare he say that like he cares. I want to snap at him, scream and yell and fight with him. I want to shove him against the wall and storm out of this house. But I can’t do any of that. I barely can sit up. And I can’t fight Alasdair alone.

For Tori, I can master this pain.

My throat works, and I release all the tightness in my body with a harsh sigh. I begin my story with discovering the grimoires going wild. It seems the most relevant.

Valen is deathly pale by the time I finish. Exhaustion weighs me down into the pillows, and I let the soft goose down swallow my raw, bruised flesh. He doesn’t speak for a long time, and I’m fine with that. The ringing silence is a comfort to my swirling thoughts. So much has happened in such a short amount of time. I just need a moment to breathe, but I don’t get that luxury. While I lie in silk sheets, Tori is trapped. The memory of the black mist and wet clicking from Alasdair while Tori screamed in his prison tightens my throat, and I struggle to swallow around it. Can Jinx really keep her safe?

Valen finally breaks the silence. “I thought…” He clears his throat and shifts in his chair. “I thought Tori had sent you through to me while she finished with whatever new trouble you two got into. I never thought… I never expected…”

He trails off, and I gaze unblinkingly at the bed’s canopy. I follow the embroidered constellations I recognize. My voice rasps, “Yeah, I know.”

Valen rubs his forehead. “Alasdair was always a capable weaver. His Transformation line is quite skilled at warping metals and stones, but to keep her alive while imprisoned would be debilitating.”

“He’s something else now. He’s not a weaver anymore.”

“I fear you’re right. Tori fed her curse for too long and gave it too much. It has taken over Alasdair’s body.” His hand slides down his face to cup his chin, his finger tapping his lips as his eyes narrow. “I wonder what Atticus thinks of this new son of his and if he has noticed something else living within the body.”

“Yeah, that’s got me thinking. What do the weavers think happened to Alasdair?”

“He’s alive. Atticus used the news to create a standstill in the civil war.”

“What I don’t get is how he got out of that collar. That shit looked welded on.”

“It was. My father was the one who helped Atticus solder it together. A tether to keep him from crawling all the way to the bookshop.”

I frown. “I don’t get that. Why wouldn’t they use Alasdair to track Tor down, then?”

“They did. It’s how they found her in the first place. But Atticus didn’t like his son being used as a hunting dog. They tethered him, but he kept slipping free, so they welded it closed. I was sent instead.”

I snort. “I see your father had no issue using you as a hunting dog.”

Those sharp blue eyes slice through me and I flinch. Valen leans against his armrest. “My father recognized me as a valuable player, not a curse-mad liability. Perhaps Astoria did not share this with you, but it was I who told her about Atticus knowing of her curse. It was hidden within the letter I delivered.”

His words hit their mark, but I’m not about to let him see that. I smirk. “Sorry, we were too busy fucking after you left to do much talking. Thanks for all those tips, but discovering all the places that make her moan myself is much more fun.”

Valen’s eyes spark dangerously, sending a chill down me when he responds coolly, “Yes, I remember sampling your talents. I see why Dimitar was willing to trade so much to get his hands on you again.”

The barbed arrow of his words strikes my chest with a thump that twitches my shoulders. I shove down hard the surging memories, the pain and betrayal. The fear I refuse to look at.

Valen’s eyes dip down my bare chest and his thumb traces his lip. My flinch sends a series of sharp pangs that break through the potion, and Valen’s gaze flicks away.

Before I can piece together a response, Valen continues in a perfectly unaffected tone like we didn’t just verbally go for each other’s throats. “I haven’t heard of Alasdair being seen outside the estate yet, but I’ve also haven’t been back for that long. It’s strange. His transformation is unusual. For him to be so well after the physical toll the curse took from him…” Valen pauses, gaze going distant.

How he can switch conversations like this is beyond me. I am still reeling from all the old wounds he effectively ripped open and clear my throat before asking, “What?”

“The black mist you described, I think your theory on that is right. Alasdair is feeding off of Tori’s imprisonment. That’s why he wasn’t debilitated from keeping her alive within the stone when facing you. Though, I wonder how he repaired his body before. It must’ve been a massive feed to not only regenerate, but provide the power needed to defeat Astoria and Jinx.”

