Betrayer: (The Cursed Bloodstone Book 1)

Father made me callous. The day Mother died, he forced me to dry my tears. He yanked me from our home and moved me into the brothel he owned. He didn’t comfort me. He didn’t hold my hand.

Instead, I was left to my own devices. It took one of the women in the brothel to teach me to read and write. And when the Kyanite healers took me into their apothecary and taught me to heal, he never visited me. Not even once.

Two months after arriving in Astarobane, the Bloodstone people throw a large celebration in the middle of the town square again.

I spend most of the evening next to Gabriel. When he’s near people, he holds my hand and keeps me close. When nobody is looking, he practically ignores me.

Instead of showing my irritation, I smile and act like I’m exactly where I want to be. After all, I cannot fault him for his distance. I wear masks too. So, how could I ever be angry that he dons one when we’re in public? I cannot.

As moonlight straggles across the square, Gabriel encourages me to find a seat in one of the chairs near the fringes of the celebration.

I settle in my chair and observe the dancing couples. Most seem enthralled with one another. A few look like they would rather be anywhere but dancing with their partner.

My gaze catches on Leah on the far side of the square. She doesn’t dance. Instead, she talks to a small group of men.

Out of my peripheral vision, I observe Gabriel speaking with Luc and Hero. The Bloodstone people stare at the Carnelian the same way they always do, as if he’s a rarity.

“Did you hear the most recent rumor?” Hero asks dryly.

Luc gazes over the crowd, his attention caught on Kassandra talking to Everly.

“You’re not listening to me.” Hero nudges Luc with his elbow.

“What?” Luc asks, his attention still locked on the woman standing on the other side of the room.

A rare smile forms on Gabriel’s mouth. “He’s more interested in Kassandra than what you have to say.”

Humor sparks in Hero’s eyes. “I noticed.” He nudges Luc again, finally gaining his attention. “Did you hear what I asked you?”

“No.”

“I asked if you heard the most recent rumor about Hector?”

Fire threads along my veins as I sit up a little straighter and try to not lean toward them. After all, I don’t want to be revealing.

“What rumor?” Luc asks.

“They are saying he wields two swords in battle, and he has the blood of a serpent running through his veins.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Gabriel says as he plucks up a goblet of wine from a nearby table.

“I wasn’t speaking to you. I know how you feel about Hector.” The Carnelian smirks, gaining a quick frown from Gabriel.

“He’s a coward.” The sharpness of Gabriel’s tone surprises me.

“This is why I wasn’t talking to you,” Hero says.

“Don’t disparage Hector. He’s the future.” Luc smacks Gabriel’s arm, then moves to where Kassandra stands.

She smiles up at him, admiring him as she accepts his hand and follows him to the dance floor.

Malachi joins me at the table, sitting across from me. The lines near his eyes crease as he grins, easing some of the tension in my chest. “Hello.”

“Hello.” I reach for my goblet and take a long drink.

“How are you coping being wed to Gabriel?”

“Well enough.”

Empathy glints in Malachi’s eyes.

I take a rare opportunity to lean forward and ask a burning question. “How did you come to live among the Bloodstone?”

“It’s no secret.” Using his left hand, Malachi traces a deep grove in the table. “I saved Alden’s life.”

My mouth pops open before I snap it closed. “You did? When?”

“About two summers ago. We met in a village south of here. Someone attacked him, and I saved his life by stepping in front of a dagger meant for him.”

Why would Malachi do such a thing? Maybe he didn’t know who Alden was at the time.

“That’s mighty heroic of you.” And foolish. Oh, so foolish.

Malachi shrugs. “It was instinct.”

I witnessed Malachi protecting his younger siblings from his abusive father when he was younger. Maybe being heroic is part of who he is. He has always felt the need to protect.

“Sol.” A somber expression encases Malachi as he continues. “I heard a rumor, though I don’t know how true it is, but I thought you should know.”

My breath catches. “What is it?”

Malachi hunches forward and waits until Gabriel and Hero disappear into the crush of the crowd to speak. “Rumors have carried to the cobbler I work with. Rumors that speak of a scheme to murder Roland.”

