Onyx Storm (The Empyrean #3)

by Rebecca Yarros

“Me too. But you don’t have to say what you’re thinking for me to know,” he whispers, his hands slipping from my waist to my hips. “I can read it in every line of your body. Your eyes are a dead giveaway, too.” Under my fists, his heartbeat accelerates. “Always have been. You have no idea how many times I almost fucked up on the sparring mat when I caught you watching me.”

“I swear to Amari, you two get one inch closer and I’m going to throw a bucket of water on you,” Mira warns, breaking the spell.

“I warned you,” Xaden says as the man hits his knees. “Your error was changing your assessment to targeting me as the threat and letting your eyes off her.”

“And you must be Asher Sorrengail’s daughter, here to collect the books he wrote for you.”

She won’t understand why you’ve kept her in the dark. You left too soon, left too many of your plans unfinished. Now we can only hope the bond between our daughters is strong enough to endure the paths they’ve chosen. They’ll need each other to survive. —Recovered, Unsent Correspondence of General Lilith Sorrengail

“My, the Continent does have some fine-looking men.”

“Deverelli don’t worship gods.” “It’s why we’re considered the most neutral of the isles. Perfect for trade.” Narelle shrugs. “What you call gods, we call science. What you call fate, we call coincidence. What you call the divine intervention of love, we call…” She flourishes her hand. “Alchemy. Two substances combined to make something entirely new, not unlike what’s between the two of you.” She glances between Xaden and me and sets her hand on her chest.

“I heard you saying you’d kill my grandson if he took another step toward your beloved, young man. How illogically, toxically romantic of you. Have to admit, that kind of confident violence isn’t what I pictured when Asher talked about you, but the brown hair, those…I guess they’re brown eyes, and how utterly smitten he predicted you two would eventually be for each other? Well, he described you almost perfectly, Dain Aetos.”

Oh, fucking kill me now. My mouth opens, then shuts. Xaden raises both eyebrows and presses his lips between his teeth. Dain rubs the back of his neck. Mira snorts once, covers her mouth with her hand, then doubles over laughing. “I’m sorry,” she forces out and straightens, quickly masking her face and clearing her throat, but she slips again, her shoulders shaking. “I can’t. I just can’t. I need a second.” She walks behind the row of shelves, hopefully to compose herself.

“Xaden Riorson.” I lift my chin as if I’m answering to my father for my choice. “And he’s mine, even when he’s being a possessive ass.”

“Your father risked all your lives to hide away his life’s work with the sole purpose that you find it, Violet. He left the last of it with me almost four years ago with explicit instructions that you only be given it if you had attained the intelligence and understanding you would need to comprehend it.”

“Any chance you want to swoop down and set this shop on fire?” I ask Tairn. “As the Dark One said, it doesn’t bode well for international relations,” he answers. “I would,” Andarna offers. “But then you wouldn’t get your books.”

“You know your value,” Narelle says softly with a nod. “Your father would be proud. Get her the books.”

“And that right there is why he didn’t leave them for you, dear. We all have a part to play in what’s coming for us; this one is simply hers. While he was busy raising Violet for this particular mission, your mother was raising you. I wonder what legacy you’ve inherited.”

We leave the bookstore ten minutes later with six tomes written by my father. And every single one of them is passcode-locked.

“Good,” he says against my ear, and I gasp with surprise as he grabs hold of my waist and turns me to face him. “Because I’m done being polite.”

The most useless word in the language of aristocracy has always been and will forever be: love. Marriage is a necessary evil to secure the line. Nothing more. Save love for your children. —Confiscated Correspondence of Fen Riorson

“There’s no magic here,” he says again, lowering his head, ghosting his lips over mine. “I can fuck you as many times as we want, as many times as you can take, and I can’t lose control.”

He takes my hand and wraps it around the length of his hard cock. “Does that feel like I’m not comfortable?”

“Fuck, Violet, you do that again, and this will be over in minutes.” There’s an edge of desperation in his eyes when they open, and he hisses through his teeth as he guides my hand away from his body. “Me holding back from you has been purely for your sake, not mine, trust me. I want you from the second I wake until the moment I fall asleep. I dream about you.”

“I get to do my favorite thing in the world, which happens to be fucking you. Now, I have about six weeks to make up for, and love, we’re wasting time.”

“Good point.” He lowers his mouth to mine, and his arms tremble slightly. “I need you.”

“Are you sure? You know what I am,” he says slowly, and a flicker of something that looks like fear crosses his face.

“I know who you are.” I cradle his cheeks with my hands. “Now, Xaden. You have six weeks to make up for, remember?”

