Page 18

H is eyes opened like twin flames igniting in the darkness—molten gold irises that seem to burn from within.

Before I can complete my strike, Dayn’s hand snaps up with inhuman speed, catching my wrist in a grip that feels like heated iron.

The obsidian blade hovers useless, inches from his chest as he smiles up at me, his expression calm.

There’s not a trace of surprise in those burning eyes—only a predatory satisfaction that turns my blood cold.

“Esme Salem,” he says, my true name rolling off his tongue with disturbing familiarity. “How thoughtful of you to pay me a visit.”

I twist my arm, trying to break his hold, but his fingers only tighten until I feel the bones in my wrist grinding together.

In a blur of movement too fast to track, Dayn pulls me forward while simultaneously rising from the bed.

The world tilts, and suddenly my back slams against the mattress, the air rushing from my lungs in a surprised gasp.

His body pins mine, one hand still locked around my wrist, forcing the blade away from us both.

His other arm bars across my throat—not choking, but a clear warning.

The heat of him burns through my clothes. This close, I can see faint patterns beneath his skin, glowing ember-lines that trace his veins and muscle. Dragon magic. Ancient and terrible.

“If you wanted me undressed,” he murmurs, his face hovering inches above mine, “you could have said so.”

My free hand finds the secondary blade at my hip, but Dayn shifts his weight, his knee pressing my arm into the mattress before I can draw the weapon. The crimson sheets tangle around us, silk sliding against my skin like blood.

“I’d rather stab you than touch you,” I spit back, struggling against his hold.

His laugh is low and dangerous. “And yet, here we are, doing both.”

I try to buck him off, but it’s like attempting to shift a mountain. His body is a furnace against mine, radiating heat that makes sweat bead at my temples. The runes on my obsidian blade pulse in response to his proximity, as if recognizing something kindred in his unnatural fire.

“Killing me is impossible for you, little witch,” Dayn says, his voice dropping to a conversational tone that’s somehow more frightening than anger. “Though I admire your courage in trying.”

“I’ve killed things more dangerous than you.”

“No,” he says simply. “You haven’t.”

His certainty unnerves me. I scan the room, looking for anything that might help me escape, but there’s nothing within reach. Just the austere furnishings and the man pinning me to his bed.

“I knew you’d come,” Dayn continues. “The moment I marked you with the runes, I knew you’d try to eliminate the threat. Darkbirch is nothing if not predictable in their paranoia.”

“It’s not paranoia when clearblood extremists are actually hunting us,” I counter, still testing his grip for weaknesses. There are none.

“Is that really what you think I am? A clearblood zealot?” Something like disappointment crosses his face. “You haven’t been paying attention in class, Esme.”

The way he says my first name sends an unwelcome shiver through me.

I wrench my hand back, twisting in a move that should have broken his hold.

Instead, he lets me go deliberately, my sudden freedom throwing me off balance.

I lunge sideways, rolling away from him across the silken sheets, but he’s faster.

His hand catches my ankle, dragging me back beneath him with effortless strength.

“Let me go,” I hiss, my free leg kicking out at his chest.

He catches it mid-air, his burning palm wrapping around my calf. “Not until we understand each other.”

I twist again, using the momentum to bring my knee up between us. It connects with his abdomen, but he barely flinches. Instead, he shifts his weight, pressing me deeper into the mattress. His face hovers above mine, those golden eyes reflecting flames that aren’t in the room.

His breath fans hot against my face, carrying that same ancient scent—copper and amber, something elemental that makes my pulse quicken despite myself. I slam my forehead against his, a desperate move that sends stars exploding behind my eyes but barely causes him to blink.

“Is this what you wanted?” he growls, catching both my wrists in one hand and pinning them above my head. He slides off my garrote bracelet and chucks it across the room. “To feel what real power is?”

I arch my back, trying to throw him off, my body sliding against his bare chest. The contact sends an electric current racing through my veins that has nothing to do with magic and everything to do with the impossible heat of his skin against mine.

“I want you dead,” I snarl.

His eyes darken to burnished bronze as his free hand finds my throat, thumb pressing lightly against my pulse point. I feel my heartbeat hammering against his hand, betraying the electricity coursing through me.

“If you wanted me dead,” he whispers, his lips almost brushing my ear, “you would have struck faster, while my eyes were closed.”

I twist violently, managing to free one hand. In a flash, I’ve slipped the silver dagger from my boot and drive it toward his side. He catches my wrist again, but not before the blade grazes his ribs, drawing a thin line of blackish blood flecked with gold.

His eyes flare with something primal—anger, respect, hunger—I can’t tell which. The room’s temperature spikes as he wrenches the dagger from my grip and tosses it across the room.

“You fight dirty,” he says, voice rough.

“I fight to survive,” I counter, using his momentary distraction to hook my leg around his waist and using the leverage to flip us. For a heartbeat, I’m on top, straddling him, my hands braced against his chest. His skin burns beneath my palms like a forge.

“There she is,” he murmurs, a dangerous smile curving his lips. “The predator beneath the mask.”

I press my advantage, reaching for the obsidian blade I’d dropped earlier, but Dayn surges upward, one hand tangling in my hair, yanking my head back to expose my throat. His other arm locks around my waist, holding me against him.

“You’re not the only one who can fight dirty,” he growls against my neck, his breath scorching my skin.

I claw at his shoulders, nails digging into flesh that feels like heated marble. He hisses, not in pain but something darker. He flips me onto my back again with such force that the air leaves my lungs in a gasp.

I lash out with my elbow, catching him across the jaw. His head jerks sideways, but he recovers instantly, capturing both my hands and returning them above my head. Our bodies press together, chests, hips, the thin fabric of my clothes doing nothing to shield me from the scorching heat of him.

I buck against him, trying to throw him off, but succeed only in creating a friction that sends a dangerous current of awareness through both of us. His eyes flare brighter, pupils dilating as his grip on my wrists tightens.

The air crackles with tension, neither of us moving.

My chest heaves against his, our breaths coming in rapid bursts as we lock eyes—his molten gold burning into my disguised blue.

Something electric passes between us, a recognition beyond words.

Power recognizing power. Predator recognizing predator—even though his physical strength is far greater than mine .

I can feel his heartbeat hammering against mine, unnaturally hot, unnaturally fast. The runes he branded me with pulse in time with it, as if responding to his proximity. My muscles strain against his grip, but I’ve stopped actively fighting. He’s stopped actively restraining.

His voice drops to a low growl. “I suggest we call this a truce, for now.”