Ch. 27

“Ice”

The blonde, busty barmaid frowns at me, like I am what fills the horse stalls with the stench. I give her one of my cute, innocent smiles that wrinkles my nose, pushes my cheeks into my eyes, and makes faint dimples appear. Just get us a fucking table before I explode with ice shards that’ll go through your fucking eyes.

My smile, pushes my cheeks further, is futile. What am I so cold? I have spent years trying to figure out how my power work, and here they are, changing the script once again. As I glance around the dimly lit tavern, my eyes catch movement — a shadow that doesn’t quite align with the light. It seems to linger, teasing the edge of my vision.

I grip Zanir’s hand tighter as my hand trembles, and he responds with a gentle squeeze and a single motion of his thumb over my knuckles. Then I notice him take a deep breath, filling his lungs slowly before exhaling with a quiet, steadying calm. The motion catches my eye and I realize that my body mirrors the same action. With each heartbeat, I feel a change, and the shadows seem to recede just a little, the dim light finding its way back to where it should be. Even my muscles seem to loosen with another deep exhale. The tension that has been coiling inside me unwinds ever, leaving the room with the tiniest bit of clarity.

My powers have always felt like a connection to me, but something is missing. Shifting is second nature, just as natural as breathing. Fire is easy to wield and control now — only after a few burnt down sheds and after Mother started building everything out of stone. I only burned a few curtains after that. Controlling the wind was learned and comes effortlessly now. The wizards helped with that. Wizards, whom Oana and I believed, worked in close relation to the rare Solomaonri.

But ice… ice is different. It comes within my beast. It is hard to explain. It was hard to control unless the beast is allowed out. I thought I was gaining better control, but my powers were changing again, much like they did when I was younger. That is why I left. I couldn’t be locked away again, when all I ever wanted was some freedom. Potent emotions seem to make them explode outward, and this time… let’s just say the last few days must be catching up to me.

As the warmth spreads through me, I sense the connection with Zanir, his presence a pillar against the storm brewing inside. A shiver runs through me, from my fingertips entwined with his, down to my toes. Another small squeeze to my hand brings me back, a link in this whirling cyclone of power and uncertainty.

Stay calm.

The blonde barmaid turns and starts leading us to a table that is far, far away from most of the tavern’s living guests. Thank fucking Nyx.

Zanir moves in front of me and raises our hands above my head, dragging me behind him. Like I am on display, showing me off, like a prize… his prize. Letting everyone — every male, every female, every pair of eyes — know that I am not to messed with. I try to wiggle my fingers out of his grasp, but Zanir doesn’t let my fingers even budge a little. Iamys and Devlyn move effortlessly through the crowd behind us.

The way he carries himself, each stride purposeful and controlled, sending a ripple, a message through the crowd. Whispers hush as we pass, eyes widening in a mix of intrigue and uncertainty, as if they sense the threat he is.

I grimace at his cunning thought. I don’t want to be the center of attention more than I already am. Better to let everyone look at me now and realize it is not worth their time… or life to engage with me.

My eyes flash to our surroundings, faces lower as we pass, but that is not want draws my attention. The tavern’s wooden beams are draped with faded tapestries, their color muted from years of smoke and debauchery, but they whisper tales of old battles and forgotten heroes. My skin begins to prickle as we pass a loudly, overall rowdy table that loses their voices as we walk by.

The coldness inside still grows, the fear that often accompanies my powers, and the beast within. My hand thief’s presence does little to appease it, instead, it mixes with my own, battling and blurring the lines within.

Nyx, I probably smell like a pig that bathed in a food trough. Yet as I watch the way people subtly shift their gaze, taking a step back or lowering their heads, I know my power, its smell is moving through the room. But I feel a reassurance in Zanir’s grip once more. His calm control ground the chaos inside and out, a silent promise that he can navigate this world with ease, even if I struggle to keep my own fears at bay. How infuriating.

We continue to pass more rowdy tables full of men and women, laughter and boisterous cheers ringing in my ear the further we get. I remind myself that I was the one who grabbed his hand first, so this was also kind of my idea, not that makes me feel any better about the situation. I can almost picture the big, stupid smirk on his face — the prick.

Zanir looks back at me, that provoking smirk firmly in place, knowing how clever his… our idea was and how now I refuse to struggle in front of all these people. I have already embarrassed myself more than enough today, yesterday, and the day before… so on and so forth.

 How far is this table, for fuck's sake?

Once we reach the farthest booth tucked into the dim corner, Zanir finally lets go of my hand. His warmth fades almost immediately, and the cold starts to settle back into me.

Just days ago, he was a vampire, lurking in and with shadows, threatening to possible devour me. Before that even, I was wandering the Endless Forest alone, surrounded by creatures that would’ve torn me apart without a second thought.

