Throne of Ice and Blood (Flame and Thorns, #2)

by Marion Blackwood

“Did you seriously just throw me over your shoulder and carry me away because I was talking to another guy?” I slam my fist against his back again and kick my legs at his stomach. “What kind of jealous territorial bullshit is this?” “First of all, you weren’t talking to him. You were flirting with him. And secondly, I’m not jealous.” I scoff. “Right.”

And besides, there is something that I want to hear him say out loud. Something that I want him to admit. Even though it doesn’t matter. Even though I shouldn’t care. Even though it won’t change anything. But I still want to hear him say it.

Draven notices the commotion and finally flicks a glance in my direction. He too does a double take. His mouth hanging open, he stares at me with such an almost comical look of shock and disbelief on his face that I almost laugh out loud at the sight of it. But I only get to enjoy that for a few mere seconds. Then his expression darkens like an oncoming storm. “Eyes down!” he bellows across the room. “Anyone who raises his eyes will get them carved out.”

“Just admit it.” His gaze slides down my half-naked body. A muscle flickers in his jaw, and he drags in another deep breath through his nose. But to my shock, it’s not anger that flickers in his eyes. It’s burning desire. The realization sends a jolt through my body. All my life, I’ve avoided doing things like this. I’ve avoided challenging people. Avoided doing things that might make them angry. Because I didn’t want them to start hating me. And deep down, that age-old fear was twisting inside me, worrying that I shouldn’t be doing that to Draven either. That standing up to him would only make him dislike me. But to my utter shock, it appears to be the exact opposite. Based on the expression on his face as he rakes his gaze over my body, this stunt I just pulled only makes him like me more. And that realization fills me with a sweeping rush of giddiness and makes me feel bold and powerful all at once. Draven forces his gaze back up to my face. “Admit what?” I flash him a smirk full of challenge. “Admit that you’re a jealous territorial bastard who can’t stand the thought of me flirting with someone else.” “You’re playing with fire, little rebel.” “I thought we had already established that I’m quite adept at that.” “Put your clothes back on.” “Admit it.” He clenches his jaw and stares me down. I stare right back at him. Something between a frustrated sigh and a growl rips from his chest. Then he drags in a long breath. “Fine.” He works his jaw, still holding my gaze with t...

“Why do you hate it when I flirt with someone else?” “I’ve already told you.” He slides his hand up my throat and positions it right underneath my jaw in a highly possessive move. His eyes burn through my soul as he stares me down. “Because you’re mine.” I arch an eyebrow at him. “Your life slave?” “No. Mine. In every sense of the word.” A shudder of pleasure and forbidden desire ripples down my spine. The way he is looking at me right now is making me want to bare my whole soul to him. He sees me. All sides of me. He knows exactly what kind of person I am. Knows exactly what I can do. That I could try to manipulate him with my magic when he takes my collar off in his rooms. That I hate everything he stands for. That I will continue to fight him in private. And he likes it. In his eyes, I am enough. And not just enough. I’m somehow… more.

When he meets my gaze again, there is a wicked smirk playing over his lips. “Nervous?” I hold his gaze. “Never.”

“Here’s the deal, Shadow of Death.” My own eyes are full of challenge as I meet his desperate gaze. “Either you fuck me, or you watch me fuck myself. Those are your two options.”

“Don’t ever hold back against me.” His eyes burn through my very soul. “Don’t ever suppress your fire.”

For those precious moments, it’s just me and him. Our bodies and souls joined as one. Leaning down, he kisses me with such aching softness that my heart almost bursts. “So fucking perfect,” he whispers against my lips. “You’re so fucking perfect.” A small noise comes from the back of my throat. And as I kiss him back, I can’t for the life of me understand how I’m supposed to make myself remember that one crucial fact that I must never allow myself to forget. That Draven and I are supposed to be enemies.

“Malachi’s balls,” she says at last, a curse using the name of our Goddess Mabona’s dark counterpart, Malachi, the King of Hell and Mabona’s former lover. “You really don’t know anything, do you?”

“I have suffered my entire life because of something that my ancestors might not even have done?” All my life, people have been telling me things about myself. Telling me that I will only ever be able to have one child. That I am a descendant of wicked people. That all fae are inherently evil. That I am evil. And I just… believed them.

