Chapter 21: The Ice Queen
Morning clawed through the Haven's busted frame, gray light spilling over cracked tiles and glinting off glass shards like a thief's loot. Kael stirred first, sheets tangled around his legs, Rhea's naked warmth pressed against his side—her crimson hair fanning wild over his chest, breath soft and steady.
His bruises throbbed lightly—ribs aching, nose a dull pulse—but the purple had faded overnight, leaving faint bluish stains on his jaw. He shifted, wincing as thet creaked, and slid free—her arm flopping limp, a soft grunt escaping her lips. Hazel eyes lingered on her—scarred curves bare, red dress crumpled on the floor—then he grabbed the white t-shirt and pajama pants from the debris, tossing them beside her on the bed. She didn't stir.
He pulled on his sweats and gray tee—fabric sticking to damp skin—and padded out, boots scuffing into the kitchen. Dreck's blood was gone, tiles scrubbed by Harris's crew, but the mess mocked him—splinters jutting,unter dented, glass crunching underfoot. Kael snagged a broom from therner, bristles worn thin, and started sweeping—glass clinking, dust puffing in lazy swirls.
His nose twinged with each swing, ribs groaning, but he grit his teeth—cleanup now,llapse later. The Haven's pulse hummed low, a battered beast licking its wounds, and he worked fast, piling wreckage by the wall, mind drifting to Rhea's fire, her shift, the heat of last night.
A roar shattered the quiet—loud, guttural, ripping from the entrance like a beast unleashed. Wind howled in, fierce and sudden—dust blasting Kael's face, grit stinging his eyes—and he dropped the broom, wood clattering as he spun. Boots thudded toward the door, heart kicking up—ribs protesting, ignored—and he squinted through the haze.
Liss stood framed in the busted entrance, all sharp edges and wild grin—black leather clinging tight, boots scuffed, her short-cropped hair a mess of violet spikes. Behind her, a leash dangled from her fistllar and shackles glinting dull—tied to a woman sprawled on the stoop, short platinum-cyan hair splayed as she hauled herself up from a rough landing.
Liss didn't flinch—didn't care—her laugh exploding loud, a cackle that doubled her over, hands clutching her stomach. "Holy shit, Drayce!" she wheezed, eyes raking his battered face—faint bruises blooming, nose still swollen—then darting to the wrecked Haven: door splintered, kitchen a warzone.
"You look like a damn punching bag! What'd Flame-Warden do—torch your pride first?" Her voice dripped glee, mocking, as she straightened—wiping tears, grin splitting wide. Two weeks back, Kael had bragged—chest puffed, voice steady—about rehabbing Rhea, the Flame-Warden, turning her fire to his cause. Now? Liss saw a clown in a circus of his own making, and she reveled in it.
Kael dropped his arms, folding them tight—hazel eyes slitting, half-closed, waiting her out. The broom lay forgotten, dust settling slow, and Liss's laughter rolled again—stopping, starting, a broken rrd of rn.