My heart hammers. “What do you mean?”

“Entropy curses feed on the soul’s energy. For weavers, this is the magic from the Soul Thread, but I believe Alasdair is feeding off something more specific. I’d have to do some research, but there is a priesthood grimoire in the museum that is believed to detail dark, terrible magic where the entropy feeds from the pain and suffering of the soul instead of the magic. No one dares commune with it, so I don’t know for sure.”

A jolt of realization flinches me in all the wrong places again, and I grit my teeth against the various stings. “Something else happened.”

He scans me slowly. “Did you neglect to tell me the whole story? And here I thought you were desperate to free Astoria.”

I glare. “I am.”

“Then spare no details. The more I know, the more I can assist. Now, what else happened?”

I work my jaw, but I unhinge it to finish the rest of the story. He’s right. He knows more about weaver magic than I do.

Once I’m done, Valen rubs his lips again, his gaze going distant. “A mangled corpse… and blood was everywhere? It must’ve been very fresh. A spray like that would require moving circulation unless Alasdair has developed a grim artistic eye for such things. Did the officers say who they were searching for?”

My tongue clicks when my lips part, but I hesitate. Could the body really be Vincentius? The disgusting, sinewy muscles and white ligaments flash before me. A massive wave of guilt hits me hard in the gut. Valen might’ve left us for the Order, he might’ve written me a bullshit letter, but if the body belongs to Vincentius… Valen doesn’t deserve to lose a parent like that. I swallow and lower my gaze. No one deserves that kind of pain.

Nausea surges and sweat chills me. I swallow rhythmically, memories I buried long ago surfacing in a wave of cold horror. Two dead bodies. One so peaceful she could awaken any moment and another twisted in pain.

Valen’s chair squeaks. “Lucas?”

I squeeze my eyes closed and cover my mouth with my bandaged hand. The chair rattles and Valen is beside me in an instant. I flinch from his gentle touch, his smooth aristocratic hands sliding up and down my arms. His voice is calm, penetrating the swirling, building panic as I try to shove away my worst memories over and over.

“Breathe. That’s it. Breathe deep, now hold it. And release slowly.”

His long fingers wrap around my wrist, and he takes the glass that is still clutched in my hand away. He presses my palm against his chest. “Follow me. Breathe.”

It helps while also making it all that much worse. I don’t think I can stand to tell him that the body might be his dad without throwing up all over this fancy bed. My body is slick and my skin twitches.

I knew I should’ve made Tori do it. Damn it.

“Valen.” My voice cracks and my shoulders roll in.

“Shh, it’s okay. Straighten a bit so your chest can expand.”

“No, I need to tell you.”

“Look at me.”

The command in his tone has my eyes snapping open. His blue eyes are so light that they could be crystals. His face is smooth, his calmness seeping in through my building panic. “Tell me later.”

Clattering draws my gaze away. Shit, I’m shaking, and it’s moving the soft mattress. I swallow, but my throat is too tight. I meet Valen’s gaze. I need to do this. It’s the right thing to do.

“The Magistrate was looking for Vin-Vin…” I gag and cough, wheezing a whispered, “your dad.”

Valen’s brows rise, and that’s the only change in his smooth face. His hand on my shoulder doesn’t stop stroking. The one around my wrist is firm but not crushing.

I hold my breath, desperately searching him before asking, “You’re not mad?”

He laughs, and the change in his expression is hypnotic. No wonder Tor loved him so much. Those crystal eyes dance, his cold features warming. He’s so breathtakingly beautiful. His head tilts. “Is that what this little episode you’re having is about? Oh, my sweet, foolish, martyring magician. That body is not my father.”

I gape. “It’s not?”

“No. My father is currently with the most powerful weavers within the Order. They are discussing how best to put down Atticus without ruining the Archweaver line or passing the position on to his son. They want a non-Androclaria Archweaver next, and my father is convincing them that I am not a traitor who picked the weaver who cursed the Order over them, but a protector of the only living weaver who could break the curse. It’s why I’m here and not with him. Trust me, my father is well and returning in the morning.”

