Page 2 of Captive of Secrets and Storms

At the front of our group, Draven turns his head, peering at Darius from the corner of his eye. “Going soft, are you?”

“He has been asleep for weeks,” Jaxon cuts in with a chuckle. “There’s more flab than muscle on his ass these days.”

Darius growls, “I was unconscious, you prick.”

Jaxon grins. “Excuses, excuses.”

“Spar with me right now,” Darius challenges. “And we’ll see who has more muscle.”

My mare huffs when my legs tense, pressing into her sides. I relax and stroke her mane in apology as my eyes dart from male to male, unable to tell if they’re joking or serious.

I mean, obviously they’re joking about Darius’s muscle loss. Despite lying on a cot for weeks, his body ravaged by a dark curse, he looks robust. Strong. Healed.

Only, he isn’t.

A small pebble-sized remnant of the curse has lodged itself in his chest, refusing to be eradicated by my healing power. Which is why I’m trapped with the Fae and not with my twin sister, off to start a new life somewhere else—somewhere our neighbors wouldn’t burn us alive for possessing magic.

Not that they could burn Ferria.

I’m pretty sure her power would protect her from that fate.

“Tell him, Elara,” Darius says.

My head snaps up. He and Jaxon stare at me expectantly.

I clear my throat. “Tell him, what?”

“That the curse didn’t atrophy my muscles. I’m just as strong as I was before.”

“Oh...” I swat at a buzzing insect flying near my ear. “I can’t say that.”

Jaxon bursts into laughter.

Darius rears back. “Why not?”

I shrug. “I have no idea how strong you were before.”

His mock outrage gives way to a wicked grin. “Your magic has flowed through every inch of my body. Surely you know how strong I am.”

Heat claws up my neck. Gods, did he have to make healing him sound so…sensuous?

A pulse of power brushes against my cheeks, a ghost of a touch that doesn’t come from me.

I follow the sensation to the two males at the front of the group.

The shadows at Rian’s back deepen, and a tendril flickers out but promptly snaps back to press against his rigid muscles.

Draven turns in his saddle, glare sharp as a blade. “Watch your mouth, Darius.”

Darius smirks. “I’m sorry. Did I step on someone’s toes?”

“Jaxon,” Draven barks.

“Yes?”

“Smack Darius for me.”

A wisp of shadow flies from Jaxon’s palm and hits the back of Darius’s head with an audible thwack.