A Chill in the Flame (Villains #1)

Nine

Nine

Now

“I’ve never had a sleepover,” Dwyn said as she crawled onto the bed.

“I wouldn’t call this a sleepover” came Ophir’s exhausted response. The invitation she’d extended to Dwyn would serve a few purposes. For one, having someone else present to monitor her would give Harland a chance to sleep through the night. Dwyn’s gift for water was a perfect complement to Ophir’s destructive flame. She’d been rushed to Ophir’s room on more than one occasion in the middle of the night since taking up residence in the castle, but the time it took for her to be shaken awake and sprint down the corridor wasted valuable, destructive seconds. Dwyn had suggested many times that she stay with the princess in her room, and after executing her fourth middle-of-the-night rescue mission, Ophir conceded.

“Why? Sleepovers don’t have dozens of bowls of water scattered about the room and a bathtub filled to the brim?” Dwyn’s question was wry, but not in bad humor. She’d argued that she’d handled Ophir’s fire without issue every other time, but Harland insisted it would be easier to manipulate that which was already present. If they were awoken in the night by an inferno, they didn’t need to waste precious moments scrambling for a source for her power.

The contained fire within the hearth head already begun to die, and there was no effort to relight it for the night. The summer was too pleasant for the need of fire, and the burgundy glow of the dim, remaining light was too soothing to invite flames back into the room.

“Caris and I would share our beds all the time. We were inseparable,” Ophir said quietly. She pulled the sheets over her lap to distract herself from the familiar spike of heat beginning to creep up her neck as another onslaught of tears threatened her.

Dwyn pouted. She plopped her head on the pillow and stared up at the canopy bed.

When she didn’t respond, Ophir looked at the siren and tried again. “You smell like mint. Has anyone told you that?”

Dwyn nodded. “They have. All fae have a unique scent, though I’m sure you know that. I’m told it’s quite intoxicating for humans, the poor creatures. They don’t have much of a shot at life, do they. I suppose you probably don’t get to see a lot of humans, right? Little princess locked up in her tower.” She pouted for the plight of mortals and isolated fae princesses alike, then waved it away, returning the conversation to herself. “I wish I could bottle my own and experience what others do.”

“It’s a common ingredient. You could just visit the kitchen.”

“And cook? Please” came Dwyn’s sleepy scoff.

Ophir sighed. “Caris said I didn’t smell like anything.”

Her dark brows gathered in the middle as she rolled toward Ophir, gently taking a handful of hair and bringing it to her nose. Her frown deepened as she released the hair, bringing her face terribly close to Ophir’s neck, lips and nose nearly grazing her skin as she inhaled. Gooseflesh rippled down Ophir’s neck, arms, and spine at the proximity.

“Caris was wrong.”

Ophir twitched ever so slightly. “What do I smell like?”

After a pause, she said, “Like the sun itself.”

Ophir shook her head. “The sun doesn’t smell like anything. And Caris—”

Dwyn twisted her mouth to one side. “Firi, can I stop you? Thinking about Caris is good, but I need you to practice something with me.”

Ophir used the back of her hand to wipe at her tear. “What’s that?”

“Tell me how angry you are.”

Ophir had already begun rolling into a ball against the painful memory of her sister, hugging her knees to her chest. “What?”

Dwyn folded her feet beneath her, sitting on her knees atop the bed. She clasped Ophir’s hands in her own. “Right now, your emotion is an animal. It’s a hurt deer limping through the forest. It’s a dolphin watching a shark approach. It’s a kicked puppy. These are the spirits I see and feel when I look at you.”

“Thanks.” She wiped at a second tear.

“No, listen. I need you to tell me: what’s the most terrifying creature you can think of?”

“I don’t want to do this.”

Dwyn’s lips became a hard line. “There are lots of things we don’t want, and just as many things that we do. Unfortunately, wishes and wants are useless unless we do something about them. I’m trying to help you. Now, what is the scariest beast in the lands?”

Ophir thought about the beasts that roamed the forests. Bears, wolves, bats, and enormous cats with fangs and teeth would wait for you in the trees and hills with glowing, yellow eyes. Spiders could crawl beneath your sheets and approach you while you slept, attacking you in the night.

“I hate snakes.”

“Good.” Dwyn nodded encouragingly. “Close your eyes, Firi. See a forest. See its trees, its dirt, its roots and shadows and darkness. Are you there?” Dwyn waited for a sign of acknowledgment before continuing. “Good. Keep those eyes closed. Picture the limping deer in your heart as it walks through the forest. Envision the helpless, wounded deer of your sorrow, and watch as his fur begins to fall away. See his coat fall to the ground around his hooves until he has no hair. Look at the deer’s antlers as they shed, and see his eyes move from atop his snout to the sides of his head. See your deer lie down on the ground. Watch as his legs disappear into his body and his scales begin to grow. Watch him lengthen. Look at his fangs. Look at his size. Can you see him? Can you see the enormous snake that was hiding where the deer once was?”

Ophir scrunched her face behind her shut lids. She forced herself to see the deer as it twisted and transformed into a large, horrible serpent.

