Fury Bound (The Wolves of Ruin, #2) — Chapter no 49

49

MERYN

nce we’re settled back on the ship, we gather to consider our next move.O I tried consulting foresight, but the only visions I received were confusing swirls of shadow.

Nothing helpful. Nothing directional. Maybe I’m too tired after what we just went through.

We all sit in various stages of exhaustion on the deck, our direwolves collapsed into puddles of fur in the now-blazing sun. Lucien gives Elias control of the helm so that he can join us on deck to confer.

“Isn’t it obvious where we go next?” Noemi asks.

She doesn’t seem pissed anymore, which is a welcome reprieve from Stark and Venna. Both of them will still barely look in my direction.

Venna nods, chewing on her bottom lip. “We’re close to Blumenfall, where the rest of the Bonded have gone. The last fiefdom still loyal to Meryn. We could join them there and use the Tear to bring Killian down?”

There’s an ache in her voice—she wants to be back with our friends and fellow Bonded, helping them in their hour of need. I don’t blame her.

Maybe it is time to make a stand now that we have another Tear. How can I call myself their queen if I don’t go back and help them?

There’s only one unclaimed Tear remaining. Surely, the combination of the five we have here can be enough to bring Alistair—and Killian—down?

“We are not going there,” Lucien says from behind me.

I turn to look at him. His mouth quirks at my glare, amused by my

anger. Annoying prick.

“And that would be because… ?”

“This is my ship, and what I say goes,” he says.

“You sound more and more like a spoiled prince every day,” I reply, sinking back on my elbows and closing my eyes for a moment.

“I am a spoiled king, actually.” He pushes off the railing to approach the rest of us where we sit. “Blumenfall is out.”

“Why?” Stark asks, voice cold, rising to his feet to stare Lucien down.

“The longer we delay, the more likely it is that the Siphon usurper brings the full force of his power down on our final remaining allies. Killian told Meryn that Alistair attacked them in the first place to punish her. Surely, he wants to see that through. We should strike while we still have the strength to do so. Or has this been your plan from the start, to delay our return endlessly until there’s no strength in Nocturna left?”

Lucien turns to face him, eyes flashing. “Settle down, wolf-boy. I’m here helping your queen find the power she needs to annihilate her enemies and reclaim her throne, aren’t I? May I remind you again that you’re standing on the deck of my ship?”

Our wolves have taken an interest in the conversation now that conflict is stirring, though they’re all still finding their sea legs again after our reprieve from the tossing waves. Cratos carefully comes to four paws, padding over to stand next to Stark. Two pairs of malicious eyes glare daggers at the Siphon king.

I should intervene, but my exhausted mind is stuttering to a stop. I struggle to find the energy to even stand and break up their fight.

To my surprise, Venna cuts in, rising to step between Lucien and Stark.

“Cut it out,” she says mildly, and her casual rebuke takes the temperature down a few degrees. “Can we all just pretend to be adults for a second? What do you propose we do next, Lucien?”

Lucien strides in my direction, squatting beside me and landing a hand on my shoulder. The touch is unnecessary. He’s clearly still trying to get a rise out of Stark.

“Alistair’s command of Siphon magic was enough to bring down Queen Chiara Sturmfrost at the height of her rule. He’s had five hundred years to perfect his corrupt magic, access to Meryn’s own power, not to mention one of these Goddess Tears, too. A gem that induces subservience, bends his enemies’ will until they worship at his feet, if we are to believe Killian.”

“Right,” I say tersely. “But we have five of the Tears, plus your magic

and mine. If you’re too afraid to confront your brother, Lucien, I am more than happy to take your two and handle him myself. With that kind of firepower, I could personally wipe Killian right off the face of the earth.”

Lucien’s face turns savage, his fangs extending. The playful, disaffected mask he usually wears goes by the wayside. “No. That is not on the table.”

I sigh. Of course not. “Do you not want this to end?”

“Trust between us only goes so far,” Lucien retorts. “You heard your little soldier friend here”—he gestures toward Stark, whose face goes stony —“he was ready to turn on me just seconds ago. And now you expect me to hand over my crown and my opal necklace, two of the most powerful magical objects in all of Astreona’s history? No. We should head back to

my kingdom.”