Once we get out of the castle, we now have a way out of the city. But my work tonight is not finished. I’m going to turn this whole damn city into a boiling pot of anger and resentment, so that when the humans pull off their heist, it will be the spark that sets an entire rebellion ablaze.

These people hate me. They don’t even know me. But they hate me.

A collective gasp echoes across the tavern. I whip my head up, expecting to find that the shifters have started killing the human men who confronted them. But instead, I find something worse. They’re all staring at me. Yanking a hand up, I reach for the hood of my cloak. Terror washes through me like ice when I don’t find it. It was knocked down when I hit the ground, and now, my head is fully visible.

He’s going to kill me. A scream of agony splits the air. In the dead silence, it’s so shockingly loud that it makes my ears ring. For one second, I fear that the scream might have been mine. But then the sword that Orange Eyes is holding starts moving. It falls straight down to the floor. And so does his hand.

The Shadow of Death stands there before me, his massive black wings spread wide and his sword stained with blood. His golden eyes burn with such fury and vengeance that it stops my heart for a second. But he’s not looking at me. Dark clouds gather around him and white lightning crackles down his arms as he shifts his gaze between my two remaining assailants.

I tense up, bracing myself for… For what? For him to grab me and handcuff me? For him to yell at me? For him to threaten me and demand to know what the hell I’m doing here? He does none of those things. Instead, he cups my cheeks with such heartbreaking gentleness that I almost sob. Turning my head from side to side, he studies my face with those intense eyes of his. “Are you hurt?” Out of all the things I had expected him to say, that hadn’t even been on the list. I thought he would be furious. Instead, he’s asking if I’m hurt. “Selena, look at me.” Worry pulses in his eyes as he wipes something off my cheek. “Are you hurt?”

“Do you trust me?” he asks. The question catches me completely off guard, and I shock myself by replying, “Yes.” That blank mask on his face cracks for the briefest of moments as shock pulses across his features as well. Then he wipes the expression off his face and instead crouches down. My heart flips as he slides one arm behind my knees and the other behind my back. Heat creeps into my cheeks as he lifts me into his arms as if it’s the most natural thing in the world.

“A tournament that, in terms of just pure magic type, you shouldn’t even have made it past the first power demonstration. But because you’re so damn smart and sneaky and cunning, you managed to win the whole bloody thing. Even despite all of my interference.” I know that we’re fighting, and I know that he’s angry, but his unexpected praise hits something deep inside my chest. Something that makes it hard to breathe. Because everyone else only sees the pathetic girl with weak and untrustworthy emotion magic who is desperate to be liked. But Draven… he sees that instead.

“How did you know that I was in danger and where to find me?” He releases my wrist and starts stalking away towards his bedroom. “Don’t you dare walk away from me!” I scream at his back. He just keeps walking. “How did you find me?” I yell again. He flexes his hand as he stalks away. A snarl rips from my throat. Lurching forward, I close the short distance between us again and grab his arm. With all my strength, I yank on it, spinning him back around to face me. “How did you know that I was in danger?” I shout at him again. “How did you know where I was?” “Because you’re my mate!”

“Because I’m your mate,” I finish for him, the words coming out in a strangled whisper. That pain and desperation flicker across Draven’s face for a moment. Then he repeats, so softly that my heart aches, “Because you’re my mate.”

I know about the concept of fated mates. Two people who are destined to be with each other and who share a deeper connection than just normal love. Two souls drawn to each other in some epic bond. While I have never actually talked to a fae who has found their fated mate, both our race and dragon shifters have them. Though they’re much more common among the dragon shifters. And I had no idea that a cross-species connection was even possible. And most importantly, I hate the concept of fated mates. Free will is too important to me. I hate the thought of someone else, some other power out in the universe, deciding who I can and can’t love.

Something small and very fragile inside my chest just… cracks. And the pain of it is so intense that I have to bend over and brace one hand on my thigh as I drag in a shuddering breath. Prying my other hand off the armchair, I press it over my heart and grip my shirt hard. But it does nothing to stem the pain that bleeds from that fragile shattered piece inside me.

Harsh laughter, tasting of blood and acid, escapes my throat. Tears sting my eyes as I bury my cheek deeper in the pillow. After what I did to my parents, I suppose I deserve this. At least the universe has a fucking sense of humor.