Ice slides into my veins, freezing my chest, my lungs, my breath.

“I don’t understand,” I whisper.

“Jasper, the cobbler, believes the scheme worked. Roland is dead.”

It cannot be true.

Roland is supposed to die by my hands.

“Surely, it’s not true.”

Malachi hunches even closer. “Astarobane is Roland’s city, and he’s been gone for well over six months.”

Astarobane is Roland’s city?

Oh, the sky above!

Gabriel said it weeks ago. I was just too blind to notice who he meant.

Alden said he would wear a livery if he was the chieftain. If Roland were dead, surely, he’d be wearing the gold chain.

Every time I mentioned him, these stubborn, tight-lipped people never said he was dead. Why?

Dismay prods at my mind, my hopes, my dreams. I try to quell it, to shove it down, but it keeps digging deeper and deeper.

I jerk my gaze around the room. Alden sits at the main table. Luc sits next to him. Everyone goes to Alden when they need something.

I denied the truth when I arrived, convinced myself that Roland was simply in a different city. The entire time I was living a lie. The last ten summers have all been a lie. All those months of planning. All those days. Those nights.

It was all for naught.

I am too late.

I grip the table with both hands, trying to find my calm. It remains an elusive shadow. An illusion. I inhale and exhale, trying desperately to not panic.

“Sol.” Malachi places his hand over mine. “It’s not too late to get out.”

Those seven words sink into my being, breaking through the fog immersing me.

I cannot leave yet. Not after the child born with the same mark as me. Not after I healed Praxis. I swallow through the sudden sour sensation in my throat.

I loosen my grip against the table. “No.”

Over the throng of dancing couples, my eyes meet Gabriel’s. Fierceness burns behind them as he watches us, and his jaw looks locked, as if he grinds his teeth together. He probably does.

“Sol,” Malachi says in that same low voice. “This place is a lethal tomb. Leave before it’s too late.”

With Gabriel watching me, I know I shouldn’t turn to look at Malachi. I do anyway. Looking at the man I once cared for. The one I shared my first kiss with. The one I told everything. The one who, with just a few words, could write my Fate in blood.

“I can’t.”

“Please, Sol. I beg you.” Desperation glints in his eyes. “You’re not safe here.”

My stomach twists into giant knots. Malachi has never sounded more afraid.

The day in the stables flashes through my thoughts. That day, Malachi was trying to warn me of something.

Is this it?

“Why do you say that?”

Malachi swallows and shakes his head.

“Mal. We’re friends. You wouldn’t keep something like this from me.”

“This.” He leans forward and taps my wrist through the fabric of my sleeve, right where that hissing serpent mark tarnishes my skin. “Will kill you.”

“What do you know?” The words choke out of me.

Memories pierce my thoughts, dragging me back to the night my mark appeared. I ran to Father. Showed him the hissing serpent. Anger marred his features as he grabbed my arm and shoved it toward the light of a single torch.

“It’s a curse,” he shouted.

“Why?” I had begged.

“Because you are of her. You have always been of her.”

“Father.”

His slap against my cheek had silenced my next question. I learned not to ask anymore. Instead, I hid the mark, as he demanded. Except for Malachi. One day, I showed him, and I told him what Father said.

It is my blemish.

Never once have I understood it.

Sadness sparks in Malachi’s eyes as his gaze shifts over my shoulders. I turn, meeting Gabriel’s intense stare as he walks through the couples. They jerk out of his way as he moves with long, determined strides and stops in front of us.

“Dance with me,” he says, his tone commanding.

My first thought is to deny him. Knowing his people would observe my rejection, I simply nod.

He offers his hand, and I accept, allowing him to bring me into the middle of the dancing couples.

We only move to the beat of the music for a few moments before he leans down, speaking near my ear. “Why were you talking to Malachi?”

“He spoke to me. I spoke back,” I say evenly.

Gabriel lowers his hands to my waist and draws me even closer, close enough to feel the power beneath his surcoat. “You looked different.”

