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With calm, unshaking hands, I prepare a pyre for Raylon’s body. I will tell our parents, our people, that he fell in battle against the Gloomweavers. That he died a hero’s death.
They will never know the truth.
For a moment, as the flames consume Raylon’s body, I wonder whether my mother might have foreseen this. Perhaps that was why she hated me all these years; because she knew what I would become.
But I shift the thought from my mind as quickly as it comes.
If she does know, she will not tell. For that would cause her to lose two sons, and she would be to blame for not having stopped me when she had the chance.
I stand and watch until my brother is completely gone.
I wait for the embers to die down, and then I walk through his ashes and leave him there. Nothing more than dust, now.
Gone. Forever.
I don’t open my eyes. My heart is pounding a vicious beat against the inside of my ribcage. My body vibrates, but not with pleasure. It is throbbing with adrenaline, and guilt, and power.
I picture Saera. Her beautiful face. I remember the excitement I felt when I comforted her after Raylon’s memorial service. And then I remember the hatred in her eyes when she looked at me.
“I know what you did,” she spat at me. “We all know. And you should know that I will never allow you to touch me, Eldrion. Never.”
Her words echo in my mind.
Never.
Never.
But then the absence of my power hits me like a tsunami.
The place where the shadows lived is empty. The place that swirled, and screamed, and undulated with the intense, overwhelming power that I was able to wield over almost everything. Shadows, light, dark.
It is empty now.
A cavernous void in which my inadequacies echo and amplify.
I see my brother’s face.
I hear his voice in my head.
Beside me, Alana is warm and soft and I reach for her in the darkness. My fingers find her waist and trace their way up the curve of her body, over her hip, her stomach, until they find her breasts.
Following my fingers, my wing curls over, pushing the sheets away from her body and pulling her closer. Wrapping her up as if she is mine and will always be mine.
She releases a low murmur and wriggles back against me. The curve of her ass presses against my cock. Already hard and trying to resist the urge to slide inside her before she wakes, I press my lips to her neck, kiss the spot below her ear that makes her sigh with pleasure, and whisper, “I want to make you come again, Alana. I need to hear the sounds you make when I touch you.”
She turns to face me, cocooned in the embrace of my wings. She strokes my face as if she is truly pleased to have opened her eyes and found me beside her.
“I don’t know what you mean,” she whispers. “I am always very quiet when you touch me.”
She smiles. A playfully delicious smile that makes me want to flip her onto her back and thrust inside her right now. This second.
“You most definitely are not.” I move the tip of my wing slowly down her throat, drawing a line down her neck, between her breasts, over her stomach.
She sighs and arches up into my touch. While my wings caress her, stroking her skin, leaving trails of pleasure over her arms, her breasts, her hips, her waist, I part her legs with my hand and rest my palm on her waiting core.
She is warm and waiting for me. Her legs open a little wider, and she turns towards me, remaining on her back, tucking one arm underneath the pillow, lying back as if she’s ready to just close her eyes and let me pleasure her forever, and ever, and ever.
I cannot stop myself from kissing her. But this time, it is not a kiss filled with fury and fight. It is gentle, searching, an unspoken string of words and whispers that make her moan into my mouth and hook her arms around my neck.