I throw my hands in the air. “Why?!”

“Because we can rally my troops before going into Nocturna. Alistair may still be looking for the final Tear, but we don’t know what it does.

Better to enter with an entire army at our back.” He pauses, smiles. “Once we’re married, of course.”

I sputter indignantly. “Absolutely fucking not, Lucien. My apologies if I haven’t been clear enough about this, but we are not getting married. Ever.

I’d rather face Killian alone and fail than doom myself to a life at your side.”

He sighs and drags his eyes toward Stark. “Is this about him? Surely you must see that this makes political sense otherwise. I wouldn’t care if you kept a lover. In fact, I’m an equal opportunist. I’d welcome you both into my bed if you’d like.”

Rage builds inside me. He’s making a joke out of everything, but I’m the one whose friends are dying in this war.

Without realizing it, I’ve reached into the pouch at my hip and I’m clenching the Tear from the tower in my palm. The fabric I wrapped around it has slipped off, and the tip of the opal bites painfully into my skin.

The opal’s warmth grows… and starts to burn.

I gasp, pulling my hand out from the pouch and staring at the gem in my palm. As I do, a band that has been tightly strung inside me snaps and breaks.

Shadows fly from my palm in the direction that my hand was pointing.

Toward the tower.

Halfway across the water, the shadows start to warp and change. The sight is somehow both beautiful and nauseating. It’s like looking at the pool of my blood in the tower when it evaporated and left the dazzling mosaic

behind.

What is happening?

The darkness leeches out of the magic until it’s just waves of many- colored light, fractals of color, rushing headlong toward the island.

My jaw drops.

The beams of power—whatever they are—hit the tower, and there’s a loud sound like the chiming of a bell. Even from this distance, out in the water, the sound is so loud that it makes my eardrums ache.

The direwolves all rub their ears, whining. Elias comes racing down

onto the deck, his eyes wide.

For a moment, nothing else happens.

Then the island starts to change.

Where only rock and stubborn moss were, plants appear, tangling and chasing one another like they’re racing to reach the tower first. Huge ropes of ivy and some climbing vine with massive red flowers twirl up the sides of the tower, like the red of a peppermint stick.

In mere moments, the rocky, desolate island becomes a lush and tropical paradise. Trees that should take decades to grow tall sprout and shoot up, instantly bearing fruit. We can even hear the lively calls of birdsong echoing

across the waves.

“What the fuck,” Noemi whispers.

Lucien grabs my wrist, pulls the Tear from my palm, and holds it to the light. “Was that a power you had already? Or did this cause it?”

I swallow hard, struggling to make sense of what I’m seeing. “I… don’t know what happened.”

That was most decidedly not a power I had already. I just created

something out of nothing.

Create… I draw in a sharp breath, eyes flying to Venna and Stark and Noemi.

“The coronation,” I manage to get out through my shock.

The three of them just blink at me in confusion. I start to pace, certainty building inside me. “During my coronation ceremony, I had to perform those rites with the Mother Priestess. She drilled me in them over and over

and over. I’ll never forget the words.”

I point to my forehead. “With my power, I shall rule for all. Twice.” I point to Lucien’s forehead. “Two crowns.” My finger goes to my lips.

“With persuasion, I shall speak to all.”

Lucien’s eyes light up. He’s getting it, even if the other three still look lost.

I hold up my right hand toward him, the one still holding the Tear. “I will keep my people first as I create.” Then I hold up my left hand. “And

destroy.”

“Fuck,” Stark says in a low growl.

I point to my breastbone next. “My heart will aim to protect instead of harm. Twice. Two necklaces.” And I point to Lucien’s breastbone.

Lucien starts to laugh. Venna approaches me swiftly, cradling my right palm on her own as she inspects the Tear. “Do you truly think… ?”

“Yeah,” I say, mouth dry. “I think it’s been a road map this whole time.

