Page 40 of Witch’s Heart

“As long as you promise to keep him out of trouble,” I teased.

Rixon’s eyes latched onto mine, studying me. I couldn’t tell what he was thinking, but he didn’t urge me to reconsider. Maybe this would be the best thing for him. Time away from me.

“We’ll behave ourselves,” he said at last, leaning in to brush a kiss over my cheek. I froze, holding my breath. His next words were whispered. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” I whispered in return.

We could still fight and love each other simultaneously. In fact, it was because of our love that our fights felt more intense. Because we cared so deeply.

“I’ll return later.” He stepped back and Jessin slung an arm around his neck. Rixon was half a head taller, so Jessin had to reach. I watched them go, rooted in place. When the door clicked shut, I blew out a breath, shoulders falling.

There were still hours before bed. I probably wouldn’t be able to sleep, regardless. Glancing around, I spotted the stack of books I’d retrieved from the library. Taking the first, I settled onto the sofa to continue my research.

I was looking for information about King Avrin Kozma and the founding of his city. The portal had been created at that time as a quest for power, though I still didn’t know why. Had the witches hoped to bargain with the demons living on the other side? They’d created it by torturing the daughter of a local clan leader, using her anguish and the sacrifice of her life. I’d connected enough dots from Ophelia’s journal. What I didn’t know was how to close it. Could it be as simple as closing a rift? Knitting something broken back together?

Would the demon prince know? I’d already made a trip to the tallest tower without seeing it. I wished I could ask.

Words blurred on the page and I found my mind wandering back to Rixon. I’d overstepped today by taking matters into my own hands. He was right, in that the assassin was the property of the crown. But the guards had failed to exact any valid information.

I’d meant what I said, that Rixon was mine.

This went deeper than semantics. Rixon had admitted to feeling a lack of control. Taking matters into my own hands had taken them out of his. I should have spoken with him first. We were supposed to be a team. Supposed to discuss things.

I guess I had hoped to tackle this matter so that he could focus on everything else. Instead, it had backfired. Worse still, I’d allowed the distraction to keep me from him. He’d wanted me today, and I’d failed to go to him.

How would I feel in his shoes, if I’d told him to come to me and he’d ignored my orders?

I blew away a chunk of hair that had fallen into my face. I wasn’t going to get more research done tonight. Resigned, I retrieved my journal and began recreating the scene from the dungeon, layering in stones before I outlined the assassin, hanging from the chains.

My fingers grew stained with black as I sketched the hulking shape of the Jarg in the corner, exactly as Rixon had found us. A small part of me had reveled in the pain and torment while I commanded the demon to torture the assassin—the male who’d tried to harm the one person I had left in this world. At least he’d given me some information. I scratched Darius Santos’s name on the side of the page. Who was he? But more importantly, why did he want my wielder dead?

Chapter 14

Rixon

Rixon quietly stumbled into his chambers. He and Jessin had stayed out far too late, drinking far too much. It was not the kind of behavior he indulged in anymore—certainly not appropriate for a king—and yet, it had been exactly what he needed.

He froze at the sight of Mina asleep on the sofa. Her journal had fallen to the floor, a couple of charcoal pencils scattered about it. He studied her, the gentle rise and fall of her chest. His own softened.

It thoroughly infuriated him that she’d gone behind his back. That she’d taken matters into her own hands with the assassin, as if he wasn’t capable of getting to the bottom of it himself. That she’d resorted to using demons. The risk involved. His fury overshadowed his hurt at her failing to come to him, which was all he’d asked of her that day.

His fist clenched.

Mina’s eyebrows pinched and she jerked, then fell still again. Beneath her eyelids, her eyes darted, restless. Was she having another of her nightmares?

He blew out a breath and crouched beside her, carefully picking up her journal. He studied the charcoal strokes of her sketch, the dark cell and the assassin hanging limp. The Jarg lurking in the corner. Darius Santos was written in bold, harsh letters. She’d underlined the name and added question marks around it.

He closed the journal, placing it on the low table beside her pencils. Then he stripped out of his clothes before lifting her gently and carrying her to bed. She murmured and nestled against his neck. Slowly, so as not to wake her, he set her on the bed and removed her nightgown, until there was only flesh between them. Then he covered them both with blankets and curled himself around her.

“Rixon…?” she breathed, her voice thick with sleep.

“Shh, love, I’m here.” He nuzzled against her.

No matter how angry he was, no matter how deep this thing festered in him, he loved her. He loved her to the ends of the earth.

He just wished…

Well, perhaps he was being selfish about the whole thing. He’d sworn an oath, hadn’t he? He was her wielder.