A Chill in the Flame (Villains #1)

Twenty-six

Twenty-six

“Hush, you’re upsetting him.”

“Him?” Tyr’s word was a single, bewildered cough. It was mingled with humor, as though he hadn’t quite learned to master his emotions.

Ophir hadn’t missed how Tyr hadn’t looked at her since her so-called abomination had curled up to her near the fireplace like any natural-born hound. Instead, he’d made several grumbling comments about how the last remaining princess of Farehold cuddled the monster she’d conjured from the pits of her nightmares. It may have resembled a canine, he’d said to the room, though its froglike skin refracted shades of black and gray. She didn’t care how he looked. Her creature seemed perfectly content to lean into the strokes of its mother’s touch as she ran her fingers along its head, just like all dogs enjoyed the pats of their masters.

Ophir smirked at Tyr’s tone. His rough agitation over her beasts had been a reliable source of banter. It was soothing, in a way. She could count on his pushback as confidently as one knew the sun rose and set each day. She looked at him with challenge in her eyes, and he winked.

Ophir’s cheeks heated as she turned away.

He’d gotten very, very good at making her blush.

Tyr was devilishly good-looking, tenacious to a fault, and knew precisely how to get under her skin. The only thing worse than his ability to get a rise out of her was the level of enjoyment she got out of it. She returned her gaze to her perfect pet.

“Sedit is a good boy, aren’t you, Sedit?” Ophir slicked her hand along the smooth skin of her canine-adjacent creation. Its black eyes were the large, black beads of nightmares, dotted with three smaller eyes beneath each of its individual orbs. He was as much spider as he was dog, or cat, or demon. “Though I do wish he smelled better. We’ll work on that, won’t we?” She smiled at her animal.

“I just don’t like it around Knight.”

“His name is Sedit, and he’s a good boy, not an ‘it.’”

Dwyn looked up from where she’d been cutting her nails with a sharpened knife. “And how are we spelling your new baby’s name? S-E-D-E-T-T-E?”

“I-T,” Ophir corrected.

“That should be Said-it,” Tyr mumbled.

Dwyn’s sigh was for show. “Are you implying she spelled her own creation’s name wrong?”

“There are numerous things wrong with it.” Tyr grimaced. “Like if Sait-it gets hungry.”

Dwyn rolled her eyes. “His name is pronounced Sed-ETTE, and he is a more welcome member of this party than you are. Besides, how long have you had that horse? You’ve only been in Farehold for a few months. You’re acting like it’s your damn child.”

“You would hate animals, psychopath,” Tyr scowled.

“Please, give us a reason to kick you out,” Dwyn said. “Take your stupid horse with you. We’ll get new ones at the next farm we find. Off you go.”

Sedit snuggled in closer, warming Ophir’s heart. She didn’t look away from her sweet angel as she chided the pair. “Don’t be territorial, Dwyn. You and I both know that Tyr’s abilities are indispensable.”

Tyr walked over to where the women rested. He leaned on the back of the couch and placed his hands against the sofa’s back, spreading his arms behind the princess. Heat spread through her body at his nearness as he said, “Then, you don’t want me to leave, princess?”

She choked down the spike of nerves that lodged in her throat the moment he brushed his lips against her ear. “Maybe I do,” she said somewhat unconvincingly. “Leave us be.”

He chuckled, lowering his mouth even closer to her ear. “You know, you have a tell. I know when you’re lying.” Tyr stood from where he’d bent over the couch and watched as pink flushed her entire body. He returned to where he’d lounged against the wall, leaving Ophir to wonder if he took pleasure in the way she squirmed.

As the weeks bled on, Dwyn and Tyr did very little to conceal their competition for Ophir’s affections. Ophir enjoyed the attention and leaned into the opportunity for flirtation but found very little time to think of anything other than her plans for revenge.

Tyr made no attempt to conceal his dominant brand of affection, though Ophir knew he did it just as much to antagonize Dwyn as he did as any real attempt to seduce her. She didn’t mind any of it—the graze of his rough hands on her hips as he moved behind her, the smell of campfire smoke and leather when he was near her, the unflinching way in which he’d hold her gaze, heavy with intent. Ophir had always enjoyed the release of sex and the clarity that came from a good tumble, but unless Dwyn and Tyr wanted to put aside their differences long enough to join her in the bedroom, she was quite certain she wouldn’t be able to truly indulge while she traveled with the pair.