Now here we are, sliding into a booth beside each other like we have done this a hundred times, his powers taken by me, his hand in mine… only moments ago. How quickly things annoyingly can change.

I hiss through clenched teeth, accidentally brushing my shoulder against his chest as I slip into the booth. When he sits down beside me, that impossible calm of his returns, leaving me no room, so my shoulder touches his arm before I recoil closer to the wall. I look over, catching that faint smirk on his face — prick. Yet, again, his nearness stirs something within me, a part of myself I’m only beginning to sense, and I feel the awareness spark deep inside, and the beast within paces just past my mental door.

“Watch out, that snake bites, too,” Iamys says, cutting in with a sideways glance at Zanir, drawing me back into the moment.

Zanir’s eyes narrow slightly, voice smooth and unbothered. “I am well aware.”

Iamys’s brown eyes dart to me, something cutting in them, almost a warning, like he is mentally telling me to stay on guard.

Ice shoots through my veins, as shards are clinging and slowing down my blood. No, calm down. I need food, right, remember I am hungry.

Thankfully, Devlyn clears her throat, breaking the growing, never-ending tension. Her gaze moves to me, moving down my arms, to my clenched fists digging into my palms… She moves her attention between Iamys and Zanir. “Please remember the task at hand.”

Zanir relaxes. I didn’t even notice him tense, but I watch as his shoulders slightly fall, slipping back into his nonchalant mask, one that I am starting to see is a facade. I press myself against the wall that pins me in place next to Zanir. My shoulder digs into the wooden siding of the tavern.

I don’t need to give him anymore satisfaction — not after all this. Besides, his warmth was different from any fire I could summon. It had an almost magnetic quality, mixing with something raw and potent within me. My mental door trembles from a beast that feels it, too.

No, I remind myself, as a claw scrapes against the edge of my mind. We are not going there. Not now. Not ever.

The claw in my mind drags, then retreats, leaving my mental shrouded in silence.

“We’ll have a nice meal, a single drink…” Devlyn says, her voice measured, eyes sharp. Her eyes landing on me.

I need five drinks. FIVE.

“And we’ll wait for Sadar to meet us here. That way, we know…” Her eyes scan the rest of the tavern.

The laughter, shouting, and clinking of mugs echo off the walls, a rough melody blanketing out table. No normal person would hear us through the noise, but that doesn’t mean everyone here is normal. Given my entrance, I would bet someone is watching a little too closely. Devlyn’s eyes return to us, a silent reminder to stay alert.

“Everything is set up. Iamys and Zanir…” Devlyn motions with a nod. “Will do with Sadar. Mihaela and I will stay at the Inn.” She claps her hands together before either of them has a chance to oppose. Perfect.

I need some distance from the vampire-turned-basically mortal. As if thinking about him causes him to shift his weight, and his arm brushes against my shoulder again. I can feel that same warmth seeping into me.

Devlyn’s eyes flick to me, her expression sharp and assessing. “I’ll go grab us some food and ale.” She flashes an uncommon mischievous grin that doesn’t quite match her commanding tone and turns back toward the bustling tavern.

I hope she’s quick. I lean further into the wall, but there is no escape, he is leaning into me — asshat. Ice slices through my muscles as his heat burns them to their core.

The blonde, busty barmaid finishes her conversation with a booth in front of ours and turns to walk by us. Our eyes meet, and my heart races — not from her, since I could rip into her and still have leftovers. No, it’s Zanir.

His hand on top of my thigh that steals my breath. Even though I know the barmaid can’t see his hand past the table, the movement sends a shock through at it is all over my face. I force a smile as she passes, but it is quick to leave.

The fucking nerve. Stab, burn, punch… I will end him.

A soft exhale, almost a chuckle, escapes Zanir, and he leans closer to me, his breath brushing my ear, laced with that irritatingly familiar scent of mint. Mint, always mint. Ice prickles under my skin, and I swear the heat from his is searing through my pants, branding me. “Need to make it believable,” he whispers, his words mixed with a teasing amusement, as if he is somehow caught wind of my silent threats. It is written all over my face.

Iamys moves in his seat, his brow creasing as his gaze hardens on Zanir. A sharp kick lands against my shin, like a silent, rather rude, warning — as if this was somehow my fault. He leans forward toward us, voice low, his eyes still locked on Zanir with an intensity that feels more protective.

“I understand the game you’re playing and think we all deserve a nice meal,” he says, each word measured, his tone edged with suspicion. “Some more than others… But if you get her too worked up, she’ll either start a blizzard or shift into something that’ll leave us nothing but a pile of bones and bricks.” His eyes fitting to one’s like Devlyn, but I can feel his focus, like a shield, lingering over me, as if he’s silently saying, be careful who you trust, Mihaela.

