Page 183 of The Edge of Darkness

It took me a moment to realize what he was implying. When I looked at him, he gave me a nod, then clapped a hand on my shoulder, as if giving me his blessing.

“I think Remic is in need of a refill,” he said as he stepped by me. Remic caught on to the dismissal and obliged, leading him out into the crowd, conveniently leaving me to my task.

A strange sense of calm settled over me as I stood there. Fae moved all around me, migrating to and from the dancing area, leaving me feeling like a boulder that was seriously misplaced amidst an otherwise well-flowing stream. But I didn’t care. I couldn’t stop staring at Nivelle.

Normally, at three drinks in, I’d be scouring the crowd for a female that piqued my interest—someone to take to bed for a good time and then depart from in the morning. A stranger.

That didn’t sound even remotely appealing now. None of the passing females drew my attention from the one I watched with something akin to fascination. Beneath the fascination, though, there was a thrumming, low and barely recognizable. It was there, tucked underneath the thump of each heartbeat. I placed a hand to my chest, as if I would feel it vibrating, or make it stop if I pressed hard enough. It felt like an ache. Not one of hurt or pain, but of longing or yearning.

In life, I’d longed for battle and brutality, spitting lightning from my fists, and slicing my blade through my enemy’s flesh for the betterment of the realm. I had never longed for another being. There had never been a time when I wanted simply to hear someone’s laughter, or see the joy in their eyes when they smiled, or feel their skin at my fingertips.

But here I was. Longing. Not for combat, but for a different sort of fulfillment.

For Nivelle.

For a witch from The Neveshir Isles who could flay my heart with a single look.

What would her skin feel like beneath my calloused hands? Did her eyes brighten when she spoke of something she loved?

Why the fuck was I suddenly swarmed with all these thoughts and feelings? I tried to shake them from my head, but somehow the seeds had taken root, and I couldn’t free myself from them. It wasn’t until someone bumped into me, knocking me out of those thoughts and nearly spilling the drink I still held in my hand for Nivelle, that I blinked myself back into focus.

The fire-wielding fae had moved onward through the crowd, but Nivelle remained standing alone at the outskirts, bouncing flames between her palms. My feet moved of their own accord, taking me straight toward her. She spotted my approach and her hands halted, fire burning in her grip without any evidence of hurting her. The flames reflected in her eyes as she watched me draw closer and closer.

A look of uncertainty crossed her face, and her chin lifted. Not in defiance—not this time. It was more like she was caught in a moment of hesitation. A doe caught between fleeing and being frozen in place by fear.

Her knees flinched.

She was going to flee.

I held my breath, slowing my steps. As if that would make a difference.

The flames in her hands winked out into smoke. And . . . she stayed.

Suddenly my mouth was drier than Benmoor’s desert. I forced a swallow as I extended the drink to her. She took it—thank the gods. Muscles that I didn’t realize were tense relaxed, and I lowered my hand, clearing the rasp from my throat as I said, “It’s ale. Vahrenhall’s finest.”

A slow nod. Silence. Then she sipped.

“I, uhh, I saw your fire.”

She lifted her free hand, flexing her delicate fingers. Then, she snapped the green flames back into existence and let them gently flicker atop her fingertips. “It might be one of my favorite things to harness.”

“Does it burn?”

She shook her head. “It’s just like having my hand next to a hearth.”

In a blink, the flames pulsed, and then blue light crackled, fizzling between the webs of her fingers and arcing over her palm.

My lightning.

Our eyes met.

“How are you able to wield the lightning?” she asked.

“I don’t know. I was just born with the ability.” I raised my own hand and let my power manifest just like she did, but mine was white—the true manifestation. “Even if there are no storms, I can feel the energy from the atmosphere. It’s always there, I just have to harness it.”

“Does it hurt you?”

“No. Believe it or not, it manifests according to the intention I have behind it.”