Page 158 of Breaking Storm

Fucking tease.

Daven left the decanter where it was and moved into his space instead, sliding one knee between Ryneth’s before bracing a hand beside his head and leaning in until Ryneth had to tip his chin up. “And what exactly are you thirsty for, baby?”

Ryneth’s gaze dropped to Daven’s mouth. Then lower. The static at his fingertips flickered against the leather. “That depends.”

Daven kept him pinned in place without touching him. His cock was hardening with alarming speed. “Dangerous answer.”

Ryneth’s lips parted. “You asked.”

Daven just stared at him. Was his aethera flirting with him? Then he bent, close enough that his mouth brushed the edge of Ryneth’s jaw when he spoke. “You keep looking at me like that in this car, baby, and I’m going to give the driver a story he can’t tell anyone.”

Ryneth’s breath caught, and Daven smiled against his skin, feeling it low in his gut. “Still thirsty?”

Ryneth turned his face just enough that their mouths nearly touched. “Worse now.”

That nearly broke what little self-control Daven had left. He pulled back with effort and reached for the decanter, pouring two glasses. “Drink first. Then you can tell me what possessed you to walk into a warzone like a fucking lunatic.”

Ryneth took the glass this time, their fingers catching for a beat too long. Static sparked once at his knuckles against the rim. Then he leaned back against the seat and looked out over Helion, the heat in his face easing into something quieter.

“So many deaths,” he said softly. His fingers tightened around the glass. “So much hate.” He swallowed, eyes still on the city below. “They must’ve loved someone once too. Before Helion took them. Before all of that turned into this.”

The mood in the car shifted with him.

Daven said nothing for a moment. His bonded had walked into hell tonight and had still come out of it looking at the bodies instead of himself. Looking at the grief underneath it.

He reached over without thinking and took the glass from Ryneth’s hand before the tremor in his fingers could make him spill it.

Ryneth looked at him.

Daven set the drink aside and closed his hand around the back of his neck, thumb dragging once through the damp hair there. “You’re shaking.”

“I’m fine.”

“Yeah?” Daven’s mouth curved, but there was nothing playful in it. He leaned in and pressed his forehead briefly to Ryneth’s temple. “You nearly got yourself killed. I nearly let you.”

Ryneth went still.

Daven’s grip tightened once, grounding, possessive, real. “Next time you want to walk into a warzone for me, at least give me a second to come lose my mind properly.”

Ryneth let out a breath that sounded almost like a laugh, but his hand came up and caught in the front of Daven’s shirt, holding on.

“There he is,” Daven murmured. “Stay with me, baby.”

Daven didn’t say the worst of that.

He’d lied the second the hospital footage started looping through the penthouse because he’d known exactly what Ryneth would do if he realized where Daven was going. He would’ve followed. He had followed anyway.

And Daven still couldn’t stop wondering if Bekn had wanted that. If the bastard had known exactly what he was doing when he’d been there the night Ryneth was sold on that shuttle, when he taunted him, when he dragged his name back into all of this.

Bekn had wanted Ryneth frightened. Wanted him cornered. Wanted him waiting.

Now Bekn was in chains. And sooner or later, one way or another, he would die for it.

“So many people who never had a choice,” Ryneth murmured.

He kept looking out at the city, light sliding over his face as the hover car moved. Daven wondered where his mind had gone. Back to Attica. Back to the Ward. Back to Düren. Back to every time Ryneth had stood between something weaker and the thing trying to break it. Maybe he was thinking about how all that hatred had started somewhere small. Somewhere human. Maybe he was thinking about the fact that while they’d all been fighting for scraps down on the ground, the real rot had been sitting up here the whole time.

There was nothing ordinary about him.