Page 129 of The Edge of Darkness

I’d never openly cared for someone else this way. There had never been another before her. The only sentiment I ever let myself feel was the sense of duty and loyalty—two things that didn’t thread themselves through my heart like this did. I would lay down my life for the Trium, Niall, and Auren. I’d fight any enemy, and cut open any throat that dared to spew treason or threats.

But for Maeson, I would cleave the world in two. She was sunshine and fire. Her face was the first image in my mind every morning, and the last thing I thought about every night. I searched for her in any room I walked into.

Ever since that day during the Battle of Gabbath, when she’d taken out a group of Lyceius’s creatures and saved Niall and me from having to use more of our power, she’d never left my mind.

And now that she was here, living in The Keep, dining with me each day, and sitting in on every meeting, it was becoming infinitely harder to suppress my growing feelings. My hand always seemed to ache for hers. I was drawn to her presence like she had a direct link to my soul. Her voice stirred a longing within me. I wanted to bury myself underneath the gentle caress of it and never emerge again.

I was well aware that if I could just allow myself to feel the extent of it all, there would be an undeniable thrumming within me.

The mating bond.

Auren had described it in great detail during a conversation we’d had after Niall was taken hostage.

I’d been able to sense it between others for as far back as I could remember. I knew the moment Niall stumbled across Auren in Elandrew’s forest that they were mates. My Aura had been with him, watching his back while he went out into the trees, toward The Veil, following a phantom sensation he’d felt—that tug of the soul.

It tugged at me from time to time, as if begging to be acknowledged. Begging for me to stop suppressing it. But right alongside that plea was my Aura, the Aether, waiting to strike.

Had I not been cursed with this power, I would have acted on what I felt long ago, and Maeson would no longer have to look at me with the same question in her eyes: What is this thing between us?

Damn it. I hated knowing that I was robbing her of something she deserved, but it seemed that no matter which option I chose, the end outcome wouldn’t bode well. If I gave in, and lost myself and my memories, she would have only a shell of what was left of me—someone who might have been capable of giving her a life of adoration and love, if only I had not been cursed from the start. Or, I could continue quelling the emotions and avoiding the bond, giving her the bare minimum, so that she would at least have some—but never all—of it.

I didn’t know which was worse.

Either way, it seemed we would both be left miserable. It all came down to which type of misery we would settle for. Which one I would ultimately determine for both of us.

There was one other option, though: the highly unlikely chance that I succeeded in unbinding the Aether, and came out on the other side with my memory and everything else intact. But I’d always been a skeptic, and I knew all too well how powerful the Aether was.

A wound can heal, but more often than not, a scar is left behind.

What kind of scar would the Aether leave in its wake?

Maeson shifted the dagger in her hand, drawing my attention back from the depths of despair, which I had once again plunged into. I folded my fingers over hers, closing them tightly around the dagger’s hilt.

“Here,” I said, offering to adjust her grip. “Wielding weapons is a far different craft than magic or power. You will physically feel the impact of the damage you’re inflicting. Can you handle that?”

She nodded.

“With your fire, you can render an enemy useless from several paces away, but a blade requires that you forgo the distance between you and your opponent. It’s more dangerous. Do you think you can press this to someone or something’s skin and make them bleed?”

“Yes.”

Her answer was too quiet for my liking.

Taking a life was no mild thing. But taking it with a blade, when you are staring your enemy in the eye . . . that was not an undertaking for the meek, or the wary. A single moment of hesitation could mean the difference between cutting down your enemy, and defending your own life.

I took her hand and brought the blade up until it pressed against the apple of my throat.

“Wha—What are you doing?” she tried to jerk back, but I held firm.

“Could you do it? Could you drag this blade across your enemy’s throat?”

Her mouth opened and closed, trying to find words as her eyes flitted from mine, down to my neck, and up again.

“Could you?” I pressed, tugging her closer.

She sucked in a breath. “You are not my enemy, so this isn’t exactly a proper scenario to train me with.”

I studied her, noting the fear in her eyes as she remained focused on the way my skin brushed up against the edge of the blade. She was worried about hurting me.