Captive of Wolves (Bound to the Fae #1) - Eva Chase Page 0,70
to stir a rush of heat into my skin despite the dread creeping through my chest. My mind jolts back to yesterday’s other unexpected event—to the pool and August’s voice encouraging me to find my pleasure, to the blaze of his kiss afterward.
He didn’t want to do anything more than that—he wasn’t going to let himself. Maybe that’s why he pulled his hand back so quickly just now. I think I hear a hint of a rasp in his voice when he speaks next, but maybe it’s sympathy rather than desire.
“You can’t blame yourself for what happened. Kellan knew what he was doing. He knew he was acting against Sylas’s orders. He made that choice.”
But you could also say I forced the issue to a head.
“I hope Sylas didn’t get too angry with you about the salt,” I venture. And how does August feel about my use of that salt?
If he saw my escape attempt as a betrayal of his trust, he doesn’t show it. “It was nothing I wasn’t prepared to face when I got it for you.” He pauses. “I can see why you’d have wanted to leave, but… I’m glad you changed your mind.”
“I am too,” I say quietly. At least, I think I am.
I hug myself, and the brush of my arms against my torso wakes up other memories, other feelings that shouldn’t have any place at a funeral. I’m too aware of August’s presence beside me. Not knowing what to do about the shift in our relationship only makes me more uneasy.
I squash the emotions down, but it’s possible they’re what spurs the other question that’s been tickling through my mind, though I’m too uncertain to phrase it quite as a question. “Sylas said Kellan was the kin of his mate.”
August hesitates. “Yes,” he says. “Half-brother. He was originally part of her cadre as Whitt and I am to Sylas, but after the trouble that brought us here, without her, Sylas offered to take him on. He thought it was only right.”
The weird twinge that ran through me earlier returns. “His mate was banished—she was sent somewhere they can’t be together?”
“Ah, no. It’s not my place to get into it. Sylas will tell you if he decides to. I’ll just say that hers would have been my first funeral as cadre if we’d had her body to conduct it.”
That’s horrible, but what’s even more horrible is that some part of me is relieved she isn’t still out there somewhere.
My gaze returns to Sylas, who is still chanting, kneeling beside the shrouded body. Does it make things better that Kellan wasn’t a man he necessarily would have chosen for his cadre if it hadn’t been for awful circumstances, or worse, because he’s killed not just a member of his cadre but the half-brother of a woman I assume he loved and already lost?
Just thinking about it makes my stomach ache.
Sylas says a few final words and extends his hands over the body. A light bursts through the fabric, a golden aura so bright I gasp. As it contracts, the fronds, the fabric, and the corpse beneath shrink too, until there’s nothing left of Kellan at all—nothing but a pool of cloth and a gleaming gem nestled in its folds.
Sylas picks up the gem, which fits perfectly in the hollow of his palm. When the sunlight catches on it, it beams as if it’s a miniature sun in itself. I have trouble associating Kellan’s soul with anything that beautiful, but I guess that’s what all fae are made of, deep down at their core.
No wonder they would sneer at humans whose bodies turn into dirt and dust.
“What will he do with the jewel?” I ask August.
“Kellan will have given him instructions about where he’d want his essence laid to rest. I’d guess probably in his family’s original domain, Thistlegrove. It isn’t theirs anymore, but lords are obliged to honor those kinds of requests—when Sylas has an opportunity to journey that way.” August exhales as if shedding a great weight. “Well, it’s done now.” He turns to me, his gaze traveling over my body to the ankle he bandaged just hours ago. “How’s your leg?”
The slash of Kellan’s claws dug too deeply into my flesh for August’s magic to fully seal it. It took the wrapped fabric packed with some of Sylas’s medicinal herbs to stop the bleeding completely. “It’s still a little sore,” I say. “But a lot better since you worked your magic on it.”