“What about your own blind trust?” I stare back at him. “My blind trust?” “Yes! I know that you’re smart, which is why I can’t for the life of me figure out why you didn’t use that brilliant mind of yours before you entered the Atonement Trials.” “We were all fooled by the Atonement Trials,” I snap back. “That’s because you never question anything!”

Stumbling backwards, I crash back first into the pale ice wall behind me. No matter how fast I breathe, nothing makes it down into my lungs. I throw my hands out and brace myself against the cool wall behind me while I desperately try to breathe through the panic. Draven’s hand appears underneath my chin, raising my head. Worry swirls in his eyes when I meet his gaze. “Selena,” he begins. “Nothing is real,” I gasp out.

One lie after another. One shocking truth after the other. One blow after another that shatters everything I thought I knew about the world. About us. About me. My knees buckle.

“Are you okay?” Draven asks against my mouth. “Yes.” The word comes out as a whisper. But Draven nods anyway. Then he straightens, taking his forehead off mine. I open my eyes at last. And to my embarrassment, tears begin streaming down my cheeks. “I’m sorry,” I stammer while desperately trying to wipe them off. Seriousness descends on his features as he cups my cheeks again and uses his thumbs to wipe away the tears while he levels a commanding stare on me. “Don’t ever apologize for crying. It’s not a weakness. It’s a sign that you’ve had to be strong for too long.”

“It’s been weeks,” he begins, his voice as serious as his eyes as he holds my gaze. “And I’ve been taking off your collar every evening when we get back to our rooms. But you have never, not even once, used your magic to try to manipulate my emotions so that you can escape.” My heart suddenly starts pounding in my chest. “Why?” Draven presses. The answer to his question is twofold. The first reason is of course that I am not actually trying to escape. But I can’t tell him that. Obviously. But the problem is that the second, much bigger, reason is also something that I would prefer not to tell him. Especially now. However, between the two, it’s the least incriminating one, so I have no other choice than to share that one. My pulse thrums as I hold his gaze and lick my lips nervously. “Because…” I drag in a deep breath and then force out the sentence all at once. “Because you’re the only thing that’s real.”

“All my life, I’ve been desperately trying to get people to accept me and trust me and like me. I have only ever spoken and behaved in a way that they would approve of. But not with you. With you, I have only ever been me. But if I start manipulating your emotions, our interactions won’t be real.” A small and bitter sigh escapes my lips as I shrug. “But I suppose that’s ruined now anyway.”

“I can’t,” Draven forces out between clenched teeth while he sends winds barreling across the mountainside. “If I shift, they will shift.” He jerks his chin in the direction of the palace. “And then they will see it.” “What—” “Just trust me!” There it is again. Trust me. And for some strange reason, I do.

“You owe me nothing.” He slides his gaze back to our attackers and drops into a battle stance. “But any help you can provide will be invaluable.” It takes me a second to process his words. Help. He’s asking me to help. I broke down and cried and had a panic attack not an hour ago, and yet he still doesn’t see me as weak. He knows how dangerous and powerful I can be and he’s asking me to help him fight.

Draven turns to me and holds out his free hand. I take it and let him help me to my feet. He keeps hold of it for another few seconds while he flicks an appraising look up and down my body. “Azaroth’s flame,” he says, sounding both surprised and impressed. “For someone who has spent her life avoiding conflicts, you sure know how to read a battle.”

“If you care about me in any way, don’t do anything. Don’t say anything.” He tightens his grip on my cloak while his pleading eyes sear into mine. “Please. I’m begging you.” His words hit me like a blow to the chest. Please. I’m begging you. Draven doesn’t beg. Ever.

Draven’s muscular body jerks with each strike of the whip, and he is clenching his fists hard, but no sound escapes his lips. No screams. No cries. No groans of pain. No whimpers. Nothing.

Desperation crashes over me, and I hold his face more firmly as I lock dead serious eyes on him. “Then drain my magic. It heals you, right? Our magic lets you live longer because it constantly heals your body, right? So take it!” His eyes widen, as if he can’t believe that I’m offering it. Then a soft smile blows across his mouth. “I thought you said that you were going to kill me if I ever did that again.” “And now I will kill you if you don’t do it.” A soft breath of amusement escapes his chest, but all he says is, “I can’t.” Frustration rips through me, and I drop my hands from his cheeks and slap my own thighs instead. “Goddess damn it, stop being such a fucking idiot! I am offering, you thickheaded overgrown bat, so just take it!”

