Storm Warning - Mercedes Lackey [59]
“... and now that you’re properly silver-haired, as an Adept should be, with a decent wardrobe, you’re actually a credit to k‘Sheyna instead of a disgrace,” Firesong teased, while An’desha struggled into his shirt and breeches; a difficult proposition with still-wet skin. “I don’t know how Elspeth was ever attracted to you, with your hair dyed the color of mud and full of bark. You looked like a mad hermit, not a proper Hawkbrother.”
“Oh?” Darkwind arched his eyebrows and grinned, then splashed Firesong with a handful of water. “Really? And who was it told Elspeth he wanted to braid feathers into my hair? I thought perhaps you liked the rustic look. You might have found me challenging.”
“Hmph.” Firesong sent the droplets flying back at Darkwind with a flicker of magic. “If I did tell her something like that, it was because I was hoping to induce some sense of proper grooming into you.”
Darkwind pouted. “And here all the time I thought you wanted me!”
“We-ell, now that you look like a civilized human being and not a patch of brush—” Firesong fluttered long, silver eyelashes at the lean and muscular k’Sheyna Adept, who smirked and fluttered right back at him.
An’desha stared, aghast, embarrassed, humiliated. Oh, he knew that the Hawkbrothers were free enough with their favors, but—
—but how could they carry on like this! And right in front of him! They were trying to hurt him! He hadn’t done anything to deserve treatment like this!
He felt his skin grow cold, then hot; his throat choked, and his stomach knotted. As he struggled to control himself, astonishment turned to something darker, in the blink of an eye.
He flushed again, hotter this time. From “how could they,” the thought turned to another.
How dare they!
His hands knotted into fists; his stomach cramped. He clenched his jaw so hard he thought his teeth would shatter. He choked back an exclamation of pain and outrage.
Firesong continued to flirt, without a single glance at him.
His heart pounded until he shook with the rhythm and blood roared in his ears. His jaw ached as he clenched it tight. Firesong leaned closer to Darkwind and murmured something that made the other Adept laugh aloud, throwing his head back and showing a fine set of white teeth. Firesong laid one elegant hand on Darkwind’s shoulder.
Rage flared, fed by jealousy, into an all-consuming conflagration which left room for only one thought.
I’ll—I’ll eviscerate him! Though which “him,” he couldn’t at that moment say. He struggled with his numb, impotent anger, fought with the feelings that threatened to bind him where he stood.
Something dark uncoiled like a newly-awakened snake, deep inside him. It oozed through his veins and tingled along his nerves.
For a brief moment, his rage lacked a target, torn as it was between Firesong and Darkwind equally. But then, as Darkwind made to snatch at a feather from his bondbird’s tail to give to Firesong, it all turned against the interloper.
How dare he!
And suddenly, as soon as he had the target, his anger was no longer impotent.
The darkness filled him, burned his fingers, longing to be unleashed. He felt power rising in him, rushing to his summons eagerly, flowing into him, all too familiar from the anger-fueled mage-attacks of Momelithe Falconsbane; power that was poised to tear the guts right out of Darkwind’s treacherous body and fling them back in the bastard’s face—
—tear the guts from—
—tear—
Realization froze him in place, just before he let the power loose to turn the interloper inside out.
What am I doing?
He stopped himself, appalled, before the power got away from him; hauled it back and quashed it; dispersed it, let it drain out of him in a rush that left him trembling, this time not with anger, but with horror.
I nearly killed him—
—nearly—
—oh, gods—
Rage turned inward