“I didn’t.” The denial scorches my lips. Things are different with Malachi. They always were.

“I have known you long enough to know when you look different. What is your relationship with him?”

“I have no relationship with him.” At least, not for four summers.

Gabriel scoffs. “He’s not Bloodstone, and he’s only been here for a few brief summers. So, again, I ask you. What is your relationship with him?”

“He’s not Bloodstone?” I lift my gaze to Gabriel’s and raise my brow in a questioning manner, feigning naivety.

Warmth sears my thin surcoat as Gabriel tightens his grip. “Stop pretending and speak plainly with me. What is your relationship with him?”

Anger rips through me as I stand taller, barely managing to reach Gabriel’s shoulders. “I have no relationship with Malachi.”

“Hades!” Gabriel comes to an abrupt stop and reaches for my hand. Before I process his actions, he leads us through the dancing couples.

They scramble to move out of his way as he guides us down the center. I clench my lips together and try to keep my chin lifted, but I know how pitiful I must look being led by the angry warrior.

I don’t protest as he leads us away from the square. Away from the people. The stares. The wide-eyed looks. Away from Malachi and all our secrets.

Gabriel opens our front door and beckons me inside. Frustration seeps through me as we step in our cottage, and he shuts the door. I did nothing wrong. I simply spoke to Malachi. Gabriel acts as if I allowed Malachi liberties.

I stand with my back to the wall and meet the fierceness still burning in Gabriel’s eyes.

“Has he kissed you?” The question comes out in a lash of anger and jealousy.

I rub a hand across my burning cheeks. “Surely, you don’t mean that.”

Coldness embraces Gabriel’s eyes, his words. “I assure you, I do.”

“I am here every day. And if I’m not here, I’m with Kassandra. Where would I have even had a chance to meet with Malachi?”

“I don’t know what you do all day. Besides, I’m not certain that you didn’t know him before.”

I cross my arms. “You’re being ridiculous.”

“You aren’t denying it.”

“Why should I? You don’t touch me. Don’t bed me. Yet, you’re jealous at the thought of another man kissing me.”

Gabriel’s eyes flash as he steps closer. “I am angry at the thought of another man touching what is mine.”

This time I scoff. “You haven’t had the stones to make me your proper wife.”

“Do you think I’m incapable?”

Incensed by his anger, his jealousy, his leading me through the crowd like a possession, I step against his body and meet the fury in his eyes. “I think you lack the stones.”

He grabs my shoulders and whirls me around until the front of my body is pinned against the wall. I exhale as he grabs my surcoat and hauls it to my waist. With a quick move, he pushes his thigh between my legs.

“There’s nothing wrong with my ability to bed you.”

I place my palms flat against the wall and speak in a surprisingly calm voice. “Then do it. Bed me, Gabriel.”

He breathes in quick, uneven breaths as he grips my hips and brings me back against his thigh. Molten heat surges through my veins at the pressure against my core.

The sky above! This was supposed to be about him. His jealousy. His vow to not bed me. Not this. Not him making me burn.

“G-gabriel.”

“I—” he rocks me against him again, this time harder, “—am the only one allowed to touch you.”

The sharp retort burning my tongue escapes me as he continues rocking me against him. I imagine more. His mouth against my neck, my breasts. To the area that burns the more he teases me.

I moan and thrust my head back the moment I near the pinnacle, the one that hovers far above everything, but offers a well of pleasure the moment it’s summited.

Then, he does the unthinkable. He releases me, removes his thigh and steps back, leaving me panting against the wall and aching for my summit.

“Lie to me again,” he says in an erringly composed voice, “and I will never teach you about real pleasure.”

I swallow and keep my position against the wall but lower my hands to my sides. “Don’t do this to me.”

“I have done nothing.”

“Gabriel.” I try to find my composure. Instead, I cannot think past that ache, that need, that urge to finish what he started. “Please.”

His footsteps echo against the floor and stop. Probably because he settled on the bed like he didn’t just rob me of my release.

