A Kiss of Flame (Shadows Eternal #3)

Chapter 11

Chapter Eleven

London

five days to find levian’s thieves and not get shot

B arith grunted, closing his eyes and leaning his head against the back of the couch as he fell into it.

“Coffee or scotch?” Levian asked.

He cracked open a single eye. “Fair enough,” she replied, waving her hand. A bottle of scotch and two mugs appeared in her hand. The mage plopped down next to him, sat everything on the coffee table currently baring the weight of his feet, and poured each of them a drink. She put a mug in his hand before she leaned back into the couch, mirroring him.

For a second, they just sat there in silence. The soft pre-dawn rain rapped against the window panes of the Ember Hall library. The fire he’d lit when they’d returned crackling in the hearth.

It was amusing how familiar this moment felt—the odd stillness of the first moments after an insane stretch of complete chaos. At least this time, no one had been trying to shoot, lock up, or maim them.

Levian let out a deep sigh. Barith grunted in agreement, peering at her through his one open eye. The mage smirked as she looked into the fire, then smiled, then laughed, her laughter soon morphing into something nearly unhinged.

Barith chuckled next to her. “Ye’ve gone and lost yer mind, eh?” he grumbled before taking a swig of his mug. The fine-aged whiskey was smooth and smokey as it slid down his throat.

Levian wiped a few tears of mirth from her eyes. “I don’t think I’m ever going to be able to get the image of Magistrate Evans bent over that table with those feathers in his ears out of my head,” she chuckled.

Barith took another swig before he replied, “Aye. I could’ve gone without seeing that.”

The mage nestled closer to him on the couch, tucking her legs beneath her to turn and face his side. “Happy to be home?” she asked.

Barith opened his eyes and gazed at the ceiling. He felt exhausted to the bone after being trapped underground for so long, let alone dealing with the madness that had unfolded over their evening in Kamár, but he was relieved to be back at Ember Hall—with her. “I am,” he replied, tilting his head to look at her. “And I got to keep all my limbs,” he said, wiggling his feet on the table.

Levian rolled her eyes. “I told you I would handle it,” she reminded him.

The dragon huffed a snarked laugh before he took another swig and lay his head back against the cushion, closing his eyes. “Yer lucky I stepped in before ye shot a hole through Deckland,” he grumbled back.

The mage went silent, and when he peeked over, her lips were pursed. “He would have deserved it,” she clipped sourly.

Barith smirked. “The vamp deserved worse,” he agreed.

Take her to bed before your kitten gets herself into real trouble.

The moment the vampire had said it, Barith had sprung into action, knowing Levian would be incensed, and he’d been right. Deckland had said it to provoke her, and it’d made Barith want nothing more than to break the vamp’s nose all over again—and maybe knock out a few of his teeth for good measure. But given the tricky circumstances of their agreement with the Eldreth, he felt it might be best to leave the vampire intact long enough for them to get the Hells out of Kamár.

The vamp’s words still gnawed at him. Barith knew Levian had only been playing with Deckland to get information, but he wondered what they’d discussed and what she might have done to spurn the creature to say such a thing. At first, Barith had been furious with Levian because he’d felt like she was being reckless, which she had been, but to his discomfort, he recognized he’d also been extremely jealous. Which stirred emotions he was far too exhausted to mull presently.

“Do you remember that time you got hexed by that witch stealing baby goats from those villagers?” she said out of nowhere, drawing him out of his hazy thoughts.

Barith chuckled. “Oh, aye. I couldn’t speak a word that didn’t come out as a bloody bleat for weeks. And all because ye used me as a shield.”

Levian scoffed. Barith challenged her by opening one eye and cocking a brow. She pressed her lips together. “I didn’t know she was going to hex you,” she retorted.

He huffed and closed his eye again. “You probably thought she was going to do worse.”

“You also stepped in front of me,” she reminded him.

“You think so?” he replied, though they both knew he had.

Silence stretched, and Barith felt Levian nestle nearer to him, her body heat warming his side. He relaxed deeper into the cushion, the remaining tension he’d held slowly drifting with each passing moment.

“Do you miss Sirus?” she asked him softly, her voice laced with tiredness.