“Describe it to me. What color is it? What’s it doing?”

She swallowed as she envisioned the slithering beast in the forest. She still wasn’t comfortable with the exercise, but she exhaled slowly as she focused on the picture in her mind. “It’s black. Everything about the snake is black, from its belly and its scales to its eyes and teeth and tongue. Its mouth is open. Venom is dripping from its extended fangs. It’s coiling like it’s going to strike.”

“Firi, you are the snake. You are no wounded deer. You are a terrifying, dangerous creature. What can you do as a snake?”

Ophir opened her eyes. “Nothing. I’m not—”

Dwyn’s eyes flashed with a sharp, scolding agitation. “What can a snake do? You’re a snake—what can you do?”

Ophir gnawed on her lip. This couldn’t be any more useless than her unanswered prayers. Reluctantly, she offered, “I can…strike?”

“That’s exactly right.” Dwyn’s voice was grave. She burned with intensity as she squeezed the princess’s hand more tightly. “Next time you feel sad about your sister, I want you to take that sorrow and channel it into rage. Your grief must become fury. See your emotion as a physical beast. You are not wounded, princess—you are provoked. You are the serpent.”

For the barest of moments, Ophir felt empowered. Then Dwyn was stripping naked from her nightdress and the princess was shaking her head in shock. “What the hell!”

“Oh, I don’t sleep with things on. I try to avoid clothes whenever I can. Hope that’s not a problem.” She blew out the candle on her side of the bed and waved a hand to indicate she was done speaking for the night.

Of all of the people Ophir could have met in this world, she’d been brought together with the most peculiar alien fae in all of the land. She’d never met anyone from Sulgrave before this and speculated as to whether or not it was problematic to wonder if they were all so strange. She was still blinking with bewildered eyes as she blew out her candle and rested her head against the pillow, acutely aware that the stripped body of a siren was mere inches away.

***

Cold. Panic. Terror. Water. Confusion.

The arctic, soaking blast of water flung her from her sleep. Ophir sputtered as she looked up into wide, dark eyes. Pale skin. Dripping water. A familiar, vine-like tattoo wrapping elaborately from one knee up over her hip. It was Dwyn who stood over her, feet planted on the mattress as she panted.

“Goddess damn you, Princess. I knew it was bad, but surely the night terrors should be less frequent by now?”

Ophir’s throat ached from her screams. She tried to make sense of her surroundings but discovered from the gray dust covering her skin that yet another sleep dress had been reduced to ash. Dwyn had cut the terror short, sparing the mattress and leaving only the barest hint of steam as evidence that her water had washed away the princess’s nightmares.

Harland threw open the door only to instantly avert his gaze with an embarrassed flush. The women looked to him with a mix of bewilderment and indignation as Dwyn was still completely nude on top of the bed and now Ophir was covered in soot in a similar state of undress.

He shook his head against the confusing surge of visuals and emotions. “Is…does…um…”

“Spit it out,” Dwyn said impatiently.

He pinched the bridge of his nose as if to focus. “Was your friend burned, Princess Ophir? Do you need extra healing tonics?”

“We’re fine,” Ophir answered for them both. Perhaps she should have checked to see that Dwyn wasn’t covered in blisters before she’d made such a definitive statement, but she was ready for Harland to leave. He closed the door behind him, saying something about ensuring fresh blankets would be fetched, but it had come out rushed and muffled against the quick turn of his back as he’d disappeared.

“I’m sorry,” Ophir mumbled, closing her eyes against the naked woman standing over her.

“Okay, maybe I was wrong.” Dwyn lowered herself to the mattress. She sat on the part of the bed that hadn’t been singed in the flame, slowly folding her feet beneath her. “You don’t just feel sorrow. You’re also terrified.”

Ophir sniffed against the scent of smoke and singed fabric. She stood from the bed to grab towels so she didn’t have to sleep in a puddle of water and the embers that remained from her burned clothes. The silken sheets had begun to melt beneath her. She spread out the towel and curled up on it.

Ophir closed her eyes, doubting that sleep would come a second time. She rolled away, ignoring the Sulgrave fae. She bunched a handful of remaining sheets between her fingers, doing her best not to cry into them as she clutched the fabric. The night terrors, vulnerability, and utter lack of control were a source of humiliation. She hated the nakedness that her flame had forced upon her. She felt raw and sick and empty. Her back was to the dark-haired fae, so she was surprised by the contact when Dwyn wrapped an arm around her, pressing her body into the curves and grooves of the princess’s back and legs as she cuddled her. Ophir could feel the press of her breasts, the curve of her hips, the warmth of her skin, and the sharp, minty scent of her hair.

Her entire body blushed in response. Her reaction wasn’t just because Dwyn was a beautiful naked stranger, or because they were in bed together. Pain reddened her cheeks and constricted her throat as she struggled to remember the last time someone had wrapped their arms around her with tenderness. “What are you doing?”

“I’m holding you, and you’re going to let me, because I think deep down you know it will help. You’re not alone, Firi. Once you feel it, maybe you’ll be able to turn that sorrow and fear into the weapon it needs to be.”