Chapter 147 Pull and Break
(Caelum Ashborne)
“Say my name, Firelight.” The moment it left his lips, disgust burned up his throat. Begging a sleeping mortal to call his name instead of her Devil’s—he’d fallen further than he’d thought.
Her hand shifted, sliding down from the pillow, over her throat, across the curve of her chest. Her fingers brushed the top of the sheet, dragging fabric down a fraction in her restless seeking. The curve of her breasts were revealed. Perfectly round. Blemish free. Silken skin begging to be worshipped. Then her hand slipped beneath it,
Caelum went still.
He shouldn’t watch. He knew that. He had already ruined himself once by standing where he shouldn’t and seeing what he shouldn’t. Yet his body locked in place, shadow frozen against stone as if the realm itself had pinned him there.
Her knees drew up slightly, thighs pressing together under the sheet. Her lips parted on a soft sound—more breath than voice, more ache than word. Then her thighs fell open; the movement of her hand was now clearly visible through the sleek material. She was touching herself.
His pulse kicked, hard. This is punishment, he told himself, as if that thought might anchor him. Apollo had put him here knowing exactly what he’d seen of her already, what his ego had done. Of course, this was a test. Of course, this was meant to strip him down to the thinnest edge of control and see what was left. The knowledge did not cool him. If anything, it made the heat worse—a fever fed by shame, not soothed by it.
Gold flickered brighter under her skin.
Another sigh, another twitch of her fingers.
Her ember, restless now, pushed outward, brushing the room like fingers searching for a hold. It grazed his shadow where it clung to the far wall.
The contact was gentle. Curious. His magic jolted. Shadow recoiled and reached at the same time, instinct tearing it in opposite directions. He had to grind his teeth together to stop himself from stepping forward, from closing the distance, from watching what would happen if he let their power strands twine the way they’d tried to in the chamber.
A pulse rolled through the room. Soft. Then another. Stronger.
Her breathing quickened.
He could feel the dream tighten around her—some old pattern in the way magic moved when the mind was forced to walk through memories it didn’t want to see.
Not just Apollo’s hands this time, he thought, irrationally certain. Something else. Someone else.
The prophecy line slid up from the back of his mind, unwanted.
The spark in bondage will awaken, calling to a fire that should never answer.
He had always assumed that meant the Devil. Now he wasn’t so sure. Her ember abruptly flared white-hot.
For a heartbeat, he saw it. Not through stone. Not through the filtered sense of magic. With his eyes.
Flame burst over her skin—thin as veils, bright as a star. Not Hell’s red, not Ember’s gold, not Apollo’s molten black-fire. This was something purer. White edged in gold, shot through with threads of bleeding sunlight.
Queen’s Flame.
Caelum’s breath slammed out of him. Instinct took over.
His shadows recoiled, tearing backward so fast they almost ripped loose from his bones. He staggered two steps along the wall, shoulder catching hard against cold stone.
The fire did not burn the room. It didn’t scorch the bed or singe her hair. It coiled around her like a lover, a crown of light settling, for one impossible instant, at her brow. He thought—just thought—he saw the shape of another woman’s face in that blaze. Tall. Regal. Gown of fractured flame.
Then it imploded. The light snapped inward, flooding back into Adelaide’s chest in a rush that made the air gust toward her. The taste of it coated his tongue—ancient, grieving, furious.
His ember seized in answer.
Pain lanced through him, sharp and clean, like someone had hooked a finger into the coal in his chest and tugged—just once, hard enough to leave it glowing. White-gold flared along the thin lines of his power before he slammed them down, forcing shadow over ember, smothering the flash.
He pressed his palm to the wall to steady himself, fingers splayed wide. Stone was cool there, a shock after that burst of Starfire. His lungs dragged in air that felt too thin, as if the flame had burned all the oxygen out of the room and left him choking on memory instead. Somewhere deep inside, old stories stirred—whispers of a Queen who could set empires alight with a thought. He had never believed them fully. Seeing that light on Adelaide’s skin made him an instant believer.
On the bed, Adelaide jolted.
Her body snapped forward, a choked scream catching in her throat as she shot upright. The sheet, already loose from her restless movements, slid down in the scramble, baring more of her than she knew.
Her hand flew to her chest. Her breath tore in and out, sharp and panicked, as if she still felt fingers of fire clawing at her heart.
“Apollo—” The name broke out of her again, raw and hoarse.
Caelum stood in the corner, back pressed hard against the stone, shadow coiled tight around him, the ghost of Queen’s Flame still stinging his lungs.
Between Devil and Queen, he thought, staring at the mortal girl panting on the king’s bed with Emberflame fading under her skin. That’s where you stand now.
Between his king’s claim and a dead Queen’s warning. Between the fire that devours and the fire that remembers.
And the one thing he had never meant to be between— was her.
Her pulse. Her breath. Her choices. His loyalty and his desire, pulling him in opposite directions, using her as the rope. For the first time in a very long time, Caelum Ashborne did not know which way he would break if someone pulled hard enough.