He turned his head to the side and found she was doing the same, one hand tucked under her cheek. “Do you ?” he countered, a bit surprised.

She gave a little shrug. “Normally, he’d be sitting over in that chair watching us get drunk, recounting how we’d nearly gotten ourselves killed,” she said with somber affection.

There were so many close calls. So many adventures. His heart swelled with memories. Soon enough, that’s all he would have. Cherished memories. He did miss Sirus and the three of them working together, but his relationship with the vampire was nowhere near the same as what he had with Levian. Barith didn’t fear losing Sirus. His heart lurched as he let that reality seep into him.

He’d known he would miss Levian. He’d been desperate for this one last adventure with her for old time’s sake and to have a reprieve from the pressures of his family.

Barith realized starkly what he’d really been doing was clinging onto the last tendrils of something slipping away from him. In only a few more days, he would return to the horde, and he would lose her. Would lose this—forever.

As his heart ached, Barith fought the urge to reach up and tuck one of Levian’s loose curls back behind her ear. The mage’s gaze drifted in deep thought, and he was curious about what was on her mind when he had so much on his. “What is it?” he asked.

Levian was drawn out of her thoughts and looked to him. She seemed unsure but asked anyway, “Do you think you could love her? The dragon you’re to mate with?”

Barith’s breath held in his chest at the question, and guilt sloshed in his gut. He wasn’t sure what had prompted her to ask, but it was funny, he realized, that no one else had asked him yet. He let out the breath he held slowly and leaned his head back. “Maybe,” he admitted. Saying it aloud filled him with guilt. Saying it to Levain made it burn that much more. “She is a fine woman, but we aren’t entirely compatible.”

“She’s no nymph, you mean,” the mage teased.

Barith felt a sting at that, too, even though he knew Levian was only trying to be playful. He grunted and looked over at her. She smiled at him and settled her head further into the couch. “Do you not think some of the issue is simply the pressure? The arrangement? I’m sure she’s beautiful if your mother chose her for you.”

He looked up at the ceiling, fiddling with his mug of scotch. “She’s as lovely as bird song, and maybe time will help me get my shite together, but—” he grumbled and downed the rest of his scotch. “I at least want to desire her before we’re to be mated,” he admitted to his shame.

“You don’t desire her?” she asked with seemingly genuine surprise, sipping her scotch. “Not at all?”

He scowled. “No. I’ve had more chemistry with a bloody pillow.”

Levian chuckled, but the sweet sound didn’t ease his guilt. “Shocking,” she teased, poking his shoulder with a finger.

He grunted. “It’s not funny,” he told her, his heart heavy. “I feel like a right arse for it.”

The mage let out a soft breath through her nose and touched his arm gently. “Barith, don’t be so hard on yourself,” she told him, her tone light with empathy. He turned to peer over at her, his throat burning with raw emotions. “It’s a lot of pressure on both of you,” she continued. “I know it wasn’t the love match you always dreamed about, but give it time. I’m sure you’ll both figure it out.”

Barith nodded as his heart continued to ache. He was tired of feeling like a failure to his horde and himself. He was tired of feeling guilty. He hated that the only way he knew to make up for them was to mate with a dragon that deserved more than his disinterest. He hated that he felt he couldn’t be honest with anyone about his feelings. About what he feared.

He appreciated Levian’s encouragement but wasn’t sure he would figure it out. Barith had always wanted to find his true mate. He still did, even if it was a silly, childish thing to hope for. He wanted to be with a woman who set fire to his blood and drove him mad with desire. The one person he could give the whole of his heart. He had always hoped to find her, but time was up, and Barith felt the weight of his failure. Sera, his chosen mate, was a fine dragon and was not bothered by their lack of chemistry. It had made him even less attracted to her. She had no passion or desire to separate herself from her horde and see what else the world had to offer. She was merely fulfilling her duty to her uncle and her own horde, as was tradition.

“I will miss this,” Levian told him, stifling a soft yawn as she reached over and took up the bottle to refill their mugs.