Tyr’s primary failure to flirt came with his feelings on Ophir’s hellish beasts. He struggled to conceal his displeasure as everything she created seemed birthed directly from the nightmares that so often stirred her from sleep. They learned the hard way that if she wasn’t being tightly held each night, they’d be awoken past the midnight hour with a burst of flame.

He’d stated that he didn’t see why those night terrors needed to spill out into the physical world. The hound at her feet had peeled back its dark lips at him as if it understood his disapproval, baring its rows of needle-like teeth. Maybe this was part of what made Tyr feel the recurrent need to pull the princess close to him. Perhaps she needed to feel safe so badly that her powers were creating an army of monstrosities just to surround her. Each new layer she revealed about the depths of her pain resulted in a domino cascade of reactions from her companions. Tyr wanted to hold her—he’d said as much. To help. To strip away whatever trauma revealed itself as many-fanged feline-dogs with too many eyes and froglike skin. No one should have to suffer what she had endured.

Maybe someday she’d make something less twisted.

Dwyn, on the other hand, encouraged every feat of manifestation. She’d celebrated each snake, creature, and abomination that Ophir had brought forth from her nightmares into reality, her enthusiasm growing with each innovation and new, more horrible addition to the world of nightmares. The latest creation had proven to be something that Ophir could create time and time again until she had enough to fill the royal kennels, should she want. If they weren’t careful, they’d become overrun with amphibious dogs before they knew what to do with their pack of hellhounds.

“I think we should keep your hound and get rid of the dog,” Dwyn said definitively. She made it very clear which beast was the hound and which monster was the dog as she glared at Tyr.

Perhaps Dwyn’s hatred of the man was part of what made his attention so delicious, though she’d never say as much to Dwyn. Instead, Ophir did her best to look bored, glancing idly from where she was stroking her pet near the fire. Venom dripped from Sedit’s jowls, which made her smile. She liked the consistent, needle-like cluster of terrifying teeth in the mouths of all of her beasts and was unwilling to hear an unkind word about her children.

“Your… dog …is lovely,” Tyr said apologetically.

“Sedit,” Ophir chided softly as the hound continued to look up at her appreciatively. His teeth were composed of rows of hundreds, if not thousands, of needles.

“And have you given any thought to Sedit’s breed?”

Ophir perked at his question.

“You’ve made…seven, now? Apart from Sedit, who clearly won’t be leaving your side anytime soon. I don’t expect you’ll be calling all of them Sedit.”

“Right, right. You are a rather vague hound, aren’t you…” She smiled at that. “Vague. Such a vague representation of a hound.”

“What are you doing?” Tyr furrowed his brows disapprovingly.

“Wait. I’m naming his breed.”

“I don’t like where this is going. Names are important, Princess. Names hold meaning and power. Don’t just—”

“Vageth.”

“No.”

“They’re vague hounds.”

“You can’t call it a—”

Ophir clucked her tongue as she cut him off. “If you invent a species, you can call it whatever you like. Would you like me to make another hound? Sedit could use a friend.”

Dwyn grinned at their exchange, lifting her head from where she’d focused on her nails. “Yes, please make another. Maybe it won’t be as docile as Sedit. In fact, do me a favor just for my own curiosity: focus on creating a vageth who wants to tear out Tyr’s jugular.”

“I don’t like that you’re already calling it a ‘vageth.’ That’s not a word,” Ophir retorted.

“Nothing is a word until you speak it into existence,” Dwyn defended, returning to her nails. “You wouldn’t know that, though, would you. You have no power for creation. What’s your power? Disappearing? Go ahead and utilize that.”

“And your power, witch? Water?”

Dwyn’s eyes narrowed. “You wish that was all I could do.”

Ophir looked up lazily. “Pick new fights. I’m bored of this one.”

She made a sharp noise, not dissimilar from a whistle, and Sedit was up on his sharp talons. She motioned for the hound to leave, and he was more than happy to head for the exit. Tyr opened the door and seemed relieved as the hound escaped into the woods to hunt whatever unsuspecting creature might await the thorny needles of his teeth.

