in the back of my head and it’s quite bothersome.”
Aryn thanked the Gods she hadn’t been able to pick out the words of the conversation.
Irian chuckled before fading into silence.
Chapter 9
Aryn developed a reputation for being a very possessive lover, but one who strayed.
Tyriel was thankful there was no true bond between them because as the days turned into weeks, he developed a habit of leaving their room at night, and in such a small village, his comings and goings could not go unnoticed.
Since his first visit was with the sister of one barmaid, Tyriel had the pleasure of learning about it. Not directly…the people in this inn were actually very kind. But with her kind’s sharp hearing, she heard it well enough as she passed down the hall.
Tyriel had known there had been women—hearing names only added salt to the wound. She had smelled the woman and the sex on his skin as he came into the room, though he had bathed well.
Tyriel was displeased with the hurt she couldn’t brush aside.
After more than a month of the same treatment, it was only getting more painful. She was fighting an attraction to the sexy swordsman that would not fade away and if he would just turn his midnight eyes her way—
“Bloody hell,” she hissed. In a fit of rage, she spun a dancing ball of fire in her hands, a harmless illusion, and then she lobbed it at the wall, watching it break and shatter into nothingness. “Bloody hell.”
Shaking and sucking in air, she covered her face with her hands as the dying remnants of her magical temper tantrum faded.
It was as she was turning toward the door it happened—an attack from nowhere that sent her reeling back in surprise.
She tasted blood.
She heard the screams of the damned.
Blood magic wrapped around her and tried to take hold, while a slow, painful death yawned before her.
Stupid, stupid, stupid…Her little flare of temper had captured somebody’s attention and this was the result.
Cutting off her self-castigation, she steadied herself and formed her own magic into a blade that cut through the binding magic seeking to trap her. More magic swelled but she deflected it.
Her assailant raged—she sensed him then. A flicker of his presence. Close. He was so close. And…hungry. Desperately so.
She launched her magic after him, a belated attempt to trap him.
But she’d waited too long and he was already fleeing.
* * * * *
Tyriel was polishing Irian when Aryn came through the door in the early morning on their day off. He spotted her and frowned.
“That isn’t necessary,” he said.
Sliding him a neutral glance, she responded, “It is if I want to speak with the enchanter and you aren’t available. Any luck finding a bed mate? This is too small a village for the Whore’s Guild to have a hall, but there’s no shortage of available women, I’d imagine.”
“Ah…”
“Too personal a question?”
“A bit, yes,” he snapped. “Maybe you’re used to celibacy, but I’m not.”
“That wasn’t why I asked. Although why you’d pay for sex when you could find a willing partner…” She shrugged. “But…again, that’s not why I ask.”
“Then why are you asking about my bedmates?”
Turning her head, she watched Irian flicker into view now that his bearer was there.
This…being wanted her, had used Aryn’s body to take her. Misery almost overwhelmed her. An enchanter long gone from the world desired her desperately. And he could only exist by forcing his will on the man Tyriel wanted with equal desperation.
The temper clouding Aryn’s eyes faded as he saw Irian. “What is amiss?”
“The enchanter and I have been…discussing the situation. I had a problem of sorts when I did a bit of magic. Small, very small, but something seemed to have been waiting for it and tried to grab me. He failed, miserably, and I got an idea of what and where he was.”
“And what, pray tell, what do I have to do with anything this?” Aryn asked, confused, looking from Tyriel to Irian. “Or my bedmates?”
“How do you feel about bloodsport and pain in your sex, brother?” And the enchanter proceeded to fill Aryn in on what Tyriel had learned.
* * * * *
Aryn’s stomach was roiling.
His entire body shook with rage, yet he felt slightly ill.
Staring at Tyriel, Aryn thanked the Gods Irian had finally gone silent.
After what Irian had relayed, he wanted little more than to race down the streets and find the house she spoke of. And kill. Murder. Maim. Mutilate. The last thing he needed was