My heart aches. I completed my mission and found the entrance to the tunnel. But at what cost?

Because the thought of him in pain makes my heart crack like brittle glass. I don’t know if it’s because of the mate bond or because I do genuinely care about him, but I simply can’t bear the thought of him enduring that kind of blinding agony. My heart aches and my entire chest feels like it’s filled with a tangled nest of emotions that don’t fit together. I care about Draven, but I don’t know if those feelings are real or if it’s just a side effect of the mate bond. And regardless of which it is, I’m not supposed to care about him at all. Because he’s the enemy.

Today was the first time he used the half-shift since the whipping. His wings had healed completely, and when he spread them wide, they once again looked as powerful and imposing as before. As if nothing had happened. But I know what happened. And I do not forget.

Alistair Geller, the biggest bully in the entire Seelie Court and the man who threatened to kill us all in the Atonement Trials if we got in his way, is bawling his eyes out.

My breath catches as I stare at Isera. There is nothing, no warmth, no compassion, no sense of a caring soul, on her face. Her silver and blue eyes are as cold as the space between the stars, and her expression is one of merciless vengeance and ruthless fury. She doesn’t even look fae anymore. She looks like a bloodthirsty goddess who has risen from the freezing pits of another world, come to claim her revenge on this land. And it fucking terrifies me.

“Not unless we pretend as if they have broken us,” Isera says, a scheming look on her face. Her eyes are sharp as she locks them on Alistair. “Can you handle that?” “Can you?” he shoots back. “I would slaughter every single person in this castle, innocent or not, if it meant getting my revenge. I can handle it.”

She sighs. “It doesn’t matter what you do, some people will always hate you. You could do everything they ask, give them everything you have, and it would still never be enough. They will still hate you. Either because of their own insecurities. Or because they have been taught to hate you.” Bitterness laces her tone as she adds, “Just like we have been taught to hate ourselves.”

“So how do you deal with it?” I ask, meeting Isera’s eyes. Determination and an unshakable belief in herself seem to pulse from her entire being as she holds my gaze. “By reminding myself that I have nothing to prove.”

Maybe I need to be more like them all. More like Alistair. More like Isera. More like Draven. Maybe it’s time that I start doing what they do. What everyone else in this messed up world of ours seems to be doing. Take what I want and to hell with everyone else.

“To change into that damn silver ballgown I always have to wear.” “No. Not tonight.” Releasing my arm, he strides over to his closet and yanks open the door. “Tonight, you’re wearing this.” My heart skips a beat as he pulls out a stunning black dress with golden details. Drawing in an unsteady breath, I flick my gaze between the breathtaking dress and the satisfied smile on Draven’s face. “It’s black,” I state, remembering what he told me about why the Icehearts always insist that we fae wear silver. Still only wearing that low slung towel, he walks back across the floor and holds out the dress to me. “Yes, it is.” My heart pounds as I take it. “Won’t they get angry?” “Let them.” He slides his hand up my throat. With a possessive grip, he tilts my head back and then leans down so that his lips almost brush mine. “You are mine. It’s time the world knows that.”

“Unless someone kills them all,” Isera adds, her voice now once more laced with that cold ruthless edge. “And who would that be?” Alistair huffs under his breath. “You’re still collared, ice lady. And we’re talking eight dragon shifters. With swords. And probably elite training. Who would be dumb enough to try to assassinate them?” A wicked smirk spreads across my mouth. “Actually, I think I know exactly who.”

I hold his gaze, watching the way the light gleams in his eyes. The rest of the room disappears around us. It’s just me and him. His hands on my body. His eyes, burning with desire, on mine. I can feel his very soul calling to mine, and all I want to do is to grab the front of his armor and yank his stupid troublesome mouth down to mine and kiss him until he can’t breathe. Because I can’t fucking breathe either.

And leave Draven to his fate. Because no matter how much I have tried to convince myself otherwise lately, Draven and I are on opposite sides in this war. We are, and always will be, enemies.

“The… emotions,” I begin uncertainly. “That you have for me. Are they real or just the product of the mate bond? And how do you know the difference? How do you know which ones are real and which ones are forced? Fake? Or is all of it fake?”