Gleam (The Plated Prisoner Series Book 3) by Raven Kennedy

Author:Raven Kennedy
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Published: 2021-05-30T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter 25

AUREN

I have to hand it to him, the fact that Slade is even able to see the faded bruise in such terrible lighting is a credit to his fae eyesight.

My hand automatically goes up to the spot he’s staring at, fingers pressing against my cheek, but just like I did to him, Slade knocks my hand away so he can see it better.

Turning my face, featherlight fingertips graze over the spot of burnished gold, like he doesn’t want to put any pressure on it in case it hurts me.

It wouldn’t, not now. It’s a hell of a lot better than it was. A few hours after Midas first struck me, it swelled up pretty badly. I went to sleep that night with a cold compress resting on it, made from snow I collected off my balcony and stuffed into a rag. It reminded me of Hojat.

The bruise is barely showing anymore. My gold skin always marks up darker, bruising in shades of bronze and rust before it fades back to my usual gleam. But at least nearly all of the swelling is gone. The darkened mark can be mistaken for a shadow if you’re not really paying attention.

Clearly, Slade is paying attention.

His touch makes my nerve endings come alive, and it feels like my chest is swelling far more than my cheek did.

“It’s nothing,” I say with a hard swallow before jerking my head away from his scrutiny.

“That is not nothing. Did someone put their hands on you?”

I just look at him warily, which I guess is answer enough.

“Who?”

“Slade—”

“Who, Auren?” he demands, his dark, seductive voice so contradictory to the violence held in his tone.

Because he knows the answer. I can see it in his face.

“Midas,” he snarls, like a predator with its eyes trained on a trespassing hunter in the woods. He waits, looking at me to confirm, yet I don’t reply, don’t even nod my head.

But I don’t deny it either.

At my silent confirmation, Slade loses it.

All of a sudden, his eyes flare, going from startling green to a bleed of pure black. Spikes rip from his arms and pierce through the sleeves of his shirt, making a gasp fly out of my mouth.

I watch as he struggles, shifting back and forth between his forms with the click of his jaw, fury bunching his muscles. The lined power that marks his flesh writhes beneath his stubble, reaching, growing.

A cold sweat breaks out over me as I feel his power dominate the air. It thickens like syrup, and a wave of nauseating death ekes from his body.

“Slade...” The nervous plea falls from my lips as I move to back up, only to remember I can’t. I’m still pinned against the bookshelf, his presence blocking my front.

It’s a shock to see him like this, the way his body seems to be warring back and forth. But as his forms flicker, his essence does too—part corrupt magic, part comforting aura. Both of them beating like drums with a singular reaction.

Anger.

And just as quickly as the fear washed over me, it dissipates, like a burnt-up mist.

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