Page 18

DOMNO

T he morning air tastes different. Lighter somehow, as if the ash and grit that constantly coat Velzaroth have momentarily lifted.

I'm leaning against the outer wall of Esalyn's home, watching as she braids Erisen's dark hair with nimble fingers.

The boy's eyes keep drifting to the wooden bird I carved him, now clutched in his small hands like it might take flight if he loosens his grip.

"Hold still," Esalyn murmurs, her lips quirking when he squirms impatiently. "Almost done."

I find myself mapping the curve of her smile, committing to memory the way sunlight catches in her hair.

Last night plays through my mind in a constant loop—the weight of her against me, the trust in her eyes when she surrendered to pleasure.

The memory warms my blood even as it unsettles something deep in my chest.

This isn't what I came for. Not even close.

"Can we go to the eastern market today?" Erisen asks, turning those golden eyes—so like mine it sometimes unnerves me—up toward his mother. "Domno said there might be new stones there."

"After I work." Esalyn secures the end of the braid, then presses a kiss to the crown of his head. "And only if you finish your reading."

The boy nods solemnly, then slips from her grasp and races to me, bird still clutched in his hand. "Will you come with us?"

I reach down without thought, ruffling his hair and destroying a portion of Esalyn's careful work. "Of course."

The ease of the answer startles me. No calculation. No weighing of risks and benefits. Just... yes. Because I want to be where they are.

When have I ever allowed myself what I simply want?

Erisen beams up at me, then darts back inside to gather his books. I watch him go, this child who carries demon blood but none of our scars. Not yet.

"You're staring," Esalyn says, moving toward me. Her steps are lighter today, something guarded having fallen away between us.

I don't deny it. "Hard not to."

A flush creeps up her neck at my words, and I find myself fascinated by the path it takes. Without thinking, I reach out to trace it with my fingertips. She leans into the touch like a flower seeking sun.

"Thank you," she whispers. "For last night."

I want to tell her there's nothing to thank me for. That the privilege was mine. That I've killed men and collected bounties and survived a brother's death, but nothing has ever felt as momentous as watching her come apart in my arms.

Instead, I just nod, words failing me as they often do. My hand slides to the nape of her neck, feeling the warmth of her skin, the delicate bones beneath.

"Go help him with his books," I say, withdrawing reluctantly. "I'll help him read today if you'd like."

She nods and leaves, and I linger in the doorway, surveying the narrow street.

It's habit, this automatic cataloging of potential threats, escape routes, vantage points.

Except today, the assessment feels perfunctory.

A gesture so familiar my body performs it while my mind wanders elsewhere—back to the way Esalyn's breath caught when I touched her, forward to the moment we'll return from the market and put Erisen to bed.

I'm getting soft. Distracted.

And some buried part of me, the part that's been hollowed out since Zevan's death, doesn't mind it.

I straighten, shifting the weight of my blades against my ribs, and turn to follow them inside. That's when I notice it—the absence of song from the Black Pitter birds that usually perch on the rusted gutter across the street. Silence where there should be morning calls.

Something's wrong.

My body goes still, senses expanding outward. I catalog everything—the faint breeze carrying market smells, the distant clatter of a cart over stone, the weight of my knives and the distance to Esalyn and Erisen inside. Threat assessment becomes instinct, immediate and sharp.

There. A shift in light. The barest disturbance of ash on a rooftop diagonally across from us.

Too deliberate. Too controlled.

I catch the glint of metal—not a random flash but the calculated angle of a blade positioned to reflect nothing. Only years of tracking prey allowed me to spot it at all.

And then I see him, a silhouette melding with the shadows of a chimney stack.

A dark form poised with the unnatural stillness that comes only with supreme confidence or supreme patience.

I know that posture—the head tilted slightly, the weight balanced perfectly on the balls of the feet, ready to spring or strike.

My blood goes cold, colder than it's been since I first caught sight of Esalyn and tracked her through Velzaroth's winding streets.

Kareth.

He hasn't changed—still that same lean, predatory grace that made him feared even among other hunters.

His charcoal-black skin absorbs the shadows around him, making him nearly invisible except for the amber glow of his eyes and the crimson undertones that shimmer across his form when he finally shifts.

Four years since our paths crossed on that blood-soaked hunt in Ikoth's outer reaches. Four years since he swore to repay me for taking his prize. The bounty that made my reputation and shattered his.

Those stag-like horns rising from his head cast splintered shadows across the rooftop as he straightens, knowing he's been spotted. Not hiding anymore. Making a point.

He's found us.

Vorrak didn't just raise the bounty. He brought in the one demon hunter who would pursue this job as more than business—as personal vendetta.

Kareth's mouth splits into that familiar, too-wide smile—all sharp teeth and no warmth. Even from this distance, I can feel the cold calculation in his gaze, assessing me as I assess him.

