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The rain. The ancient drums. Thunder. Her heartbeat. Cyrus’s boots on the path. Bleu’s hooves.

Night had fallen as the storm raged. Behind her on the wooded path, Cyrus and Bleu’s darkened silhouette followed behind. Lightning above the tree line cast flashes of pale light, illuminating his determined expression and Bleu’s drenched coat.

They hadn’t spoken since they’d fled Lake Glenn, two miles ago. The rain pelted the path, and the thunder rattled her ribcage. Her shoulder ached, and her arm was stiff. Her boots slipped through mud, and her balance wavered. She yelped as strong hands caught her waist and held her upright, but a glance over her shoulder revealed Cyrus behind her.

“We won’t make it to Callum safely in the storm,” he said, glancing at her wound.

Evelyn’s stubbornness flared. She’d sunk an ancient kelpie. She could make it back to Callum, but sleep beckoned, her eyelids heavy. Evelyn had exhausted her magic, drained her energy.

“You’re right,” she relented.

Farther down the path, the trees thickened, but so did the rocky terrain. Cyrus grabbed Evelyn’s hand, threading his fingers through hers and leading them off the path. Lightning flashed, revealing an inlet of rock, water trilling over the side but big enough to give them relief from the storm until it passed.

Thank the Goddess, Cyrus had seen it in the night. She released Cyrus’s hand as he tied Bleu to the closest tree. Evelyn shuddered, unable to look at the gray steed without thinking of the kelpie. Its relentless bite was fresh on her shoulder, surfacing the memory of its teeth digging into her flesh.

But the warm rush of her returned flame was just as fresh. Evelyn teetered between relief and worry. Yes, it had come back. Again. It had also gone out, buried so deep within her that she’d been unable to reach it and use it. What good was her power if she didn’t have the ability to tap it?

She wandered off to explore the small cave and found it empty, aside from the moss expanding over the walls, a plush shade of bright green that wouldn’t look out of place in Aster’s shop.

Evelyn unfastened her cloak and draped it over a large rock. She gathered a few lonesome logs and piled them nearby. Thrumming her fingers in the air and flicking her wrist, she felt excitement pulse through her as flame danced from finger to finger on her command. It was back. A part of her again.

She conjured enough energy to light a fire, the flames snaking down to the logs she’d stacked at the center of the cave. The walls glowed orange and green, flickering with her shadow.

A larger one entered the space. Cyrus. She took in his amber eyes, wet hair, taut jaw. He, too, removed his cloak to lay it out to dry. The top of his head almost reached the ceiling of the cave, and as he stood near the fire, Evelyn swore the cave shrank in size.

It was too small for two. Too small for both of them. Fucking flames, he was so close.

“Are you all right?” Cyrus asked, looking her over for what felt like the hundredth time since they’d left Lake Glenn.

Evelyn couldn’t meet his gaze, unable to face whatever else lay beneath his stare. She memorized the dance of the flame, gripping her bruised shoulder from the kelpie’s bite. She was grateful for her witch healing, running her hands over the puncture wounds that had closed over.

Flashes of their escape danced with the flames. Yanking Cyrus from the water. Their eye contact. Their wet shirts sticking together.

Evelyn shut her eyes, wishing the cave was bigger.

“Let me take a look,” he said, stepping closer and taking hold of her shoulder all too quickly.

Evelyn gasped. Cyrus paused, apologized, and loosened his grip. He believed it to be pain, but Evelyn felt the electricity of his touch, flaring into something she’d never experienced before.

Cyrus ran his thumb under the sleeve of her blouse, eliciting a heat in Evelyn’s belly. Her heart hammered as their eyes met in the dim light, the rain pattering outside the cave. Cyrus searched her face, the fire casting shades of gold and honey through his eyes. A question lay in them, asking if he should continue, waiting for her to say yes.

Evelyn stayed silent, tried to master her breathing, and nodded. With one gentle tug, Cyrus pulled the sleeve down past her shoulder, exposing the purplish-black bruise arranged in a half-circle. His nostrils flared, his jawline ticked. His usual kind and thoughtful expression shuddered into beastly brooding.

“Can you move your shoulder?” he asked, voice thick and low.

Evelyn nodded, shrugging and rolling her shoulder back despite the slight pain throbbing down her arm. “Nothing’s broken.”

Cyrus sighed, his expression relaxing. He ran his thumb over the biggest bruise, gentle and soothing, and lifted Evelyn’s sleeve back over the wound.

The fire crackled, and Cyrus’s gaze locked with Evelyn’s, and they grew closer, like forces pulling each other inch by inch, a thread growing shorter and shorter.

Tugging.

Her heart thudded, her magic swelled. Eager and anticipatory. His breath tickled her nose, water droplets falling from his hair. A single bead landed and traveled down Evelyn’s nose, leaving a cold path in its wake. Cyrus followed its movement until it dropped to her lips.

His eyes flared, and Evelyn knew in that moment, with his hand on her shoulder, the rain pattering outside, and the blazing sliver of space between them, that she wanted Cyrus to kiss her.

It was inappropriate. They worked together. Wrong and selfish. She’d leave after they solved the murders. And even more foolish and misplaced. She was betrothed to Kade Drengr, Son of the God. But Evelyn wanted it, nonetheless. Her heart thudded with need. She leaned closer, her magic egging her on.