“Turn around,” he says in a tone that leaves no room for objecting.

The Kyanite in me wants to stab him for his bossiness. The woman awakened obeys. Oh, how she obeys. I shift to face him, and as I thought, he sits on the bed, watching me.

He slides his eyes over me. “I always wondered what you might look like not quite sated. Now, I know.”

“You’re cruel.”

“And you’re not? You’re constantly trying to temp me.”

I squeeze my fingers together. “Well, you won then. I am thoroughly inflamed. And I have never once invoked desire in you.”

“Is that what you think?” He lowers his hand to the bulge between his legs. “I am hard every night I lie next to you.”

“Then act on it. Bed me.” I remove my surcoat and chemise.

Those eyes heat, lock on me, then rock over my body. Every inch of my skin tingles in anticipation.

He doesn’t reach for me.

“Gabriel, please. Nobody will care if you bed me.”

A vein throbs in his forehead as he allows another slower pass before ripping his gaze free. “Put something on.”

Stubbornness prompts my answer. “I will not.”

Frustration flares across his features. “Well, you cannot sleep like that.”

I most certainly could.

I walk to where he sits and stop when my thighs brush the mattress. “The only way I’m putting on a nightdress is if you finish what you started.”

A muscle jumps in his jaw as he works to swallow. “Put your nigh—”

“—no.” I climb on the mattress and sit, straddling his lap. “Finish what you started.” This time, I am the one leaving no room for objecting.

Boldly, I dive my fingers into his hair, feeling those soft strands beneath my fingertips. I should have touched him sooner.

He grips my hips and shifts me to his thighs. “I have never met a woman who is as bold as you are.”

“That’s because I am a Kyanite.”

He allows his fingers a slow trail down my hips, over my thighs, and back up. “Do you want to finish?” he asks in a husky voice, one thick with need.

“Yes.”

As soon as the word leaves my mouth, he rotates me until I’m lying on my back. He spreads my legs wide and trails his fingertips up my thighs. “Then we do it my way.”

“Your way?” I ask, my voice a breathless whisper.

He allows his fingers another lighter pass, his touch teasing my skin and awakening the throbbing in my core.

“You don’t join. Don’t speak. Don’t move.”

“W—”

He presses his fingers against my mouth, silencing my question. “I said don’t speak.”

I bite down on my bottom lip, keeping myself from talking as he touches me between my legs. Slowly, purposefully, skillfully, he teases me. Awakens the passion. Takes me to the edge of my summit. Only after I teeter there does he allow me to soar.

I tighten my fingers around my bedcovers, relishing in the pleasure coursing through me. It’s the first time anyone has made me reach my completion. It leaves me wanting more of him. His heat. His touch. His body inside mine.

I don’t voice any of it as he frees me and rolls to his back. It’s more than I thought he would give me yesterday, and I cannot be selfish.

As Gabriel’s breathing evens beside me, my mind whirls. Especially with how close I came to warranting Malachi’s death. One slip of the tongue, and he would have been dead. The Bloodstone people would show a spy no mercy. Surely, there’s no other reason that would have brought Malachi here.

Speaking to Malachi sparked old memories. He was the only person who cared, who promised me a future after Mother died.

I couldn’t reveal the truth to Gabriel. Doing so would have ended Malachi’s life. I have never been surer of something.

I cared for Malachi once. Loved Malachi. I even thought we might marry someday.

But he is my past.

Gabriel is my now.

There are no other choices. My Fate was written into the sands as vividly as the tears that stained them after Mother’s death.

Roland is dead.

Dead!

Everything I worked for cannot be in vain. For ten summers, I endured unspeakable pain, ridicule, failures.

It wasn’t for naught. It cannot be.

The opportunity to avenge Mother is gone. But there must be a reason why I’m here. I’m sure of it. I can still honor Mother by stopping the Bloodstone tribe from regaining their magic.

And I will.

Malachi’s words echo in my ears. “This will kill you.”

It takes everything in me to not scratch the mark from my skin. If only that were possible. If only it wasn’t there.

If only, I had all the answers.