Page 79 of Embers of Ruin

But he doesn’t.

That infuriates me—but it also fascinates me. He’s faster than Onyx, and I didn’t think anyone could be faster than Onyx. Thorin moves like he has already seen the shape of my strike before I decide to make it. Each time I swing, he is gone. Each time I step, he is there. His hand catches my elbow, my shoulder, my waist once for the briefest moment before he releases me, and every touch sends an unwelcome current through me that makes my anger burn hotter just to cover it.

“You are thinking too loudly,” he says.

I swing again, panting. “Stop fucking listening to my thoughts!”

“You are broadcasting,” he says calmly, smiling. “Your magic and your thoughts are wild and uncontrolled.”

“Well that was rude.”

“You are remarkably predictable.”

That does it. I duck beneath one shadow, let another brush my sleeve, and instead of aiming for his face, I drive my palm straight into his chest. Light explodes between us. Not like before. No, this time it’s not wild. It’s focused. A burst of silver-gold force slams into him, and for the first time, Thorin moves back. Only one step—but one step is enough.

His shadows recoil. They actually recoil, ripping away from my light with a hiss that sounds almost like pain. The entire garden stills but my hand remains pressed against his chest.

Beneath my palm, his heart beats hard. Not so steady now.

Thorin’s eyes are fixed on mine, silver blazing through the gray, and for one terrifying second I feel the curse beneath his skin. Not fully. Not enough to understand. Just a glimpse of vast cold darkness coiled around something trapped…something that recognizes the light in me and hates it.

Or wants it.

Or both.

I snatch my hand back and the light fades. Thorin doesn’t move, and neither do I.

The space between us hums with what just happened, with what neither of us knows how to name. My breathing is uneven. His is not, but I know better now than to believe that means he is unaffected. His eyes are too bright. The shadows at his feet, too restless.

Onyx’s voice cuts through the silence. “That’s enough.”

Thorin’s gaze shifts slowly toward him and for a moment, I think they might actually fight. Then Thorin turns back to me. Whatever had been in his expression is gone, locked away behind the king again.

He stalks toward me before I can draw another breath. In two strides, he's in front of me. One hand cups my throat, just as it did last night. His grip is firm enough to steal the air from my lungs, yet impossibly careful, as though he knows exactly how much pressure to use. Then his mouth crashes into mine. For a heartbeat, I freeze.

My mind is still trying to understand what’s happening, but my magic already has. It surges toward him with desperate familiarity, and I follow before I can stop myself. Everything else disappears.

The garden.

Mazelle.

Onyx.

The world beyond the space between us. I kiss him back with the same hunger that met his the night before, giving as much as I take until I can no longer tell where one ends and the other begins. Then, all at once, he pulls away. His shadows slip silently between us, not forceful, only insistent, coaxing us apart before either of us can close the distance again. He stares at me as if this is the first time he’s actually seeing me.

“Training is finished, muya mivanti. You did well,” he whispers the last part for my ears only.

I blink. That surprises me more than anything else. “What?”

“You heard me. We are done for today. Captain,” Thorin says without looking away from me. “Escort Lady Tarethyn to her chambers.”

Onyx steps forward immediately, displeasure etched on his face. “Gladly.”

The tone of the word is too sharp. I notice it, and so does Thorin.

Thorin’s eyes flick to him. “Careful, Onyx.”

Onyx holds his gaze. “I always am, Thorin.”