“Of course.” The pain abruptly ceased as he did. “Everything within me desires to be a part of you, Arabel, to speak with you at ease, no matter where you are.” He slid one hand around the back of her head and gently drew their foreheads together. His warm breath whispered across her lips. “Has the pain receded?”
“Aye, ’tis gone.” She rubbed her forehead against his and her fire once again flared. She twisted out of his hold and paced the room. “My control isnae what it should be and ’tis only getting worse.”
“I hate it when you force a separation between us.” He growled under his breath but thankfully remained right where he was and didn’t bring her back to his side.
“Is everything all right in here?” Kirk strode into the solar in a blue tunic with his clan plaid belted at his waist, sheathed wrist daggers glinting from under his cuffs. He stopped before them, one hand resting on the hilt of his mighty sword as he eyed Finlay. “You and Julia seem to be having a rather intense conversation.”
“This isn’t Julia but her sister Arabel.” Finlay stroked the mark she’d given him on his neck.
“Oh, my apologies, Arabel.” Kirk glanced at her. “I wasn’t aware you and Julia were twins. She mentioned a sister, but not an identical twin.”
“’Tis quite all right. My clansmen mistake us from time to time, as I imagine your kin do with you and your brothers.”
“Constantly. It’s a never-ending issue.” He crossed to the corner padded chair, sat and eyed Finlay. “Last night and this morning I’ve sensed waves of both contentment and frustration emanating from you. What’s going on?”
“I’d like to know the same.” Iain walked in with Isla at his side and closed the door behind them. He trod to the desk, moved the quill and ink bottle and perched on the front edge. “It’s near impossible to focus with your constant mood changes, Finlay, and I need an answer.”
“Then to explain, allow me to introduce you all to my mate.” Finlay caught her hand. “Arabel is Julia’s sister and Nessa’s granddaughter. She also holds the fae skill of fire.”
“You’re a fire-wielder?” Isla’s clutched one hand to her mouth. “Fire truly comes forth from your fingertips?”
“Aye, it does.” She tugged free from Finlay and crossed to the open window overlooking the inner courtyard. The morning sun beamed through and played over the stack of wood set neatly to the side of the fireplace. She needed to expend this excess of heat roaring through her. She walked to the hearth and lowered to her haunches, her sapphire skirts settling about her. Swiftly, she brought her fire forth and it licked over the wood and chased up the flue.
“That’s incredible.” Awe crossed Iain’s face.
“Her fire is incredible, but it’s also very deadly.” Compassion filled Isla’s eyes as she looked at her. “There have only ever been seven fire-wielders born, and the rare and deadly skill is the only one to ever die out amongst the fae.”
“Only seven? Are you sure?” The news sent a shockwave spearing through Arabel, one she couldn’t halt. The sudden chill of it penetrated her from the inside out and her cold-fire roared to life.
“I’m certain, and any form of intimacy isn’t permitted for a fire-wielder.”
“No, that I won’t accept.” Finlay planted his hands on his hips. “There must be a way to get around her skill.”
“I agree.” Iain tapped the desk, his gaze narrowed. “The mated bond wouldn’t have formed between Finlay and Arabel otherwise. They are a match in every way even though it doesn’t appear it.”
“I feel cold, very cold.” Arabel shivered. Feeling cold was one of the worst signs for one with her skill. Excessive cold-fire, when it generated within a fire-wielder, could take over and kill them from within with its blaze of cold. She rubbed her arms, focused fully on her skill and drew her fire’s heat through her in an attempt to curb the cold-fire. ’Twas tricky to get the balance just right and not overexpose herself to her own heat. She must maintain what was required to keep her body and blood warm but not send her hot fire racing through her. Eyes squeezed shut, she attempted to gain back the control she’d lost by the rapid heaving of her emotions. A little hot fire at a time, enough to ground her as she permitted its internal release.
“What’s happening?” Finlay crouched in front of her.
“No! Leave her be.” Isla seized his arm and pulled him back to his feet. “Finlay, you can’t touch her right now. Her cold-fire roars and could take her life. See how she shivers as if with a chill. That is the sign a fire-wielder is consumed by their cold-fire. I’ve read about it in my clan’s history books.”