I've lowered my guard. Stopped watching the shadows. Stopped measuring threats.

The worst mistake a hunter can make.

In that moment of recognition, understanding crashes through me like a physical blow. This isn't just about a bounty anymore. This is about everything I've built with Esalyn and Erisen. Everything I almost let myself believe I could keep.

I lunge through the doorway where they are both about to emerge, gripping Esalyn's shoulder with more force than intended. Her skin flinches beneath my fingers, but I can't soften my touch—not now.

"Get Erisen and stay inside," I hiss, already moving back toward the door. "Away from windows. Now."

She reads the danger in my eyes instantly, mother's instinct sharpening her movements as she rushes toward her son. I don't wait to see them secure—can't afford to. Kareth won't give them that time.

My boots scrape against stone as I launch myself upward, grabbing the edge of a sagging gutter to haul myself onto the neighboring roof. My muscles burn with the force of the climb, but fear drives me faster than pain. Each breath feels scorched in my lungs, every heartbeat a countdown.

Across the broken skyline, Kareth has already disappeared, melting into the labyrinthine gaps between buildings. He knows exactly where I've been staying. Exactly who I've been with. Which means he's been watching—for how long?

The thought sends ice through my veins as I leap between structures, using chimneys and uneven walls as leverage. Below, morning market-goers scatter as my shadow passes overhead, but I barely register them. All I see is the path to cut Kareth off before he reaches them.

But demons don't move like humans. We flow like something liquid and lethal, and Kareth is one of the best. By the time I spot him again, he's already ahead of me, those stag-like horns silhouetted against the reddish morning sky as he vaults between two crumbling towers.

He's not running from me. He's circling back.

"Fuck," I snarl, changing direction so abruptly my boots skid on loose tiles. I miscalculated. He's not making a direct path—he's looping around to approach from the blind side of Esalyn's home.

I drop from the rooftop into a narrow alley, landing hard enough that the impact shock travels up my spine. No time for caution. No time for anything but raw speed as I charge through the maze of streets, shoving past anyone too slow to move.

The tiny house comes into view just as Kareth's sleek form disappears through the door I left ajar in my haste.

The door I left open for him.

My vision narrows to a tunnel of red-tinged fury as I burst through the entrance, knives already drawn. But I'm too late.

The scene unfolds like something from a nightmare. Kareth stands in the center of the single room, his amber eyes gleaming with undisguised triumph. One clawed hand rests casually on the hilt of his blade as he leans against the rickety table.

Opposite him, Esalyn stands with her back pressed against the far wall, Erisen clutched against her side, half-hidden behind her skirts. Her face is a mask of terror, but her stance is pure protection—a mother ready to die before letting anything touch her child.

"There he is," Kareth drawls, his voice smooth as spilled oil. "Our mutual friend."

The air in the room shifts as I step fully inside, tension crackling like gathering storm energy. Kareth turns his gaze to me, those stag horns casting twisted shadows across the wall behind him. His smile widens, showing each of his unnaturally sharp teeth.

"I was just explaining to this lovely woman why we're both here. Catching her up on the situation, you might say."

"Shut your mouth," I growl, positioning myself between them, though it's clear the damage is already done.

"Oh, but I've barely started, Domno." Kareth's voice is almost playful, savoring each syllable. "I was telling her about the five hundred novas Lord Vorrak is offering for her return. A tidy sum, wouldn't you say? More than enough for a broken hunter to drink himself to death with."

The words land exactly as he intended—like poison darts finding every vulnerable spot. I can feel Esalyn's eyes on me, can almost hear the rapid beat of her heart.

"Is it true?" Her voice barely rises above a whisper, but it cuts through the room like a blade. "You were sent to find me? For him?" The words break as she asks, "You knew?"

I knew when she told me what she was running from? I knew why she looked so scared? I knew what she was protecting Erisen from and forced my way into their lives still?

Yes. I knew. But I refuse to tell her that, to handle any of this until Kareth is gone. I'll make her understand, once she's safe.

I turn to face her, and the betrayal etched into her features hits me harder than any physical blow. Erisen peers from behind her, his golden eyes wide with confusion and fear, still clutching the wooden bird I carved for him.

"Esalyn—" I start, but Kareth cuts me off.

"Oh, he's been looking for you for weeks. Tracking you. Following you." He gestures expansively. "Lord Vorrak was quite specific about wanting his property returned intact. His property and his... offspring."

Esalyn's face drains of color, her knuckles white where they grip Erisen's shoulders.

"You knew," she whispers, answering her earlier question, and the light in her eyes—the warmth I'd seen just minutes ago—flickers and dies. "All this time, you knew who we were. What he wanted." She shakes her head. "I never should have trusted a demon ."

And the way she says it is like a damn blade to my chest.