Page 20 of She Who Holds My Wrath

Part of me aches for something I can never seem to touch as I glance down again at the book. I wish I could remember more of my life before swearing myself to be Korithax’s right-hand. Despite the odd flicker, the brief flashes of something ancient in my blood, I remember only what Saevyn has allowed me to remember. She bound me in silence, wrapped my own past in shadows, and no matter how many times I’ve clawed at the walls of her spell, I cannot break free.

I’ve tried. Gods, I’ve tried.

I’ve stood at the base of the Council Spires, begging them for answers. Prayed to the forgotten echoes that perhaps some trace of our kind remained in their records. But of course, they had nothing. Hardly anyone knows the Særathi exist.

The grimoire feels like a cruel joke in my hands. I read it as if for the first time, when I know—deep down, I know—I should not need to. The words stir a sense of recognition that slips from my grasp the moment I reach for it, like ash scattering in the wind. Velentha knows more than I do. She’s always known. But she can’t speak it. Saevyn’s spell sealed her tongue, just as it sealed my memory. She even tried to write it once, but the words just became impossible to form.

I clench my jaw, fighting the surge of frustration. Even my foresight, once so sharp, bends around this void. I see fragments of futures, armies, battlefields drenched in blood, but when it comes to the Særathi—when it comes to us—I see nothing but fog. Like something is there, vast and blinding, but hidden from me by a veil I cannot pierce. And so, I’m left here. Half a man. Half a Særathi. Leading Daisy into a war I can only half prepare her for, praying that when the time comes, the truth of what I truly am, doesn’t arrive too late.

I close the book, jaw set. Today is the true test. Daisy and I will tour the dominions of Hell. She will stand before the rulers, the councillors, and the villages. They will scrutinise her every word, every movement. If she falters, they lose faith in her, and we are finished before the war even begins. And gods help me—because I fear she has no idea how high the stakes truly are.

I walk back into the chambers from the balcony and slide the grimoire into the desk drawer, locking it before slipping the key into my pocket. Velentha has a key as well, but it needs to stay bound if it isn’t in one of our hands. Just in case.

Crossing the room, I sink onto the bed beside her and brush a strand of hair from her face. Her silver eyes flutter open, soft and shining as she smiles up at me.

“Good morning, beautiful,” I murmur, pressing a kiss to her rosy lips.

She kisses me back, threading her fingers through my black, slicked-back hair. “Good morning,” she mumbles against my mouth.

When her fingers graze the base of my horns, a shiver jolts through me, a growl climbing unbidden from my throat. She laughs softly, knowing exactly what that touch does to me. Some loathe anyone near their horns. For me, it’s lightning, straight to the core—igniting a need already clawing at my restraint.

“Velentha,” I groan in warning, trailing kisses along her jaw.

“Mhmm?” She hums, stroking a finger slowly from the base of one horn to the tip.

I seize her wrists, pinning her hands to the pillow above her head as I glare down at her. “No,” I growl. “You’re still healing.”

She frowns, huffing. “I am perfectly fine, Aran. Stop being such a mother hen.”

Leaning down, I nip her bottom lip gently, still holding her firm. “No. The healer said another week.”

She rolls her hips against me, dragging another groan from my throat. Gods, I want her. I want the taste of her, the feel of her beneath me, the sweet ruin only she can bring. But I force myself back, climbing off the bed and even going as far as moving a few inches away. Discipline is agony, but I won’t risk her recovery.

She pouts, pushing up on her elbows. “Spoilsport.”

“Yes, I am,” I laugh, shifting uncomfortably at the ache she leaves in her wake. “I have to take Daisy on a tour of the dominions today, to speak with the leaders of Hell. I wanted to wake you before I left, so you wouldn’t be alone and worried.”

She rises from the bed, the thin nightgown she wears hugging her curves as she stalks towards me with mischief in her eyes. This is the side of Velentha only I get to see. And I love it. In front of everyone else, for centuries, she’s had to act like the crazy woman who speaks in riddles. All to hide her true self from the parasites surrounding her. But this woman in front of me right now? This is truly her. Playful, fun, and utterly breathtaking.

On tiptoes, she tugs my face down into another kiss. “Are you sure I can’t convince you to stay?” she purrs.

Gods, she is temptation wrapped in black silk. My own little slice of sin and seduction that will never satiate me. I will always want more.

“My love,” I murmur against her lips. “I’d give anything to lay you down and worship you like the deity you are. But you are healing. And I have duties.”

She tuts, slipping away towards the bathing room. “Fine. Have it your way.” The nightgown slides off her shoulders, pooling at her feet as she sways her hips with deliberate cruelty. I bite my knuckles, groaning at the sight of her round backside swaying as she goes.

She glances back over her shoulder, silver eyes glinting as her mouth curves into a wicked smile. “As the stars remember the dark.”

“So do I remember you,” I answer breathlessly, watching her vanish into the bathing room.

I let my head fall back on an exasperated sigh. She’s going to be the death of me one day.

I pace down the hall towards Daisy’s chambers. She will have finished her morning sparring with Maelkar by now, and should be preparing for the day ahead.

My own nerves are pounding, utterly restless beneath my skin. If I feel this way, gods only know what must be going through her mind. I pause outside her door, pressing a steadying breath through my lungs. I need to push every lingering thought of Velentha from my head—her touch, her smile, the way she makes me weak. She’s the only one who sees that side of me, just as I’m the only one who sees hers. But Daisy can’t see me like that. Not now. Not today. When I walk through this door, I have to wear the mask again: the dutiful right-hand, the composed strategist. Not the man grieving his brother. Not the lover consumed by longing. Just Aran. Korithax’s former assistant. The Queen’s shield.

I knock once, crisp and deliberate.