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He remained as he was for a time, expanding his awareness to search for a threat.
There was nothing. What was more, the barrier he’d placed around his chamber was intact. No one could have breeched it without his knowledge, and even if they could, there were no elves capable of weaving magic that could affect his body.
A sound sent a sudden spike of alarm through him. He shot up, turning his body to the side and peering about. The movement jostled Cera. She murmured something incoherent, drawing Isael’s full attention down to settle on her.
Her eyes remained closed as she moved to reposition herself. The blankets had been pushed down, exposing her upper body. Isael pulled them up, and was tucking them in around her when she began to snore.
It was a faint sound, and precisely what had roused him to sit up.
He paused, noting his position. His arms were on either side of her, his body poised to strike. Not at her.
Never at her.
Isael looked back down, the tension within him uncoiling, replaced by grim resignation.
Protectiveness.
The word was insufficient for the tide of determination that crashed into him when he looked at her. When he smelled her. When she so much as twitched.
It was difficult to remain leaning over her. Each breath she took was a current designed to draw him in. The pull was as fundamental as that of the land pulling from the sky.
“Do you believe in fate?” His voice was barely a whisper. Cera didn’t rouse, but he continued, “That there is a divine force that weaves us into a tapestry?”
He balanced on one hand, using the other to stroke her cheek. Even her skin seemed to pull at him. He couldn’t stop touching her. He ran his fingers along the graceful arch of her jaw, the smooth nub of her chin, and then down her neck.
“I’m not sure I believe in gods. But if they’re real, they must have sent you to punish me.”
Isael wrapped his hand around her neck, loosely cradling it. “My father once told me that any shepherd can kill a wolf that preys on his flock. But few can choke the life from the dog that keeps them warm at night.”
He didn’t have to strain his imagination to picture her waking, her eyes flying open as his hand tightened around her neck. He could envision the fear and confusion in her eyes. The colors she would change as the blood vessels in her eyes popped and her skin turned red, purple, and then blue.
Before long, she would stop struggling and go limp, though only into unconsciousness. He’d have to hold on longer if he wanted to ensure the task was finished.
If he wanted to ensure his own survival.
Isael could think of many reasons she was dangerous to him and might prove a threat to his people, her magic chief among them. But beyond the external threat she posed, there was a deeper danger.
From the moment she’d changed in his arms, he’d known she would be his. But he hadn’t realized the magnitude of that until he’d plunged into her. Entering her had seared his psyche, burning away a fundamental part of himself. The part of himself that existed only to serve his own interests.
The part that had kept him alive for a thousand years, while so many others had fallen.
Like a malignancy, she’d latched onto that space. He could still feel her at work within him, overriding his selfishness and vanity, and even daring to encroach on his pride.
He could stop it before it progressed. Excise the growth before it had time to take root. He didn’t even have to choke her. A small weave of his magic would be enough to cut off her next breath.
Or he could simply snap her neck.
A clean break.
He could decide in one instant and be through with it in the next.
A younger version of himself wouldn’t have hesitated.
But Isael had lived too long.
There were few pleasures or pains that he hadn’t yet experienced.
The new brand of ruination she offered was too enticing.