As she did, Barith watched her every move, and the tension in him slowly built. They’d not discussed her arrangement with the Eldreth or that his time was growing short before he’d have to return to the horde. They hadn’t talked about the kiss either.

His heart thrummed like a rabbit’s foot at the memory of her slick body pressed against his. Of the way her lips tasted sweet and decadent. With a strong gulp of scotch, he tried to push the memory away. Another filled its place. One of Levian standing at one of Ember Hall’s windows earlier that year as he’d taken off into the sky to return home and meet his mate. It was the last he’d seen of her before he’d burst out of the suffocating enchanted wall.

It was strange how one’s life could feel the same for so long to one day change completely. In the world of immortals, that always seemed to be the way. Long stretches that blurred together—fractured by moments that shook them to their foundations.

“Aye,” Barith replied, his voice graveled with emotion. “I will miss it too.”

Levian reached out and placed her hand on his shoulder, stroking it affectionately with her thumb. He reached up, put his hand over hers, and squeezed. His entire body began to feel heavy with the weight of everything. The mage’s gaze drifted to the fire, lost in thought, and the pang in his heart grew sharper. More painful.

He knew he should leave it, but before he could stop himself, Barith sat up from the couch, resting his mug on the table. “What happened back at Kamár,” he began. “I’m?—”

Levian bristled. “Which part?” she clipped, being purposefully obtuse.

"Ye know which part," he said, turning his face just enough to look at her. Barith felt guilty and wanted Levian to know he hadn’t meant to push it so far. He’d misunderstood and had gotten caught up in the moment, but he remembered vividly how she’d recoiled from him, which made his insides churn with guilt.

Levian immediately looked away from him, reaching instinctively for one of her necklaces to fiddle. "We were playing the part," she offered flatly. "And got caught up in our bet, that's all. There’s nothing to discuss. Plus, it’s not as if we haven't gotten caught up in such a moment before."

Barith felt a shock riot up from his toes to his scalp as memories flooded. The moonlight cast over Levian, her caramel skin, sweet lips, and wild dark hair. It was an evening long past that Barith would never forget, and it irritated him that she would compare that night to what had happened back in Kamár.

"That was a bit different," he reminded her, his voice graveled.

Levian glanced up to find Barith still watching her. He seemed irritated or offended, or possibly both. Her cheeks heated as she looked at the fire. It was unlike her to be so on edge, and it annoyed her that she’d gotten so tense so quickly.

She fidgeted with her necklace. "I don't see how," she retorted, sounding peevish even to her ears.

Barith grunted. “It was Beltane, for one,” he reminded her—based on his tone, he was definitely both irritated and offended—“we’d both been jilted by our lovers, and I’d been running through the forest chasing a wood nymph, I thought had slipped into the brush."

Levian’s gaze snapped to him, and her back stiffened. "What?" she hissed. She hadn't known he'd been chasing a nymph!

He smirked at her visceral reaction. "I was more pleased to have found you," he admitted, his voice lightening. "Though I hadn't expected you to be as pleased to find me."

Her blush deepened, and she looked away from him. "Well, as you said," she replied sorely, “it was Beltane, and I was a bit miffed at being abandoned."

Actually, she barely remembered the half-fae she'd brought with her to the celebration. Abigail had thrown one of her extravagant parties for Beltane at her old palatial estate in the French countryside. She and Barith attended as they often did when they weren't off working or getting into some other trouble during the holiday. They'd both brought dates they’d immediately lost to the festivity. Levian hadn't minded so much. She'd occupied herself with drink, food, and dancing, assuming she'd find someone to replace her companion with by the night’s end if she desired. When she'd wandered into the woods, past couples making love in the shadows of the moon, she'd let the heat of the night and the sensuality of the others seep into her skin. When she'd heard rustling in the brush, she'd had a feeling in the pit of her stomach that whoever emerged would be her destined lover for the evening. She had not expected in her wildest dreams that it would be Barith.

He emerged breathless, his eyes intense and dark. It was odd to recall now. She hadn’t wondered what he was doing in the woods or where his partner was. All she knew was that he was there, and their desire was palpable. From the moment their eyes met, they both knew what would happen next.

