Page 20

"Leave our village," he says, his voice steadier than his hands. "And don't come back. Whatever was between you and Ronnie is over."
Over. The word echoes through me, hollow and final.
Why does it hurt? This was nothing—she was nothing—just a pleasant diversion on my regular travels. A fierce, beautiful human with sharp eyes and a sharper tongue who happened to be exceptional in bed. Nothing more.
So why am I standing here, surrounded by hostile villagers, with something like desperation clawing at my insides?
I take to the air in a rush of wings, leaving the village behind me. The wind streams through my hair as I soar upward, my fury propelling me higher until the cluster of buildings shrinks to insignificance below. Just like the humans who live there—insignificant, small-minded creatures with their pitchforks and their judgments.
My hands clench into fists as I bank toward the east, following the familiar route to New Solas. The mountain peaks shimmer on the horizon, their snow-capped summits catching the afternoon light. I've made this journey so many times I could fly it blindfolded. Each month, my lord sends me to carry messages, to charm information from reluctant sources, to be the handsome face of his house.
And each month, I've found myself drifting east first, making that small detour to a village that held no importance except for one particular shop with its particular owner.
"Fuck," I mutter to the empty sky, the word lost in the rush of air around me.
Why am I so bothered by this? Humans come and go. They're ephemeral creatures—here today, gone tomorrow. It shouldn't matter that she's disappeared. It shouldn't sting like rejection. It shouldn't feel like loss.
I drop lower, skimming over a dense forest where the trees blur into a carpet of green beneath me. My wings adjust automatically, riding the thermals that rise from the sun-warmed earth. The physical sensation grounds me, reminds me who—what—I am.
Xaphan. Messenger of Solas. Not some lovesick fool pining after a sharp-tongued human woman.
Yet her absence gnaws at me, a persistent ache I can't seem to shake. It's been a month since I found her shop shuttered, her small apartment above it cleared of her belongings. A month of telling myself I don't care, that I'm merely curious. A month of carrying that damn bracelet in my pocket, its weight a constant reminder of my own foolishness.
I'd bought it on impulse in New Solas, passing a jeweler's stall in the market. The delicate metalwork had caught my eye, the amber and blue beads reminding me of how sunlight filtered through her windows, catching in her auburn hair. I'd imagined how it would look against her pale skin, how her lips would purse as she pretended not to be pleased.
"Pathetic," I growl, pushing myself faster, higher, as if I could outfly these thoughts.
I haven't been with anyone else since I met her. Not for lack of opportunity—there are plenty in New Solas who would welcome a night with me, xaphan or not. Something about the thought turns my stomach, though. The idea of another's hands, another's lips, another's body beneath mine feels... wrong.
I catch myself mid-thought, shocked by my own sentimentality. This isn't me. I don't get attached. I don't yearn. Icertainly don't miss humans who clearly want nothing to do with me.
Yet here I am, carrying her bracelet like a token, returning to her empty shop like a ghost haunting its own grave.
The Ridge looms ahead, the mountain range that marks the border between the human territories and New Solas. I adjust my course, angling upward to clear the highest peaks. The air grows colder, thinner, but my wings are strong enough to handle the altitude. Unlike human wings—flimsy, delicate things that snap at the slightest pressure—my gray-blue wings are built for power, for endurance.
I catch an updraft and rise sharply, the sudden acceleration sending a rush of adrenaline through me. This is what I should be focusing on. The freedom of flight, the mission ahead, the favor of my lord. Not the emptiness in a human village, not the silence of a shop that once held argumentative banter and breathless sighs.
Not the memory of her gray eyes, sharp and knowing, watching me from across her small bed.
I shake my head violently, trying to dislodge the images. What is wrong with me? I've never been this fixated before. It was just sex—incredible, mind-blowing sex, but still just physical pleasure. Nothing more.
Then why am I carrying her bracelet? Why do I keep returning to that village? Why does the thought of another woman's touch repel me?
The questions circle like predators, waiting for weakness, waiting for admission. I refuse to give it to them. Instead, I focus on the landscape passing beneath me, the glitter of New Solas appearing on the horizon, its golden spires catching the sunlight like beacons.
I need to get her out of my system, that's all. Find someone else. Move on.
My stomach twists at the thought, a visceral rejection that surprises me with its intensity. But I ignore that, too.
10
RONNIE
The pain rips through my body, white-hot and merciless. I arch my back against my bed, fingers clawing the sheets as another contraction crashes over me. My hair plasters to my forehead, drenched in sweat.
"I can't—" The words choke in my throat as the pain recedes momentarily, leaving me gasping. "I can't do this."
Harmony's face hovers above mine, her features calm despite the chaos unfolding. Those hazel-green eyes hold mine steady, refusing to let me drift away on waves of panic.