Page 7

KAIA

T he fucking crypt is alive.

The walls are breathing, pulsing—like a heartbeat made of stone and shadow. The second that asshole bolts, the whole chamber shifts under my boots, groaning like it’s waking up after a thousand-year nap.

I don’t even think.

I run after him.

I don’t know what the hell this place is, don’t know why I came here tonight except that same damn itch that’s been clawing at my insides since Jersey led me here.

Veil tremors, prophecy rumors, weird-ass dreams—I followed the trail like some possessed bloodhound and landed face-to-face with him again.

And now he’s sprinting through a collapsing tomb like it’s a morning jog.

“Stop!” I shout, feet slamming against the slick stone floor as I dodge crumbling debris and nearly trip over a busted skeleton arm. “You bastard—stop!”

He glances back. Briefly. Just long enough for those too-pale, too-fucking-intense eyes to flash in my direction.

Smug, pretty, arrogant.

I pick up speed. My body moves like it’s on instinct, training taking over, Order conditioning hardwired into my spine.

I tackle him.

We crash against the wall hard, stone cracking under the impact. He grunts, rolls us over, and suddenly I’m pinned beneath a lean wall of muscle and heat and something that hums under his skin like restrained lightning.

“You don’t wanna do this,” he growls, low and feral.

I slam my knee into his side.

“I already am.”

He lets out a grunt, but I’m fast, faster than most. I’ve always been. It’s part of what made me a prodigy inside the Order. My body reacts before my brain catches up, before logic and hesitation can ruin a good opening.

I twist, elbow up, and catch him in the jaw.

He stumbles back, wiping blood from his mouth with the back of his hand like it’s nothing. Like it’s fun .

“You hit like a Purist,” he mutters.

“Lucky for me, I’m not aiming to impress.”

I charge again.

This time, he lets me get close.

Stupid. Except, he wants me close.

He grabs my wrist mid-swing, twists. I spin out of it and go low, trying to sweep his legs. He jumps clean over it and drops behind me. I turn too slow, and suddenly his arm is across my throat.

He doesn’t squeeze. Not hard.

But it’s a warning.

And holy shit , he’s strong. Not Order-strong. Not soldier-strong.

Supernatural strong.

I slam my head back, connecting with his face. He grunts again and lets go just long enough for me to break free, pivot, and draw my dagger.

“Try again, freak,” I hiss, blade aimed at his throat.

He bares his teeth.

And that’s when I see it.

The shift.

For a heartbeat, his face changes. Not just emotion. Bone. His irises flash molten gold, his jaw stretches, fangs lengthen. Then it’s gone.

But I saw it.

Vampire. No—wolf too. Both.

“What the fuck are you?” I whisper.

His expression tightens. For a second, he looks… tired. Like I just asked a question that hurts more than any blade.

“I’m what happens when the world breaks its own rules,” he says quietly.

Then he lunges.

We clash, blades and fists and breath and rage. He’s not trying to kill me—I can feel it. Every move is precise, controlled. Defensive. He’s trying to disarm me.

But I’m not letting up. I want answers.

I need them.

Every strike is a scream. Every block a plea.

Tell me why I feel this pull.

Tell me why you make my bones hum.

Tell me what the Order never did.

I slice toward his shoulder. He dodges.

He grabs my wrist again, but this time I throw myself backward, using the momentum to land a kick square to his gut. He stumbles.

The tablet from the tomb clatters to the floor between us.

Its glow pulses faster. Hotter.

Like it knows.

We both reach for it.

But I hesitate.

Just a fraction of a second.

Because something in the energy makes my skin burn. Not pain. Just… truth .

It terrifies me.

And that’s all he needs.

He snatches the tablet, tucks it into his coat, and backs toward the corridor behind him.

“No—no, no, no—” I move to follow, but the path behind him starts to crumble. Stone drops in thick slabs, sealing the exit like the crypt is helping him flee.

I hurl my blade.

It bounces off the closing stone with a final, mocking clang .

And he’s gone.

Again.

I stand there breathing hard, blood dripping from my lip, fists clenched so tight my knuckles scream. My dagger lies a few feet away, useless. The tablet is gone . The crypt is still. Silent.

I lost my mark.

Me.

Kaia fucking Draven.

Order’s rising star. Top of my class. Untouchable.

I never lose my mark. Ever.

And now I’m standing in a goddamn Fae crypt with no backup, no plan, and a chest full of questions I don’t know how to fucking answer.

Who is he?

Why do I feel like I already know him?

And why does it feel like something inside me chose him the second our eyes met?

I sink down against the wall, knees drawn up, heart pounding against bone like it’s trying to break free.

The Order trained me to fight monsters.

Nobody told me what to do when one looked back with eyes that made me question my whole existence.