Yet, the sickness doesn’t go away. “Are you sure? You’ve spoken to him?”

“I am certain. Astoria would’ve known it was him. Besides, it would be a very bad move to kill my father. His power would pass on to me, making me far more difficult to hunt or control. I’d also be able to access the Archweaver estate.”

“How?”

“The Preservation Councilor’s ring. It’s a key through the wards. No Councilor can be barred from the Archweaver. It is the sacred right. I would inherit it.”

I nod even though my heart is still racing. My shaking has eased, and the sweat is beginning to cool.

Valen’s face softens with his posture. He’s closer, his cologne filling my lungs, my heart speeding for a whole new reason. “How you survive in your line of work with a soft heart intact is a miracle from the Tapestry.”

I swallow, and my lips part with my intake of breath. “It’s not that soft.”

“But it is. It attracts those who were raised by vicious, hardened creatures. A succulent morsel for us to sink our teeth into.”

My hand is still on his chest, and his heart beats against my palm. The rhythm speeds when Valen’s gaze falls to my lips. His thumb slides along my chest’s bandaging when he says, “I think I know what’s happening to your scar.”

I startle and look down where his hand rests on the bandages. “What do you mean?”

“There’s something odd about the wound there. I forced the edges back together, but it will not heal. It took me three tries to put a statis spell on it so it can’t get worse.”

I reclaim my hand from his chest to sever this building tension between us. I need more time to figure out what to do with Valen in that aspect, but for now, I latch onto the change of topic readily. “Sometimes it feels like something is feeding on it.”

Valen’s gaze sharpens. “Does it still feel that way?”

“Not right now, but it aches.”

“Interesting. If I’m correct, Alasdair has created a link to it. An Entropy curse of some sort, so he can draw on your pain and become stronger.”

I snort. “If that’s all it is, I can break the curse no problem. It’s Tor I’m worried about.”

Valen eyes my hands. “I noticed your rings nearly burned to your bones again.”

I flex them. They don’t have much mobility with the thick wrappings. “I didn’t have much of a choice.”

Valen nods. “The battle was unavoidable, but right now there is nothing that can be done. You need to rest and heal fully before you attempt to break the curse on your scar. It’s the only way we can free Tori.”

My lips twist, but Valen cuts me off with a sharp, “You are to stay in this bed and rest, do you understand? Anything else will be a hindrance to your cause. Rest assured, it is not wasted time. We can use it to gather valuable clues to Alasdair’s new existence.”

But it feels like wasting time. At the bare minimum, I should attempt to steal Antonia’s statue and get it back here where it will be safe.

Valen snarls, his close proximity crackling with threat, “No.”

I flinch. “I didn’t say anything.”

“You didn’t need to. I can see your martyring guilt all over your face while you’re making foolish, self-destructive plans.”

My jaw drops. “I w—” Valen’s glare has me switching tactics. “Look, I’m a very talented thief. Now that I know what I’m up against, I can steal that statue no problem. I’ll be in and out in under an hour. Then we’ll have Tori’s body safe and away from Alasdair while we figure things out.”

“Are you out of your damn mind? Did those rings cook your human brain as well? Tell me, how would you even get the statue here? You cannot use your rings.”

I scoff, “They’ll be⁠—”

“Falling off your hands when they melt through your idiotic human bones. And do not dare underestimate Alasdair. I’m sure he’s set up all sorts of traps for you.”

My mouth opens and closes, but no words come out. He’s right. I’m worthless. My head falls back on the pillows and my shoulders drop. A thickness in my throat makes breathing difficult. I mumble, “It’s what I deserve.”

I don’t dare look at Valen when he answers evenly, “You do not deserve to be mutilated.”

“I left her.” My eyes burn. “I left both her and Jinx trapped to save myself.”

“Your sense of guilt is as astounding as it is foolish. You’d be imprisoned and tortured if you’d stayed, just like you will be if you attempt to go back to the statue before healing.”