Devlyn reappears, her timing perfect, dropping plates and a pitcher of ale onto the table with a pointed look that tells us she heard every word.

Zanir’s cerulean eyes narrow and darken, like shadows are still coiling around them. But that isn’t possible. His fingers tap my thigh, once, twice, in a slow, deliberate rhythm. Then he flashes a smile at Iamys — cool, fangless, yet somehow still dangerous — before sliding back into that nonchalant air he wears like armor. He leans into the booth, lifting a mug Devlyn has poured for each of us, and takes a deep drink, his throat shifting with every shallow.

I shudder, catching myself watching him. No. Gross. The beast within stirring again, dragging his claws across my mind. Food. A drink. I need a fucking drink.

I reach for the mug Devlyn placed in front of me, only to catch the sight of my fingers — reddened, streaked with hints of purple, like bruises lingering from where they had laced with Zanir’s. Heat flares under my skin. I glance quickly at my thigh, half expecting to see a brand where his hand touched me. Nothing can’t be seen through my pants, of course, but I can still feel the hints of warmth like it burned my skin. I switch the mug to my other hand, shoving my marked hand to my side. Perfect. Just fucking perfect.

Zanir’s gaze moves toward me, catching me mid-frown, and the corner of his mouth lifts slightly, barely enough to notice.

Finally, the mug reaches my mouth. I take a sip, then pull it away, scowling. The liquid is clear, odorless. She gave me fucking water. I shoot a glare at Devlyn, who is casually lifting a forkful of steaming beef to her mouth, clearly amused.

“Hydration is very important, Mi,” she quips with a slight smirk.

I clench my jaw, making a silent vow of eight — no, ten — glasses of wine or even ale when I get back to the castle. The nerve.

The smell of the beef roast on the plate before thankfully pulls me out of my irritation, muting the icy tension twisting through my veins, the heat still tingling at my thigh and fingers, even the Samca and all the recent chaos. — at least for now.

The rest of the meal passes mostly in silence, Zanir, oddly restrained at first, only pricks at his food with a curious expression before finally giving in and devouring the pate with something almost like eagerness. I watch him, unable to look away. He hasn’t eaten like this in ages, I bet — what must his life have been like before? When was the last time he tasted a proper meal?

Eventually, Sadar joins us, claiming the last of Devlyn’s food, while I tuck a good chuck of my roast into a napkin for Iamys to give Halfy later. One by one, the others rise, leaving to make preparations, and I force myself not to watch them go. I’ve had enough of Zanir’s presence for one night — or maybe the next several nights.

—

Devlyn and I weave through the tavern to the door connecting to the Viridian Vale Inn. Even though Zanir is no longer here, no longer parading me around, the point seems to have been made. No one — neither the men nor women, not even the barmaid — gives me more than a quick glance. Maybe they can sense my powers, or maybe Zanir has a reputation I don’t know about. Whatever the reason, the reprieve is welcome. Fewer people to deal with.

Once we’re through the connecting door, the tavern noise dims to a dull hum. Across the quiet main room of the inn, there’s a large counter with a logbook, a pen, and what looks like a list of signatures. Devlyn heads straight for it, and I’m right behind her. A door off to the side of the counter opens, and an older man steps into view. Maybe he heard us, or maybe he just sensed new arrivals.

Devlyn grabs the quill and scribbles a name — a fake one.

“One room, one night,” she says to the man behind the counter.

He nods silently, motioning to a sign displaying the room rates. Devlyn rummages in her tunic and pulls out a small dark pouch, from which she counts out five gold coins onto the counter. The man retrieves a key from the wall behind him, handing it to her before gesturing to the staircase we’d passed on the way in.

Not much of a talker.

We head up the stairs and down a dim hallway. From the sounds echoing above, it seems some of the rowdier tavern patrons have already made their way into the inn for the night.

Lovely. Just what we need. But I guess there’s not much else for entertainment around here. Still, I can think of better ways to pass the time — a warm bath, for one. Oh, Nyx, a bath. I pick up my pace, eager to reach the room.

At the end of the hall, Devlyn turns to the door on the left and slides the key into the lock. With a click, she gestures for me to go in first, and I don’t hesitate.

The room is small, but it has everything we need, a bed barely big enough for two people, a divider, and beyond it, a small tub filled with water. I fall face-first onto the bed. Even though it’s not exactly luxurious, it is leagues better than tree branches, hard ground, or even Halfy’s head.

I hear Devlyn, pours water from a bucket into the tub, then her footsteps approach as she tugs off one of my boots.

“So,” she says, her tone both curious and serious, “are you going to tell me now what exactly you’ve gotten yourself into?”