They didn't speak. Barith filled the gap between them, and she'd looked up into his face—her belly full of butterflies and anticipation. He'd reached up and stroked her cheek with the backs of his fingers before running his thumb over her lips. It had been a luxurious touch. Soft and tender. Slow and intimate. It hadn't been entirely fueled by lust but a desire to savor.

She would never forget that kiss. He'd cupped her cheeks between his giant palms as he'd leaned down to brush his nose against hers. She'd waited patiently, letting the tension between them swell. Then he'd brushed her lips softly with his own, much like he had back in Kamár. That's when she'd touched him, pressing her hands against his chest, leaning in closer until their lips finally met fully. It’d felt like time had stopped. They’d hauled in a deep breath, filling their lungs with the night air and each other.

It'd been a glorious evening and the best Beltane she'd ever had. Not that she'd ever told Barith that. Not that they'd ever spoken about it since she'd slipped back toward the dancing, leaving the dragon softly snoring and sated, naked in the grass.

She looked up and found Barith still watching her, though his gaze seemed hazy with the same memories she'd just been lost in. Levian's heart thumped in her chest, and her skin grew hot from the memory.

"It turned into a rather fine evening,” he said affectionately. "I only wish we had gotten a chance to dance."

The sweet admission struck her heart like an arrow, and she couldn’t help but relax. Levian smirked. "We have danced on other occasions," she reminded him.

He nodded and smirked himself. “Aye, but never during Beltane."

Levian smiled as she tried to recall all the Beltanes they’d shared over the years. She could have sworn they must have, but as the blend of vivid and fuzzy memories played in her mind, she couldn’t recall one of them dancing together. She took in a breath to tell him that she would save a dance just for him during the next celebration but remembered that she couldn’t—or shouldn’t—because he would be mated by then.

Her heart ached, remembering how insensitive she'd been when he'd first arrived in Berlin and the many times since. He clearly was tortured over the idea of mating with a woman with whom he felt no real romantic connection. Levian had watched Barith chase love and lovers for centuries, hoping to find the one creature that matched him. At times, it had irritated her; during others, it had amused her. The night they’d spent together during Beltane had been deeply special to her, but Levian had known then that she could never be the woman Barith desired. She was not capable of the love he dreamt of. But she cherished him and their friendship and knew it wasn’t worth sacrificing over a little fling that would ultimately end the same way as all her others—with her fluttering off the moment her partner grew too attached, knowing she could never fully give her heart to anyone.

Levian had been consumed with desire back at the pool in Kamár, and her better senses had evaporated. She glanced at the fire and recalled the flash of fantasy that had made her recoil so quickly—of her and Barith spread before the same hearth she looked at now, lost in each other. Something within her heart throbbed painfully. "Dance with me," she said, the words falling from her lips before she could think.

They were exhausted, and all the serious talk and reminiscing made her head and heart ache far too much. In the full light of day, they would be forced to deal with her bargain with the Eldreth, Barith’s eminent return home—all of it—but for that moment, they could simply be. Levian rose from the couch and held out her hand to him.

“It’s not Beltane," he told her, not entirely rebuffing her request.

Levian cut him a look. “Clearly, but you could dance with me all the same.”

He took her hand slowly and rose with a slight grunt. “We've no music,” he pointed out.

That was true. The record player that had once been in the library had been destroyed last fall when Gwendolyn had accidentally blown up the room and its contents. They hadn't bothered to replace it. She had a new phone somewhere, but something about that seemed unfitting. "I think we can manage to hum a tune," she offered as a solution.

Levian took up the bottle as Barith pushed the coffee table out of the way and the few chairs around the fire back to give them sufficient space for a little turn. Once clear, she lifted her hands out to him. The dragon continued to eye her strangely but took them.

"I think one of the Summer Fae songs," she suggested. "Maybe Delight of Streams ?"

He grunted with disapproval. "How about The Fox's Hunt ?"

Levian smiled. It was one of her favorites—a bit harder to hum the melody, but she thought they could both manage. She began to hum the tune as she placed Barith's hand at her waist and settled hers on his shoulder. He held her other hand in his and led. It took a moment for them to find their rhythm as she giggled through some of the melody, but once they found their stride, he joined her—his baritone harmonizing with her soprano. The song’s tempo began to pick up, and their dancing became more playful, much like if they’d been dancing amongst the crowd at Beltane.