I press my lips together to keep “But then at least we would be together” on the inside.

Valen sighs, leaning away from me and rubbing his forehead. “Listen, magician.”

I scoff, and some of my swagger re-emerges to hide my pain. “Are you going to comfort me, blueblood?”

“Don’t make me regret it, but yes. You did the right thing coming here. Astoria gave you the rune, correct?”

I nod.

“Then you were following her directive. She knew Alasdair could not follow you here and that I would be here to protect you. The wards around the estate are impenetrable. Not even the Archweaver could get in. Do you understand?”

I loathe to admit it, but he does have a point. “Yes.”

“Besides, I do not believe what you experienced while unconscious was a dream. You were very close to death, which allowed you to pass to the space between our existence and the Weave.”

My breath catches. “What does that mean?”

“It means that the body in the statue is just that, a body. Jinx is a demon. She is from the Weave and will take Astoria’s soul there to keep her safe until we break the curse. If I’m right, which I assure you I am, then Alasdair will pour his efforts into luring her soul back into his cage to resume his feeding. Otherwise, her soul will rejoin the Tapestry and forever be safe from him.”

My head is spinning from all this information, but one thought returns to me over and over. If it was real… then Tori finally told me she loves me.

He arches an elegant brow. “Do you feel better?”

I exhale softly, a warmth filling my chest. “Yes.”

Valen is unfazed by my breathy whisper and continues, “Now that we’re done with your misguided remorse, let us get back to actionable conversation, like finding out more about what Alasdair has become.” Valen sighs and leans on his fist. “It’s a shame Dimitar has Tori’s old grimoire. Her notes would’ve been helpful in our crusade. I doubt breaking into the Archweaver’s archives to find the inspiration for her revenge is a valid option. I’m sure that’s exactly what Alasdair wants.”

I groan and scrub my face, sharp jolts of pain from my various injuries helping to focus me. “I just know Dimitar is already using this to weasel his way to more power with the Magistrate. If officers aren’t already at my place waiting for me, then the Guild surely is onto us. There goes that option. I was going to go retrieve my bolt pack hidden there.”

My hands flop down, and I flinch away from Valen’s vicious glare. “What?” I ask.

Valen’s lip curls and his tone sharpens. “Why the hell would leaving even be an option?”

“Um, so I can go home to recover? Regroup? Figure shit out? That thing you just chewed my ass out about?”

“Absolutely not, you stubborn idiot. Alasdair, an unknown, horrific new kind of magical creature that feeds on suffering, is hunting you. Dimitar, a magician of unknown transformation limits, is out for your blood. I will not allow them to succeed in making you their prey.”

His blue eyes flash and my heart kicks. The air shifts, and it’s not from magic, but the intensity with which our eyes meet. His voice lowers, and a thrill shivers through me. “I will keep you safe, even if you refuse to help yourself.”

No. He’s not allowed to abandon me and then pretend like he cares just to make me obedient. With all the sass I have in my broken body, I roll my eyes. “Oh please. I’d hate to make the anguish you feel worsen by my continued nearness.”

Valen’s silence draws my gaze back to his. The moment our eyes connect, a jolt shocks through me and my gaze darts away.

Valen asks calmly, “Are you sure you do not want⁠—”

“No, I do not want to talk about your fucking letter!” My eyes squeeze shut, and I focus on calming my breathing. My scar stings, and I press a hand against it to ease the discomfort. Fucking Alasdair and his feeding. I switch tactics. “Wouldn’t Daddy be outraged when he finds a naked magician in his house?”

Valen waves a dismissive hand. “You’ll be fine. I placed you in my room to ensure he doesn’t find you before I speak with him.”

I startle so hard that I pull on at least three different injuries and squeak, “Your room?”

Valen smiles deviously, his blue eyes lighting. “Yes, my room. You’ll sleep here tonight.”

My eyes narrow as suspicion takes root. “And where will you sleep?”

Valen snorts. “What a stupid question.”

I grip the blankets despite the pain that shoots up my arms. “We are not fucking, Valen.”

