CHAPTER 70: DARK ARTS

🌙 𝐋𝐢𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐡

"Dark arts." Two words. Flat. Answering my rambling question about Silas as if the last thirty seconds hadn’t happened. His hand moved away from the scar, continued to another bruise on my shoulder blade. He remained clinical and professional like he had not just been setting my skin on fire mere moments ago. But I could still feel it through the bond—that simmering fury he’d locked down so completely it almost didn’t exist. Almost, at least.

"What?" I managed, thrown by the abrupt subject change.

"Silas Vane. Shadow manipulation. Moderately rare. The cost is also moderate." His fingers worked the salve into my shoulder with methodical precision.

"And it... costs something?" I asked hesitantly.

"Everything costs." His hand moved lower. "Shadow work takes emotion. Blood magic takes years. Necromancy takes sanity." A pause. "Thermal manipulation takes warmth."

It dawned slowly on me. "Your ice," I said quietly.

"Yes."

"So what did it take..." I trailed off.

"My heat." His fingers pressed into a bruise on my ribs. "I am always cold. It won’t change." The matter-of-fact way he said it made my chest ache.

"Are there other types?" I asked. "Of dark arts?"

"Prophetic sight. Soul binding. Death weaving." His hand moved across my spine. "More yet undiscovered." I processed this, trying to focus on his words instead of the way my skin seemed to burn wherever he touched. The silence stretched, pulling taut with every second.

"What about Dmitri?" The question slipped out. "He doesn’t have a wolf. Shouldn’t the gods have given him something? Some kind of... compensation?"

Vladimir’s hand stilled on my back—just for a heartbeat—then continued. "I mean," I went on, "he has that incredible mechanical wolf. It’s like—it’s like your arm!" I gestured even though he couldn’t see. "The bionic one. Both of you found ways to build what you couldn’t have naturally. That’s amazing."

Silence. His hand kept working, but something had shifted. The air felt colder, and my chest tightened. "He’s incredible," I continued, the words tumbling out. "The way he stood up to Konstantin today. Protected me even though he didn’t have to. And the way he taught me to listen instead of just react—that probably saved my life. He’s so patient and kind and sweet," I paused, realizing too late how that sounded. "He is mysterious like you but he is unlike anyone I have—"

The temperature in the room dropped. Actually dropped, so low that I could see my breath misting in the air. "Vladimir?"

His hand pressed harder against a bruise. It was not painful, but deliberate. "He’s strong," I finished, quieter now. "In the way quiet people are. The ones everyone underestimates." I could have sworn I heard him suck in a harsh breath. I turned around to face him, suddenly needing to see his expression—and immediately wished I hadn’t.

His pale eyes had gone dark. Not quite black, but close. The ice-blue was completely swallowed by something colder, a thin red ring around his once icy orbs. I knew what that meant. At least, he had been triggered. Like the woman who had clawed at my hand when I tried to ask for help. Frost was forming on his fingertips, pale blue and deadly like his gaze on me.

"Vladimir?" My voice came out smaller. He reached for more salve, movements controlled. It remained precise despite the red ring in his eye remaining. But the frost didn’t recede, nor did my dread.

"Do you trust him?" His voice was flat and empty, devoid of whatever emotion had existed before. By now, I knew him to be stoic with a dash of dry, at times sarcastic, humor. His voice now held not a single note of discernible sentiment.

"Dmitri?" I blinked. "Yes. Of course—" My eyes widened as a muscle jumped in his jaw, the temperature increasing in its oppressiveness. "Really?"

I nodded. "Yes." Something was definitely the matter. I tried to read him, to peep beyond the daunting wall that he raised around himself, but to no avail. It felt like a door slamming shut. He lifted his hand to my collarbone. His fingers were ice-cold now—colder than before. Cold enough to hurt.

I hissed. He didn’t stop. Just spread the salve with that same methodical precision, but every touch now felt different in a way I could not afford to comprehend lest my brain spontaneously implode.

"Vladimir, what—"

"Quiet." He drawled, his voice like silk over gravel, raising goosebumps in its wake. It wasn’t a request. Through the bond, I felt it—a wall of ice so thick and cold it made my chest ache. He’d shut me out completely, locked down every emotion behind permafrost.

His hand moved to my ribs, then lower. Each touch left me aching for something I could not name. I bit down on my lips, hard. His eyes snapped down too quickly and suddenly that I could hear the whip of the action. But the cold radiating from him was almost unbearable.

"Did I—" I started.

"Three weeks." His voice was emotionless. "Until Veronique attempts to end you." His words were jarring, like whiplash. They had come out of seemingly nowhere. His hand pressed against my side, fingers splaying across bruised flesh. "He will assist with your training."

A pause. His eyes met mine; dark, cold, unreadable. "Understood?"

"Yes, but—"

"Good."

He finished applying the salve in silence. Every movement was controlled, every touch now carrying that same possessive edge I didn’t understand. When he was done, he stood. The frost on his fingers melted away like it had never existed.

"You’ll be functional by morning." His voice was back to its usual cold monotone. "Get some rest." He moved toward the door.

"Vladimir." He paused, didn’t turn around. "Did I... say something wrong?"

Silence stretched between us. Then: "No." But through the bond, before he locked it down completely again, I felt the lie.

"Train with him," he said quietly. "Learn from him." Another pause. "But remember who you’re to be bonded to."

The door clicked shut behind him. And I sat there, shirtless and confused, in a room that was still unnaturally cold. The salve tingled on my skin where he’d touched me, but all I could think about was the frost on his fingers, the darkness in his eyes, the wall of ice through the bond. I’d said something. Done something. But I didn’t understand what. Just that the Ice King had gotten colder.