Which means the final Tear has the power of—”

“Destruction,” Lucien finishes. There’s a hungry eagerness to his face that alarms me.

“Destruction,” I agree. “So you’re right, Lucien. We can’t go to Blumenfall. But we also can’t go back to Astreona. If Killian and Alistair are still looking for this final Tear, we need to find it before them, or we’re all doomed.”

After that morose discovery, we all head to our chambers to rest. Stark is still barely looking in my direction, and I watch his broad back in retreat as he heads to his bunk room without me.

There’s a pang in my chest. “Is he ever going to forgive me for the tower?” I ask Anassa.

“Give him time,” Anassa says sleepily from where she’s settled with Cratos on the upper deck. “Get some rest.”

My small wooden room is quiet, apart from the creaks and groans of the ship around me. I tuck myself into my bunk. Every muscle in my entire

body is exhausted. And yet my brain refuses to quiet, circling and circling around the meaning of the Tears.

Footsteps thud outside my door, muffled by the dark wood. I toss in my bed and shut my eyes, willing myself into slumber. But then my door swings open, no knock.

Stark steps into the room, his presence swallowing up what remains of

the light.

“You’re here,” I say somewhat stupidly.

He stays in the doorframe, surveying the contents of my room. Since we’ve been on the boat, we’ve slept in his bunk room instead of mine. He hasn’t had to step foot in here, and I can tell instantly that he doesn’t like what he sees.

The entire contents of the bag I brought with me have been upended onto the floor—which is no longer visible. In my defense, there wasn’t much of a floor to begin with. The small armchair in the room is stacked with my mother’s journals and the book about the Sturmfrost Queens. And the slim dresser has several garments slung over the top of it, obscuring the

drawers.

Stark’s already scowling face darkens.

“Okay, you know what, I didn’t invite you in here, so spare me the judgment,” I say saltily.

He crosses his arms over his wide chest. “I didn’t say anything.”

“You didn’t have to. I can hear your thoughts, and we’re not even mentally connected right now.”

In three large steps—carefully avoiding piles of clothes—he reaches my bedside. “Scoot over.”

Stark pulls his shirt off and then, to my utter shock, drops it onto my mess. He barely even grimaces as he does it. He leaves his sleep pants on and gives me an expectant look.

I slide over toward the wall, creating room on the mattress for him. “Are we going to talk about—”

“No,” he cuts me off, folding his huge body next to me in the tight space. “Not now.”

I sigh, looking into his dark eyes. Reaching up, I brush a lock of his hair out of his face and resist the urge to kiss him. “Why are you here, then?”

“Because we both need to sleep, and I wouldn’t be able to rest knowing

you’re in here alone, possibly ending up in that shadow realm with him.”

He slings a heavy arm around my waist, and there’s nothing sexual in it; we wouldn’t fit well in this bed unless we were closely together.

My throat tightens. He’s so angry with me that he doesn’t even want to talk to me, and still, he’s here. Still, he’s looking out for me.

“Okay,” I say quietly, pressing my forehead against his warm chest, breathing in his deep, amber scent.

And in my mind, I think: You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.

And: You make me want to become a person deserving of such devotion.

And: If I’m your right reason, you’re mine as well.

I don’t know if I send the words in his direction, but as I slide into a perfect, dreamless sleep, I’m sure his hand strokes my back.

It’s not quite sunrise when I wake; the light outside the porthole is the grayish blue of very early morning. Except, I realize, it’s gray because it’s raining. At some point in the night, Stark and I shifted positions. He’s fully underneath me now, and I’m sleeping on top of him as if he’s the mattress.

The seas underneath us are a bit choppy from the storm. It must’ve been a wave that startled me awake.

I reach out mental feelers for Anassa, who senses me and sends back without words that she’s safe. She and the other wolves are sheltered on the lower deck, out of the rain.

Another wave crests, rocking the room back and forth.

Rocking me back and forth on top of Stark.

Which is how I discover he’s very, very hard.

His shaft slides between the apex of my thighs, and even through his sleep pants, I can feel him so completely. A small, needy noise escapes the back of my throat.

