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Something cold settles over my chest. He’s said that before. He said he needed me the first time he pulled me into the storage room and hitched up my skirts. It was intoxicating, to have all that intensity focused on me. To be needed.
It doesn’t feel intoxicating anymore. Balmyr’s fingers close over my wrist like a manacle, and suddenly, I’m very certain I’m not the first woman to hear those words from Balmyr Reyro Liaquen. And I very much doubt I’ll be the last.
“No,” I say.
Balmyr’s hips rock against mine. Hot breath washes over my neck.
“You don’t mean that,” he growls.
“No, really, I do,” I reply.
Balmyr laughs. I close my eyes as a shiver traces a path up my spine. His magic hums in the air all around us, thick and strong, his illusions so powerful they never faltered, not even when he was deep inside me, spilling the seed he never intended to grow.
Already, his magic slicks my skin where we touch. Pulling it into my body is hardly any effort at all. And then—
Balmyr screams as he jumps away from me, one hand wrapped around his wrist, his eyes wide and wild, and his full, soft lips pulled back in a snarl. His face looks thinner now, without his illusion magic, and his shirt isn’t quite so white.
“What in the hells was that?” he growls.
I shrug, although my hands tremble as I shove them behind my back. Phaedron’s father taught me that, how to make magic hurt. I never thought I’d have a reason to use it.
“I said no,” I reply.
Balmyr glares at me.
“No, I’m not interested,” I continue. “And no, you don’t need me.”
His expression softens, and I get the feeling he’s about to say something stupid.
“You can’t need me,” I snap, cutting him off before he can start. “Because you don’t even know me, Balmyr. If you want to be part of the child’s life, we’ll work something out. But I am not going anywhere with you, ever again.”
Boots thud on the wooden platform outside my tent. Raiyben, I realize. He heard Balmyr yell and he’s here to help me clean this whole mess up. I turn toward the door as someone rips the canvas flap open.
Phaedron Undervale steps into my tent.
“Is there a problem?” he asks.
Chapter45
Phaedron
NOT WHAT I WAS GOING TO SAY
My eyes dart from Alindra’s flushed cheeks to the man from the Kingdom of the Summer who’s holding his wrist like he’s just been burned. There’s a nasty curl to his lips, but I don’t see any blood. Voids help me, I don’t know what I would do if I saw blood on the floor of Alindra’s tent. It probably wouldn’t end well for whoever the hells this man is.
Alindra clears her throat, then smooths down the front of her dress.
“No,” she says, in a thin voice that sounds like it’s coming from far away. “There’s no problem. Balmyr was just leaving.”
She turns to the man with an expression that suggests he’d better start leaving. My gut churns as I remember where I’ve heard the name Balmyr. Balmyr drops the hand he’d been clutching, makes a growling sort of cough, and turns toward Alindra. My fingers drop to the hilt of my sword.
“If you change your mind—” Balmyr begins.
“I won’t,” Alindra replies, cutting him off.
The look she gives him as he backs toward the tent’s door flap could freeze water at full boil, and I can’t help the victorious little twist inside my chest when he steps past me.
“Raiyben is just outside,” I tell him, flexing my fingers around the hilt of my sword to keep from driving them into his oily smile. “He’ll be happy to escort you back to the Dragon’s Rest Inn.”