Dwyn used the opportunity to cross the room and settle tightly into the space near Ophir on the sofa, lying down. She rested her head on Ophir’s lap and continued to pick at her nails. The princess ran her fingers absently through Dwyn’s glossy locks.

They’d come across a cabin that had not been left empty for more than a day or two. The freshness of the eggs gathered from the country home’s clucking chickens and the ripe fruits resting on the table assured them that its owner hadn’t been away for long. When no one had answered Ophir’s knock, she’d let herself in. Tyr had been prepared to shift into a less visible form, should it have been a farmer more comfortable with accepting women into his home, but no such extremes had been required of him.

“How far are we from Henares?” Dwyn asked.

Ophir sighed. “I have no idea. We took the most indirect route known to man. We followed no proper roads, we didn’t ask directions, we consulted no map—”

Dwyn set down her knife and sat up, twisting until she was eye level. The princess’s toffee hair was yellowed against the crackle of the fire within the hearth. The siren tucked her feet underneath her, cutting off Ophir’s train of thought.

“I have an idea.”

Ophir hadn’t meant to reach out and touch her, but her hand had moved of its own volition. She’d found the siren’s posture endearing. “You always have ideas.”

Dwyn’s teeth were white and clean in the firelight as she smiled. “This is a new idea.”

Tyr remained silent from the far side of the room.

“We haven’t made anything inanimate,” Dwyn said.

“We?” Ophir asked speculatively, though her question was in jest. Truthfully, she knew that her power was just as much Dwyn’s as it was hers. Without her friend, she wouldn’t have unlocked her ability to manifest. She would never have created her enormous, black serpent. Her breed of demon hounds now roaming Farehold’s forests were thanks to a prompt from the depths of Dwyn’s mind. They really were in this together.

“Have you considered an object?”

Ophir’s lips puckered as she thought. “What sort of object?”

Tyr made a dismissive sound from the other side of the room.

Dwyn’s bitter tone cut through the room. “Please, share your thoughts, oh Great One. Or do we need to remind the princess that you’re only in Sulgrave because you’re a thug in a blood gang?” She turned conspiratorially to Ophir. “You could kick him out, you know. You could build a stone case around him with no exit. You could—”

“Quiet, witch.” His tone remained impassive. “No one is here because goodness and morality have driven us. You want power? Great—good for you. Ophir wants vengeance? Perfect, couldn’t be happier to help. I want answers? Incredible. Look how everyone wins.”

Dwyn had been quick to divulge Tyr’s ties to the Blood Pact, probably hoping Ophir would banish him. He’d had no trouble sharing that she’d also been a member of the same group, which had cooled the power of her argument substantially. Ophir didn’t care either way. She’d made it quite clear that as long as no one planned to disembowel her, their motives weren’t her concern.

The corner of Ophir’s lips twitched upward in the wake of their argument. In many ways, she was grateful for their rivalry. It was a much-needed distraction. Their tension had drawn her attention away from her own pain on more occasions than one. She returned her attention to the siren who sat at her feet. “What object did you have in mind?”

Dwyn’s eyes twinkled. “We’re in need of directions, aren’t we? We suspect your target is in Henares? If we’ve wandered away from any knowable point on a map, then perhaps…” She allowed her sentence to drift, as if hoping the princess would take the prompt to complete it on her own.

“You do come up with the cleverest ideas.”

“I do, don’t I.”

Tyr didn’t appear to be trying very hard to conceal his expression at their affectionate exchanges. He’d win no favors by openly expressing jealousy or distaste.

Ophir closed her eyes and lifted one hand before her, palm flat. The other two eyed her curiously as they watched her process. She pushed thought and intention into her palm. Air, minerals, and particles begin to wield into a single object. When she opened her eyes, a round shape as golden as her irises rested in the center of her hand. Ophir’s gold-brown brows puckered in the middle as she looked at the thing she’d made.

“What’s wrong?” Dwyn asked.

She fought her disappointment. “Things just don’t quite…turn out the way I think they might.”

Dwyn took the object from Ophir’s hand before she had the opportunity to examine it. “It’s a watch?”