Barith spun her around, and Levian leaned into the movement, laughing openly. They sang and danced before the fire until the rather long song neared its end, and they were both smiling stupidly and far more out of breath than they should have been.

The dragon tugged her closer. “Remember when we danced at that Winter Fae ball?” he asked her.

Levian laughed and leaned her head against his shoulder. “The one where you trod on that High Fae Lady’s foot and nearly got us thrown into the dungeon by her snooty husband?”

The dragon smirked down at her, pulling her waist closer. “Aye, that one.”

“You did nearly crush her foot,” Levian reminded him smartly.

Barith grunted. “The High Lady should have thought of that before she called ye a darkling halfbreed.”

Levian grimaced at the slur and looked up to Barith. She hadn’t known the fae had called her such a thing; if she had, she would have likely caused a much larger scene and most definitely would have gotten them thrown in the dungeons. “You didn’t tell me,” she accused him sharply.

The dragon held her close, continuing to lead their steps and hum the melody. “I knew it would upset ye, and she wasn’t worth ruining the whole evening over. Besides, she was just jealous ye looked so fine in that white gown of yers that even her angry, snooty husband couldn’t stop staring at ye.”

She barely remembered the dress or that night, but Barith remembered all of it. Levian’s heart thrummed as he ran his hand to the center of her back, lost in the movement of their dance. Levian glanced up at him, and he smirked down at her, his amber eyes easy and his expression light and cheerful.

Her insides ached with a sudden surge of possessiveness. Levian couldn’t guess how many times the dragon had likely defended her when she hadn’t known. She’d done the same for him several times. They were both outcasts in an immortal world that relished tradition and order. Oddities together.

The dragon let her hand go so he could lift his own and brush a bit of her pink curls from her face that had dislodged in their revelry. Her breath caught, and his amber eyes grew dark. His touch lingered as he finished the song on his own, and they remained in the center of the room. The air suddenly felt very thick as the fire crackled, and the dawn began to threaten in this distance.

Levian’s body ached for more of his touch; her heart ached for a different reason altogether. Soon, he would be gone, and things would never be the same. Maybe it was indulgent, impulsive, and possessive, but she didn’t care. She raised her hands to his chest, running them up to his collarbone. The growl that vibrated through him under her touch made her core throb in response.

She knew it was foolish, but she wanted him just like she’d wanted him that night of Beltane—just like she’d wanted him back at the pool in Kamár. No . She wanted him more .

Instinct overrode her better senses, and she leaned up to brush a gentle kiss over his lips. Barith’s entire body went rigid. Levian leaned back, and they both froze, the air between them growing heavy. The dragon searched her eyes, his own growing more molten with each passing second. Levian knew he wanted her, and it made her core throb that much more. Barith hesitantly pulled her in, so the front of her body pressed against his. Levian leaned into him, and his gaze darkened.

As his wings appeared at his back, there was a flash of fire and the scent of ash. Levian gasped.

“Touch me,” he whispered low. Not a demand but a plea.

She was overcome with the intimacy of it—that he would show all of himself to her here while they were all alone with no one else to see. He hadn’t brought out his wings during their night together on Beltane.

Levian raised her hand from his chest and pulled the magick into her touch as she grazed the edge of his wing. He closed his eyes and groaned softly with pleasure, sliding his hand to hold her neck firm as he leaned down to press his forehead against hers. Barith took several deep, steadying breaths, and Levian’s heart began racing with anticipation. There was no dampening here like there had been in Kamár. Levian raised the other hand and stroked each of his wings with a delicate touch laced with magick that she sent, skittering through the membrane like an electric shock.

Barith sucked in a breath through his nostrils. His eyes shot open, glowing with fire, his fingers pressing roughly into her back, and he released a primal growl. The sound was dark and delicious and made her body thrum for more. Levian tangled her fingers into his auburn hair and arched into him, their lips only an inch apart.

They'd shared one last adventure, she thought to herself. What could it hurt to share one last night?