ILLYRIAN PRIDE

CHAPTER 7

Sorcha woke up the day after Solstice in Devlon's house. The sun was just rising behind the Illyrian mountains as she opened her eyes. She pulled the furs tighter around her body to keep out the chill.

She felt heavy today. Usually, the training was enough to keep her going, to make her ignore the fog inside her head and force herself out of bed.

But the day after the Solstice there was no training.

And she could not bear to get out of this bed to face Devlon. She could not bear him snapping at her and sending her on her way. The thought of Nyx' empty cabin made her stomach drop. But the thought of the barracks filled with holiday cheer made her feel even worse.

At the end she got out of bed, only from fear that if she remained there, surrounded by his scent, she might have to relieve the ache between her legs. And him scenting the release on her, knowing that she did so in his bed-

Sorcha crept down the stairs, careful not to make too much noise this early in the morning. It seemed unnecessary though, Devlon was already seated at the small table by the kitchen. He held a mug in one hand and a quill in the other. There were a dozen books scattered on the table; old-looking tomes that were often found deep in the belly of the library beneath the House of Wind.

Sorcha stopped dead in her tracks as he looked up at her.

"There is coffee on the stove." He said by way of greeting.

Sorcha blushed.

"I offered you coffee," Devlon narrowed his eyes, "not to lick your cunt."

Sorcha would have preferred that, she thought, instead of the sight of him at the kitchen table with ink on his fingers and-

"You're wearing glasses." She said hoarsely.

Devlon sighed, "Do you want me to admit that I'm old, little brat? Is that it?"

What Sorcha wanted was to sink to her knees and take his cock in her mouth. But that was probably the stupid bond talking.

She crossed the room and made herself her own cup of coffee.

"What are you reading?" She asked as she sipped from her mug.

Devlon made a note before putting down the quill. "Here." He shoved a tome in her direction.

Sorcha read a few lines. The mug trembled in her hand slightly.

Cassian had sustained several injuries, but still managed to carry Rhysand up the slopes. Azriel was with them-

Sorcha looked at Devlon, "What is this?"

"Records of the Blood Rites." he explained. "From my own personal archives."

Devlon shoved another book towards her, this one did not look quite so ancient. "Your mother's participation in the Blood Rite."

"You kept notes from my parents' Rites?"

"I have kept records of every Blood Rite since my own." Devlon said, "As I've said, these are from my personal archives. But I thought you ought to read them."

"Why?"

"You will be participating soon."

Riddle me this, little sister. Are you fucking him, because you think it'd somehow help you survive the rite?

Her sister's words echoed in her mind.

"I don't need your pity-"

Devlon scoffed, "You do need my guidance, little brat. You've been doing well enough in training, but have you considered the conditions of the mountains? Cold and hunger kill as well as any foe."

Sorcha stood still as he got up from his chair and approached her. His fingers were soft on her chin. Sorcha almost sighed out loud, he looked incredibly handsome with his reading glasses.

"No more stupidity, little brat." He murmured. "No more wandering around in a snow storm, trying to freeze yourself to death. No more late night sessions that have you limping the next day. You finish training, then you join me for strategy sessions. You want distraction, you ask me. Understood?"

"Yes, sir." She whispered.

Devlon's nostrils flared. He stepped away from her at once, and reached up to pull the glasses off his nose.

"Will you continue to stay at Rhysand's cabin?" He asked.

The idea of the cabin still haunted her. It was filled with happy memories of her and her cousins and her sister-

Sorcha felt her teeth ache as the memories flashed through her mind. But the thought of the barracks made her skin crawl.

She must have been contemplating it for a while because she was startled when Devlon handed her a plate of breakfast. It smelled delicious and it distracted her momentarily from her dilemma.

"I don't-" Sorcha closed her eyes against the void that threatened.

How did she take so long to answer one simple question?

Her fingers brushed his as she took the fork he offered.

"You can stay here," Devlon said casually, "if you wish."

Sorcha's fork hovered above the food as she blinked at him.

Devlon was busy fastening his cloak.

"Is that what you want?" Sorcha asked.

Devlon's hazel eyes were blank of any expression. "I want you to win the Rite."

Sorcha swallowed down the bile in her throat. She set down the plate of food. Her fingers hovered over her father's name in the journal.

"I don't know what I want." Sorcha said. She felt so tired. She wished she could lie down on the floor and curl into a ball.

"Start with the things you do know." Devlon said simply.

Sorcha looked at him, "Such as?"

Devlon narrowed his eyes, "If you're late to training I will be assigning extra drills."

Sorcha could not help but snort. Oh, she knew exactly how annoyed he got when the trainees weren't punctual. "So, the thing that I most definitely know is that you're a grumpy old bastard?"

"Do not be late for the training session, little brat." He said as he walked out of the door.

Sorcha watched him go. He sounded like his annoying, snappy self.

She had no idea why that made her feel lighter than moments ago.