“I miss being inside your head.” He withdraws, then snaps forward again, and I see stars.

“I love having every part of you when we’re like this.”

“Fuck, you feel so damned good. I’m never giving you up. You know that, right? You had your chance to run. You should have run, Vi.”

“I’m never running. It’s you and me, no matter what.” “You and me,” he repeats,

“You have to let go for me, love.” Xaden nips my lower lip.

feels too damned good. “You are.” His hand drifts down my stomach. “I don’t need to be in your head to know why you’re fighting it. This isn’t the only time, Vi. We have all night. Come for me.”

“We could really use Dain right about now,” I whisper. “I could live the rest of my life without ever hearing you say that again,” Xaden replies.

“Was that really necessary?” My right ear won’t work for a month. “No, but I found it amusing.”

“And you are?” Well, shit. My mouth opens— “My consort,” Xaden replies casually. “Violet Sorrengail.”

“Are congratulations or commiserations in order?” Tairn lifts his head. “Shut up.” I sheathe my dagger to keep from chucking it at the man I love.

“And consort?” I whisper. “We aren’t married.” He fucking smirks. “I’ve noticed. But ‘girlfriend’ is missing that permanent tone. If it makes you more comfortable, consort is used pretty loosely in Navarrian aristocratic circles. Pretty sure the Duke of Calldyr has had four different consorts in as many years. The designation just gets you the invitation into this place, plus gives you the protection and privileges of my title—” “I don’t need the protection and privileges—” I shake my head as we pass another row of palms. “Ouch.” He lifts his hand to his chest. “Never thought you’d reject me.” I roll my eyes. “It is not the time for this.” Jokes have to wait. “When would be?” The next look he gives me is a hundred percent serious.

“Navarre,” Courtlyn continues, “or Tyrrendor? Lie, and this discussion is over. We’ve fared quite well without the Continent.” Xaden tilts his head, studying the king. “Violet.”

“My loyalty is to Violet first above everything, everyone else,” Xaden says. “Then Tyrrendor. Then Navarre in the moments it’s worthy—usually when Violet is in residence.”

Captain Anna Winshire’s head lies on the plate between Halden and Tecarus, her short, strawberry-blond curls unmistakable.

“Your thief was found in my treasury,” Courtlyn counters, “with six stolen treasures on her person and a list of five more she had yet to attain written in your handwriting.” My stomach lurches, and my gaze jumps to Halden’s. “You didn’t.”

“I’ve heard enough, and this grows tedious. Tecarus may live. Kill the rest.”

Sometimes diplomacy is best served at swordpoint. —Journal of Captain Lilith Sorrengail

“Do not overreact,” I warn Tairn, hoping it’s not my final request. “We still need this deal.” “I resent the implication that I am given to melodramatics,” he replies,

I startle and pull back to fight, but Xaden whips his arm around my waist and yanks me against his chest. His sword hits the table, and to my complete and utter surprise, he presses a soft kiss to the top of my forehead as an axe— Metal hits the ground. Screams sound around us, and I jerk my head left, finding Xaden’s outstretched hand mid-twist. The unmistakable sound of cracking bone follows, and every guard surrounding us drops to the floor, their heads twisted at unnatural angles. Wisps of barely there shadow dissipate, and the band around my waist falls away with a familiar caress. No, no, no.

“They hurt you,” he whispers without apology. “They were going to kill you.”

“I love you and we need to get you out of here, so you have to trust me. Do not move until I tell you.”

“Andarna, when it’s time, be gentle.”

“Is your lightning gentle? Do I critique your work?” She huffs.

“You see, that’s my little one.” I pivot toward Courtlyn with a grin, wrinkling my nose. “Raised her from a juvenile—well, Tairn and Sgaeyl have, really, but you get the point. Now, Andarna doesn’t eat our allies—it’s a whole thing her elders are trying to teach her—but you know how adolescents are. Never really know if they feel like listening on any given day.” I shrug. “So we can negotiate, and I will give you the rarest treasure found anywhere on this world and Shira will walk away in need of a good bath, or I can call Tairn and Sgaeyl in here, and they can all have little panther snacks before we fly back to the Continent. Your choice. But either way, you should know that dragons outlive their riders, so had you succeeded in killing us, all you would have done was really piss them off before they scorched everything in their paths and flew back to tell the rest of the Empyrean what you’d done. I’m willing to let the Duke of Tyrrendor depart in good faith that you won’t try to attack us again if you’re ready to begin.”

“Bring me both of his weapons.” Halden’s head draws back in offense. “Now,” I add, just in case he thinks I’m kidding.

He keeps his head low but opens his eyes to look at me. “I’m not sorry, but I am.” “I love you.”