Page 96 of Awakened Ash and Alchemy

“I’ll talk to her about the Sleep Wizard.”

Gellar nodded. “Good.”

Zarek stood, leaving his half-finished coffee on the table as the conversation and his rampant thoughts sat heavily in his chest.

He couldn’t lose control around Angela. She touched his hand, yes. And she’d kissed his cheek. Remembering the surge of heat that had flared between them.

But she had never seen him at full force or witnessed what his power could do when it slipped its leash. Buildings reduced to ash. Stone melted into glass. And people burned in horrific ways.

He was a nuclear explosion waiting to happen that he had to keep under constant control.

Except now, the Claiming made his magick more volatile as it grew more possessive of her.

If he lost control around her, and if the dragon inside woke fully and she was caught in the blast—he’d destroy her. And that terrified him more than anything Katarra and his Black Cloaks could ever do.

THIRTY-FIVE

Angela sat beneath a tree in a hidden nook of the gardens, fiddling absent-mindedly with her medallion, finally feeling the breeze brush across her skin. The warmth of the sun, and the grass beneath her bare feet, while an abundance of floral scents hung thick in the air, as insects buzzed lazily from flower to flower.

It was the break she needed, away from stone walls, magic, and the weight of everything else she didn’t understand. Even if the Keep loomed behind her, bigger than she’d realized, she focused on the outdoors.

Feeling dozy in the sunshine, she was too scared to nap in case of nightmares. But this helped recharge what the castle’s cold corridors had drained dry.

“So, ladies!”

Angela’s head snapped up.

A middle-aged woman emerged into the clearing, leading a group of six younger women. Her sage gown was striking, with its high embroidered collar of more sage threads that shimmered like moonlight on water that gave her an almost regal silhouette.

The half-dozen women behind her wore soft pastel silks in layered drapes of rose, lavender, subtle pinks, blues, and cream that moved like shifting silk kites when they walked. They were so dreamlike and flirty, nothing like the rigid leathers of the soldiers or the structured gowns of the others inside.

Where had they been hiding these women in the Keep?

“What gossip have we heard of late?” the woman in sage asked as they settled into the grassy area of the clearing.

Angela bit back a smile. Gossip. In this realm? How perfectly normal.

Keeping hidden behind the trunk, she peered through the trimmed bushes that separated her cozy section of the garden. She didn’t know who they were talking about, but they were female. And that alone gave her hope that this castle was more than soldiers, students, and stony corridors.

“Pella is pregnant, Matriarch,” announced a woman with thick blonde hair woven tall with jewels.

The Matriarch was the one in the sage floor length gown. With her high collar and long sleeves, she stood out among the younger women. “Congratulations, Pella, on the baby.”

Angela’s chest loosened. See? Normal. Congratulations on the baby. This was—

“The father?”

Angela blinked at the odd question.

“Balthar,” Pella replied. “But I was hoping for Martar.”

Angela’s ears pricked. Martar? Sergeant of Arms, and Zarek’s best friend since boys.

“Have you been with Martar?” the Matriarch asked.

Angela frowned. With? What kind of—

“No, he’s been with me.” Another stunning woman with long black hair giggled.