Valen’s gaze slides over me, slowly, leisurely, until our eyes meet and my heart pulses. “Of course.”

I shove down my unhelpful reaction and nail him with my most threatening glare. “I’m serious.”

“And I am not an uncontrolled child. We’re both adults. We can share a very large and comfortable bed.”

I continue to glare, and the playfulness evaporates from his demeanor. He adds softly, “Truly, magician. With a curse on your scar, I’ll want to be close in case it breaks the stasis charm. We don’t know the nature of Alasdair’s magic. It defies all four threads and might not work by the same rules. When my father returns, I’ll discuss this with him and convince him to help you as well. We need to tread carefully. Being strategic will only benefit us in freeing Astoria and killing this creature before it causes more harm. We want the same thing.”

I swallow and slump into the pillows, defeated. “Okay. Fine. For Tori.”

Valen smiles. “See, magician? Doesn’t it feel so good to submit?”

I shoot Valen another glare, but have to look away quickly. His blue eyes with his porcelain face and dark hair are too much. That playful, hungry heat that sparks within them threatens to light the flame that I’m working so hard to snuff out.

I snarl, “V, Tori is locked in a statue, and you’re talking about fucking. What is wrong with you?”

Valen’s low chuckle vibrates through me. “Calm yourself. I’m simply playing with you. You make it too easy.”

The echo of Alasdair’s voice saying something similar twists in my gut.

Valen continues, “Our unfortunate reality is that there is absolutely nothing either of us can do about Astoria’s situation other than to plan and put steps in motion towards the end goal of freeing her.” When my mood darkens, he crosses his long legs. “Do not get me wrong, the idea of Astoria being imprisoned is like a blade through my heart. I am utterly destroyed.”

“You don’t seem destroyed,” I grumble.

“That’s because I have good breeding. This—” he swipes his arm elegantly up and down his lithe frame “—is what I’ve been trained to always be. Do not get testy with me because your poor breeding keeps you from recognizing the subtle signs.”

I groan and roll my eyes, “I forgot how annoying you are. Does your own arrogance ever grate on your nerves?”

“There’s nothing to get annoyed at when perfection has been achieved.”

I huff. “You sound like Tor.”

His smile shifts, his face softening as a flicker of something true slips through. “Comes with the hazards of growing up together, I imagine. We picked up many similarities.”

An instant later, the expression is gone, and that glint in his blue eyes is back. His velvety voice is low, his words curling at the base of my spine. “Let me assure you, magician. I will respect your wishes. If you do not wish to resume our previous dalliances, then we won’t. However, if you change your mind…”

He doesn’t lean forward. He doesn’t need to. The look in his eyes, the way he tilts his head, makes it feel as if his lips brush against the base of my throat. Ripples of tingling anticipation erupt through me when he says, “I would love nothing more than to fuck the pain and misery out of you until all you can think and breathe is my name. Who knows? Maybe it will keep Alasdair from feeding off your suffering if you’re trembling with pleasure.”

Heat builds, my breath shallow. Ghosts of his hands trail down me. His hot mouth against mine. The feel of his body beneath me as I kissed him senseless at the end of our night together. All these memories swirl and swirl until I can’t quite remember why this is a bad idea.

I glare viciously. “You’re just trying to distract me. You might be happy with lazing around, but I can’t sit by and do nothing. She needs us.”

He snorts and stands elegantly. He sweeps his hand. “Alright, magician. I’ll make you a deal. If you can stand up right now, I will help you on your suicidal mission that will surely fail.”

I snarl and whip off the sheets. “We’ll see about that, you ass⁠—”

The rest of my sentence is lost in a blur of mind-numbing agony. I come to, panting and trembling, tingling magic rippling to chase away the pain. Valen smirks evilly, his blue eyes glowing as he uses his magic to soothe my injuries.

“As I said, you need time to heal. My father will be here in the morning. And you will be my good, obedient magician in the meantime. Then I swear, we’ll free Astoria. Strategy is our best weapon.”

His patronizing pat on my head nearly sends me feral with rage, but he walks away before I can react, saying, “I’ll get you dinner and brew your next round of treatment.”