A Chill in the Flame (Villains #1)

Fifteen

Fifteen

“Your plan is shit, Dwyn. You’ll just, what, be silent until the end of time so I can learn nothing more from you?”

Tyr had haunted her room for days. He knew that she wanted to salvage whatever remained of Harland’s good graces, but the guard needed her to be forthcoming, and that was a risk she was unwilling to take while Tyr haunted her doorstep. So, Harland would interrogate her, she’d remain silent, save for her unhelpful shrugs and apologetic expressions, and the dance would go on.

Alone once more, she said to Tyr, “My plan is to let you starve to death. You’ll need to leave eventually for food. You know what I had for dinner? The princess and I ate the loveliest hot breads with roasted garlic, fresh butter, and melted cheese—”

He relaxed against the wall. “I know what you’re doing, and it won’t work. I can wait.”

She arched a brow. “So can I. I’ve lived a very long life, dog. Ophir isn’t going anywhere, and neither am I. But you certainly can. You could leave for Sulgrave today and be back in your bed with your precious clan by the end of the month.”

“It’s an awfully long trip to have ventured to the southern kingdoms for nothing.”

“And why did you come? Loyalty? Maybe you’re more of a dog than I realized. Anwir really knows how to recruit his men.”

He bristled at the mention of the clan leader. “You know nothing of why I’m here.”

“Don’t I?” She jerked up the hem of her nightdress, revealing far too much thigh and hip. His gaze flitted to her goddess-awful tattoo.

“Tell me why you’ve truly come, and I’ll leave.”

“I’ve told you.” She glowered.

A muscle ticked in his jaw as he glared back.

“What will it matter? You know you’re wasting your efforts. Berinth will beat us both to it. Then you’ll have starved to death for nothing. Or again, you could run away. Go home. Ophir and I will be nothing but a memory. Think of it like a long, miserable weekend—a speck of dust in your life.”

He hadn’t bothered to conceal himself but had positioned himself so that if someone opened the door, he could shift back into the spaces between things, rendering himself invisible until he was safe once more. He rested the back of his head against the wall and closed his eyes. Tyr hadn’t slept or eaten in several days. He hoped someone was taking good care of Knight, or there’d be hell to pay as soon as he left the castle. “You know I can’t do that.”

“Mmm, it would appear so. Because this isn’t about me at all, is it? How flattering.” Dwyn continued about her night as if she spoke to a ghost in the room. He glared as she washed her face, brushed her hair, stripped from her clothes, and crawled beneath the sheets, ignoring his presence entirely.

He’d been silent as she’d hummed obnoxiously to herself for nearly an hour. Finally, he said, “I’ve been patient, Dwyn. You know you’re safe with me. Not because I want you alive—goddess knows I want you dead just as badly as you wish you could kill me. But I can’t kill you for the same reason you haven’t acted on anything with Ophir, right? We have no idea what Berinth accomplished. As long as another child of royal blood is alive…”

“Excellent thought. Why don’t you focus on Berinth and leave Ophir to me? I promise you, she’s in great hands.”

He regretted his attempt at reasoning with her. “You have a better chance of killing me than getting me to leave.”

“Die, then.”

Dwyn closed her eyes and tucked an arm beneath her pillow, snuggling beneath the sheets. The move was rife with both disregard and disrespect.

“You haven’t asked why I don’t make a move with the princess.”

She smacked her lips against her sleep, unbothered. “I assume it’s because we both know you couldn’t compete with me in matters of the heart even if you tried.”

“You can’t do anything,” he said. “Your unwillingness to share has tied your hands. You’re as stuck as I am.”

“You’re talking while I’m trying to sleep.”

“I don’t need the princess,” he said. She cracked an eye open at this. “Ophir doesn’t deserve what’s happening to her.”

Dwyn sat up. “You’re right. She doesn’t. So stop stalking her.”

“I’m here because you’re here, witch. If what you want is anything like what Berinth wanted with Caris, then she’s not safe with you. I’m not here to hurt her.”

Dwyn considered the information. “You’d leave me alone—me and Ophir, that is—if you learn to do what I can already do?”

Tyr waited expectantly. Perhaps, just once, Dwyn could be reasonable.

She lifted her index and middle fingers to her lips. “It’s the little jewel at the apex of her sex. I find the most success with a combination of suction and gentle licks. When she starts to—”

There went his last thread of hope. “I know how to make a woman come.”

Dwyn shrugged. “Such a tragedy you had the chance to take advice from an expert and you shot it down. As for the other thing? This isn’t a race where winners can tie for victory,” she said, head resting comfortably on her pillow. “You know that as much as I do. Only one of us will come out on top of this. And you’re only following me because you know I’m leagues ahead of the rest of you. Berinth is your only real competition, and you’re letting him get away. It’s sweet to have such a fan, Tyr. Truly charming that you’re so fixated on me.” She finished their conversation in no uncertain terms, yawning to underline her boredom. She would not be answering any more of Tyr’s questions.

“Why don’t you go after Berinth?”

“Because I don’t need him, or what he has. And, just so you know,” Dwyn muttered from where she’d rolled away, her voice muffled from her pillow, “you’re a bastard.”

Tyr allowed himself to drift into a brief and fitful sleep from where he’d sat with his back rigid against the stone wall. It was not restful, but it was certainly better than nothing. He shifted into his gift as dawn broke, unseeable to the eyes of all within the castle. He eased the door to the Sulgrave girl’s room open slowly and slid out, shutting it softly behind him without making a sound. His ability to elude sight didn’t prevent others from hearing him, but if one was careful and light on one’s feet, they could go undetected for ages. Tyr had long since suspected that ghost stories and hauntings could be rightly attributed to fae with his gifts. The voyeurism allowed with invisibility didn’t outright prevent perception from the other senses. His gift was considered dark and wicked in more ways than one.