Soul of Flame (Imdalind Series #4) (31 page)

I pressed my lips into his, parting them just enough to breathe him in before he pulled away, his forehead warm and strong against mine. I opened my eyes at the change, my chest heaving for breath as the twinkling lights of our joined magic faded into the black.

Ilyan held still against me as he panted, his eyes closed as his skin pressed against mine, my heart thumping wildly in desperation for him to come back to me.

“Bond yourself to me,” he gasped through his strained breaths, his voice so soft I wasn't even sure I had heard it right.

“Ilyan?” I asked, my voice shaking in nerves and fear as I tried to process what he had just said.

“My entire life, I have waited for you. I have searched for you. I have worked to become someone worthy of you. And tomorrow, if the sight is true, I will lose you.”

He opened his eyes as he spoke, the blue so light they were the color of warm ice, the color freezing me beneath the touch of his warm hands.

I couldn’t deny the way my heart beat faster, the way my magic seemed lighter. I wanted this, and I could tell by the look in his eyes that he did, too. As much as my heart rejoiced—as much as my magic swelled and my mind swam in the dangers of what I held inside of me—the words that Ilyan had said days before still pounded in my ears.

“But you said-” I began, my words cutting themselves off as he shook his head, his fingers pressing softly against my lips.

“I know, mi lasko. I know what I said,” he interrupted smoothly, “and I was wrong. Wyn was right; Talon was right. For a thousand years, I have done what others have needed of me. All my life, I have served my people, protected those in need of me. I never wanted… I have never asked of anything for me. I never sought after my heart’s desires. But tonight,” he whispered, his fingers moving off my lips as they ran over my cheek, “tonight I am.”

I stood still under his touch, my body unwilling to move or look away. I stood transfixed as I stared into his eyes, my heart thumping in fear and excitement of what he was about to say to me.

“Will you bond yourself to me? Do you wish it?” His voice was soft, the whispers rushing over me.

“Yes,” I breathed, my voice a feather over his skin. My heart caught at the desire and joy that rocked through me.

Ilyan closed his eyes, and a wide smile spread across his face as he threw his head back, his lips moving in quick Czech as he spoke to the sky. His words left as he gathered me up, lifting me off the floor as he crushed me into him, his eyes boring into me before his lips brushed against mine, the touch the softest of pressures before it was gone.

“I love you, my Joclyn,” he whispered in Czech, his heart translating the words as his emotions came crashing into me, his joy so strong I could barely breathe through it.

“I love you, Ilyan,” I said, the words the truest I had ever spoken.

I had barely gotten the words out before he leaned into me, his cheek pressing against mine as his magic flooded me.

At the feeling of his warmth, the pressure of his magic, I gasped. I expected the touch—expected the movement of my magic as it met with his—however, the touch continued to deepen, and my nerves rose in confusion. I snapped my eyes shut, waiting for the pressure I had felt before, for the electric fusion of a bonding, but nothing came before Ilyan lowered me down to the ground. I opened my eyes to the stormy sky right outside the window of our room, and the gentle taps of rain as it fell over the stonework on our balcony.

I looked around in confusion, confusion I knew I should not feel at Ilyan using the Stutter to move us across the abbey. He kissed my forehead before moving away, leaving me standing alone in the middle of the room we had shared for the past few nights, the room we had fought in, the room I had kissed him in.

“This was my mother’s.” Ilyan’s voice was reverent as he walked back to me, his hands wrapped around a small, golden box. He held it out to me, the carving on the top rattling through me.

I gasped as my hands flew to my chest, my stomach tightening in surprise.

Ilyan held in his hands the box I had seen not once, but twice. First in the nightmare that had woken me before I went to heal Dramin and then in the sight that had come to me after our fight. I stared at the box as I tried to make sense of it, as I tried to understand what this box meant and why my magic had shown it to me so many times. My hand shook as I reached toward the golden surface of it, trying to determine if it was wood or gold, but right then, it didn't matter.

“I have seen this before,” I whispered as my fingers ran over the lid, tracing the faces of the two bears, one on either side with a wreath of roses held between them.

