Page 136 of The Incendiary

We were too close. He lifted his hand to my jaw.

“What are you doing?” I hurried out, but he didn’t pull back. The tips of his fingers grazed the bottom of my cheek, summoning goose bumps across my skin.

“What do you think I’m doing?” He stared hungrily at my mouth.

“You… you were talking.”

His thumb brushed over my bottom lip. The way my body was starved for touch and connection made him hard to ignore. He wanted me, and his heated gaze was mesmerizing. “Fera, I really don’t want to talk anymore.”

I raised my palms to his chest, halting him. “I can’t,” I whispered. There was the curious urge, the potential for a brief lapse in judgment I could fall into now but later regret. And then there was everything else, especially him.

I love you so much more than I want to fuck you.

“You can’t?” Elias repeated, confusion contorting his handsome face.

I can’t, I thought. I won’t. I don’t want to.

All true, but I just said, “Good night, Commander.”

I turned away, too afraid to witness the hurt or rejection I caused. I couldn’t let it sway me. While my stomach was twisted up with undesired feelings, my heart was steadfast in what it wanted.

I’d often wondered if I’d latched on to Gavin because I’d had nowhere else to go. But now, when I did have other choices, my heart still chose him.

THIRTY-EIGHT

GAVIN SMYTH

I forgive you. For all of it. I don’t even know if there’s anything to forgive, because so much of it wasn’t your fault. I understand why you did what you did and why you kept it from me.

Please. Gods, please just come back to me.

Whatever it takes.

—UNSENT CORRESPONDENCE FROM QUEEN ARYELLA I TO THE BUTCHER OF NYRIDA

391 Years Ago

I was insane to come here.

Only the gods knew what kind of horrors I was walking into. I was terrified, and the small, rational part of my brain urged me to turn and fucking run, but I didn’t listen to it.

Nothing was more terrifying than never seeing her again.

It had taken me a month to travel from northern Warrich to southern Tugaf, then another few weeks to acclimate to the desert climate and find Molochai’s palace of crafted onyx sand. Tall and darkly elegant, it was even larger than the Whitlocks’ white stone castle in Brinnea. The castle I still thought of sometimes as her home.

But her home was with me. It always would be.

I stood at the end of a long path leading toward the dark fortress. Rivers of sweat trailed down my neck as I waited for two guards cloaked in red to approach. The oppressive midsummer heat in southern Tugaf was unlike anything I had experienced. There wasn’t a single cloud in the desert sky, and my linen shirt was plastered to my skin. By the time I realized I needed some sort of covering, both my neck and scalp were burnt to a crisp. I had even thought about shaving off my beard, it was so fucking hot, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it.

“Name?” demanded one of the guards at the tall, spiked metal gate.

“Smyth.”

“State your purpose.”

“I’m here to propose a deal with Molochai.”

The other guard let out an obnoxious snort. They both turned to go.