Ophir sagged. “It’s meant to be a compass. I wanted it to show us wherever we wanted to go. I guess my thoughts may have mixed with how much time had passed in our journey…how long it’s been since Caris passed…how long—”

“Yes.” Dwyn made an intentional sound to cut off Ophir’s train of thought before it could veer toward sorrow. “That’s okay! Life is complicated. Thoughts and emotion and intentions are deeply intertwined. So, here we have a watch. Shall we see if it does anything?” The golden pocket watch was on a rather elegant chain, but otherwise it was terribly simple. Dwyn snatched it, watching the clock’s hands tick unceremoniously as they measured the passage of time.

Tyr pushed away from the wall once more, despite himself. He peered down over Ophir’s back from where she lounged on the couch. He let a hand slide along her shoulder as he looked at the pocket watch.

She stiffened under his touch, but he gave her arm a squeeze to calm her fears. “Let’s see what you made, Princess.” His voice was low.

“How do we make it work?” Ophir asked, looking at her watch.

Dwyn shrugged. “Your hounds and creatures listen to you fine. Why don’t you ask it something, and see if it listens to you, too?” She passed the pocket watch back to Ophir. Dwyn’s eyes didn’t miss Tyr’s presence on the princess’s arm. Her eyes seemed to linger with a telling, burning intent on his hand.

She palmed the watch. “Just ask it a question?”

Dwyn struggled to arrange her face into a look of patience. “You made it, Firi. Don’t ask us how it works.”

Tyr slid a second hand down her opposite arm. “Maybe it will take our princess a little bit more encouragement to believe in herself.”

“Fuck off.” Ophir motioned as if to shake him off, but he only smiled at her halfhearted rejection. He did not relent, clearly enjoying the way she wiggled under his hands. If she was truly angry, there’d be fire to accompany her words. She’d demonstrated on more than one occasion that she had no trouble underscoring her emotions with flame. The firelight from the hearth had to have betrayed the red blush that crept up her neck whenever he touched her, and she knew he could tell precisely how he heated her blood.

Tyr didn’t relinquish his touch. He settled close to her face from over her shoulder, hands sliding down her arms, feigning interest in the watch. His breath was warm next to her cheek. His lips moved against her ear. “Tell it what you want to see.”

Ophir’s heart squeezed. Tyr made no attempt to conceal his ever-growing closeness, and she knew Dwyn had seen it all. Dwyn was not ignorant to the way he’d touch Ophir’s hip, brush her hair away from her face, guide her by placing his hand on her back, or cause her to redden time after time.

The game played among the three was one no one spoke, yet everyone understood.

Ophir swallowed as she stared at the small mechanism in her hand. “Where is Henares?” she asked the watch. Without waiting a moment, it began to spin. The hour hand, minute hand, and second hand swung as they narrowed into a tiny, acute angle, before homing in on a singular point. They remained in their arrow-like directions for a moment before the pocket watch abandoned its guiding point and resumed ticking the appropriate time.

Ophir frowned. “How do we know if it was right?”

Both Dwyn and Tyr seemed to make an amused face at this.

“Because you made it.” Tyr spoke for both of them.

“Do you want to go tonight?” Dwyn asked.

Ophir looked out the window at the lateness of the hour. “What if we eat the rest of this man’s food and leave by morning? I’m sure he’s on a hunting trip—it would all be spoiled by the time he returned, anyway.”

“My thoughts exactly,” Dwyn agreed.

They left the fire crackling as they crawled into bed. Dwyn made the executive decision that Tyr would remain on the sofa. He hadn’t protested too much, given that he’d be closer to the fire. Dwyn crawled into bed first, her body pressing into the space closest to the wall and its window. She faced the princess in the moments before sleep, taking off her clothes and draping her leg possessively over Ophir’s hip. The princess began to fall asleep while entangled in Dwyn’s limbs, pleasant scent of mint comforting her as she relaxed. The soothing sound of the siren’s deep, steady breathing as she fell under the waters of sleep was a comforting lullaby.

Her lids fluttered to a close as she felt the fabric of the bed begin to tug and lift. Heat spiked through her as she realized who was joining them in the bed.