I touched the delicate carving as the image of the sight came back clearly; the two of us sitting on our bed, the box on the bed beside us, Ilyan wearing the same shirt he was now, sitting behind me as he braided my hair.

I gasped as the realization hit me so strong my head spun, my Drak blood reacting to the closure of a sight, the magic promising me of its fruition.

“He will tear us apart,” I gasped as I replayed the images again.

“If you wish to see the end, give me your heart,” we finished together, my eyes widening in shock as his voice joined mine.

“How did you know that?” I asked, my hand jumping off the box as if I had been shocked. I narrowed my eyes at him in fear, the emotion twisting through me as layers of confusion joined in.

“You have told me before,” he said as his eyes dug into me, the amazement clear on his face as it numbed the fear that was trying to move into me.

Ilyan placed the box on the bed, his eyes never leaving mine before he came to stand before me, his hand moving to lift the sleeve of his shirt. He turned toward me then, his bare forearm staring at me, and the scar I had seen before glistened against his lean muscle.

“When you were trapped, Dramin and I gave you water in hopes to wake you,” he said, his voice tense as I looked at the mark, my fingers rising as my heart called for me to touch it, to heal it. “You spoke those words while you were still trapped after some splashed onto my skin.”

I pressed the tips of my fingers against the raised skin that I was sure was just as sensitive as the scar that lined the palm of his hand.

“Give me your heart,” I whispered as his hand covered mine, pressing it into the scar.

I tore my eyes away from his arm at the words, the burn in my chest growing. He had heard the words before I had even awakened. No wonder they had felt so familiar. They had happened before, and now the sight would be fulfilled.

I cringed at the realization, the joy that had been raging through me wavering uncomfortably. This sight was coming to pass, just as the one tomorrow would, just as they all would. I had so ruthlessly questioned them, attacked my father with them, and now I stood, the pulse of the one I loved on my fingers—the strength of his love flowing through my mind—and I knew.

The sight had been correct.

The magic of a Drak was correct.

And tonight, I couldn’t ask for anything more.

“You already have it.” Ilyan barely got the words out, his throat closing with emotion as the burning behind my eyes grew.

Ilyan said nothing more as he led me over to the bed, his touch gentle as he sat down, placing me before him.

I sat down, too, his chest pressing against my back as our intertwined hands moved me into him. He held me against him, his magic flowing into me before he released me, the loss of contact taking the comforting swell of his magic with it. My hands dropped into my lap as he moved away, my heart clenching in nerves as the clouds rumbled. I felt my heartbeat heighten then heard labored breathing from behind me.

I didn't dare move; I didn't trust myself to do so. So I held still and watched Ilyan pull the ornate box toward us, his fingers gentle as he lifted the lid, revealing strands of faded ribbons, vials of oils, and nestled in the middle, a simple golden hair brush.

I could tell just by looking that the brush was made of gold. Ilyan reached toward the box, his shaking fingers hesitating in the air as if he were afraid to touch it.

His nerves tensed as he paused, his thoughts a rampage of doubt and love and confusion. My breath caught as I felt it, the emotions so human that I would never have expected them from him.

I turned from where I sat, my hand extending to wrap around his from where it hovered above the box. I intertwined my fingers with his as I plunged my magic into him, letting it pulse into him as I warmed him, soothing his heart. He froze at the touch, his eyes still locked onto the box that sat beside us, the open lid beckoning him.

“It's okay,” I whispered. His eyes darted to mine as I spoke, the rivers of wet that seeped from them catching me off guard.

“It's okay,” I repeated. “I’m here. I’m not going anywhere,” I whispered.

His emotions peaked, and before I knew it, I was crying right along with him.

He had waited so long, watched so many others find their happiness, and now it was his turn. After so long. I couldn’t help the joy I felt for him, the excitement that I knew was hidden under his doubt. He didn’t need to feel that, not right now.

I dropped his hand from mine, my movement slow as I reached up to touch his face, resting my palm against his cheek as I pushed my magic into him. I kept my palm against his skin as his nerves faded and his breathing leveled, as his fear of losing me swelled before it, too, faded.