This is wrong. I’m not going to dry-hump a sleeping man.

Bracing my weight on my hands, I lift myself gently so I can move off him without disturbing him. But I don’t get far.

One of Stark’s hands comes to my hip, pressing tightly into my bone.

The other wraps around my neck and the tattoos he placed there, squeezing gently as he pulls me back on top of him. His eyes are still closed.

Is he… asleep?

“Stark,” I whisper. Nothing. “Stark.”

The boat rocks again, and the hand on my hip grinds me tightly against

him.

I moan helplessly.

At this, his eyes finally fly open—sleep-dazed, yet heated already. He guides me across his length again, and I bite back another moan.

“We haven’t talked yet,” I protest half-heartedly. “You’re angry with me.”

“Am I?” His voice is gravelly and low. Stark cants his hips into mine, and I moan again as heat builds at my core. “Is that what you think, Meryn?

Connect with me. Let me show you.”

The hand at my throat loosens as he strokes my skin. Closing my eyes, I reach for the mental connection that lives between us, the one separate from our wolves and their mate bond.

We’re both only half awake, and it takes me a moment, but eventually it snaps into place. I’m both in him and in myself, and I can feel his emotions so deeply.

My breath stutters in my throat. It’s not anger. It’s heartbreak.

He pushes a memory toward me. Me, covered in a river of blood, the dagger in my chest. I see myself from his eyes, and it’s so fucking awful.

I’m dead. I’m well and truly dead. My skin has leeched all color. I’m not breathing.

Stark’s hands, red with my blood. He’s shaking. He failed me, he thinks —in the end, he couldn’t protect me after all. This has been his absolute worst fear: that I would choose to do something to myself that he couldn’t stop.

And it’s come to pass, even as he’s been protecting me from— I see another memory through his eyes. Me, alive and cleaned up, sitting on the deck of the boat as I try to figure out where to go next. I’m so beautiful through Stark’s mind. My silver-white hair shimmers in the sunlight. His heart twists as his vision roves over my face.

It’s hard to believe I’m here, after what he saw just hours ago. Even

now, he looks at me and all he sees is that dagger in my chest, that blood on his hands.

He’s not used to feeling scared. I scare him, the vastness of this thing between us.

I take a steadying breath and then lock eyes with him. It’s dizzying, our vision still doubling over each other. “You didn’t fail me.”

“Yes, I did,” he responds immediately. “I should’ve sensed what you were doing; I should’ve stopped you before—”

“No,” I cut him off. “Other people’s choices are never your failures. It’s important that you know that. I made a decision that I deemed right. I would do it again to save the three of you. To give our country a future.

That was my choice, and it was my privilege to make it.”

“And it’s my privilege to be your protector, princess,” he murmurs.

“Why are you so eager to deny me that?”

I put my hands on his face, his stubble rough beneath my palms. Then I lean close until our lips are almost touching. “I would never deny you anything. You must see that.”

He surges up to kiss me, and I feel it all—sensing both our mouths together. Tasting his breath and breathing it. His hands on my hips and the softness of my skin from his perspective as he slides one palm up my nightdress.

Stark maneuvers quickly and flips us so I’m pinned underneath him.

Then he shifts my nightdress up to my waist and yanks my panties down, tossing them onto the floor. He shifts his large frame off the bed, kneeling on the floor.

“Doesn’t it drive you a little crazy not to pick that up?” I tease him.

Stark’s eyes meet mine, his gaze heated and hungry. “I’ll show you what drives me crazy.”

He pulls my legs over his shoulders and leans in toward my center. I’m in him and in myself; I can feel both the weight of my thighs and him underneath me.

His hot breath is on my center, but I’m also the one breathing it out.

I put a hand on his forehead, stopping him. “Wait. This is too weird.

Isn’t it?”

“I thought you said you would never deny me, princess. Don’t deny me the chance to show you how you look, how you taste. How you feel to me.”

Letting out a surprised laugh, I say, “You know what? Fuck it. Yeah, go for it.”

The words are barely out of my mouth, and Stark’s tongue is on me.

What the fuck.