“I am staying right here,” I whispered before I reached up and pressed my lips against his, the soft touch enough to pulse through him, to promise him of the truth of my words.

His eyes lightened as I looked into him, his heart calming before I turned, settling back against him just as the thunder rumbled through the abbey, a lightning strike firing closer than it had before.

The lightning dissipated as I felt Ilyan's hand on the crown of my head, his touch gentle as he ran the golden brush through my hair, the strokes long and even as he moved from top to bottom, over and over. The last of my nerves melted away at his touch. The slow, steady strokes matched the beat of our hearts, the pulse of our souls.

Before I was ready, he replaced the brush in the box, his long fingers digging through the contents to produce a long, white ribbon, the fibers old and worn enough that I was sure it had been a different color at one point.

“For this ribbon, I give you my heart, for every beat is yours,” he whispered, his voice shaking as his fingers began moving deftly through my hair, his touch gentle as he weaved the ribbon through the strands, his movements quick and practiced before he reached down, grabbing another ribbon, this one just as light and almost appearing longer than the first.

“For this ribbon, I give you my soul, the other half to your perfect match.” My breath caught as he spoke, the vow almost seeming too perfect given the way our souls had fused together.

Ilyan had barely gotten the words out before he went back to work, his fingers careful and slow as they moved through my hair. Even though I knew this braid to be intricate, I never felt a pull, he never moved my head. His touch was soft, the pressure of his fingers against my head bringing small pulses of magic into me.

I held still as he pulled another ribbon from the box, this one shorter and a darker color than the other two.

“For this ribbon, I proclaim my love, my dedication, and my passion for you.”

Ilyan’s fingertips brushed over my hairline as he pulled more hair into the intricate braid, the touch soft against my neck. Each press of his fingers against my skin set my heart on fire, my chest burning as I tried to regulate my breathing.

He reached over to the box, grabbing another ribbon and pulling it out until all that was left in the box was the hairbrush, a small vial of oil, and a silky, golden ribbon longer than my arm.

“For this ribbon, I give you all that I possess, for in this moment, my life becomes yours.”

My life becomes yours
.

I couldn’t stop the words from repeating themselves, the true meaning rumbling through me until my eyes began to burn.

My hair moved as his fingers pulled through it; all the hair was off my neck now as he continued to work. Part of me wanted to see, to close my eyes and sneak a peek, but I couldn’t ignore the way my heart beat, the way that Ilyan’s magic moved deeper into me with each movement. It wasn’t my place to see, not yet.

The movement in my hair paused as Ilyan leaned over, his fingers pulling the last ribbon out of the box; the long, silky snake of gold flowing over the palm of Ilyan’s hand as he, too, treasured it. His emotions flared with memories as he treasured the ribbon. His thoughts of the way his mother had worn this very ribbon in her hair until the day she died flooded me.

My heart seized at the realization, my heart breaking for Ilyan as he paused, his hand hovering over me, letting the golden ribbon fall in front of me, the silken thread soft against my face.

“For this ribbon,” he began, his accent thick as his emotion broke through, “I crown you my queen, and the Queen of my people.”

I gasped at the words, the realization of all that this meant slamming into me until it was hard to breathe. His emotion washed over me as he spoke, his joy rumbling through me as I felt his happiness at no longer being alone, that he didn’t have to be.

I stared straight into the storm that raged around us as his fingers moved, my heart rumbling as the thunder did. I didn’t dare look anywhere else. I watched the storm as I focused on my breathing and began to accept the reality of his last few words.

I felt his touch slow, the ribbon winding around the end as he finished, his hands gentle as he placed the long braid against my back. I was frozen in place as the weight dropped against me, my body still trying to remember how to breathe as his fingers trailed over the braid, the touch extending down my back until it vanished. His hand moved to grab the small, clear vial that was now the only thing beside the brush that sat in the box.

My heart rate increased as Ilyan’s did until I felt his chest against my back, the pulse of his heart thundering against my skin as mine matched the beat, the pulses beating against our skin as he placed his heart over mine.