Page 19

19

DAIN

H er fingers dig into my wrist, nails pressing against my skin as she tries to fight free, but she is weak.

Too weak.

I let go.

She falls to the ground, coughing, dragging in air as if she wasn’t certain she’d ever breathe again. I watch her, expression blank, ignoring the way my instincts hiss in irritation at the sight of her bruised throat, the red imprints of my claws still fresh against her pale skin.

She glares up at me, eyes sharp, defiant even in her exhaustion.

“Why did you do that? What’s with you?” she rasps, voice raw. “Not only did you choke me, you left me! Again.”

The accusation burns through the space between us.

I don’t respond.

I turn my back on her, my hands curling into fists as I try to steady the storm inside me. She should not matter. She should have never mattered. But every time I try to put distance between us, I find myself dragged back, ensnared, caged in ways I don’t understand.

The silence stretches, thick with unspoken words, but she refuses to let it settle.

“You fought that thing,” she says, voice quieter now, hesitant. “The gargoyle before you—he couldn’t even touch it. But you did.”

I exhale slowly, resisting the urge to lash out, to silence her questions before they take root.

“What was it?” she presses, shifting slightly, struggling to sit upright. “Why was it after me?”

“It doesn’t matter,” I growl.

“It does.”

She forces herself to her feet, wobbling but standing, stubborn as ever. “When it touched me, I saw—” Her voice falters, and I can hear the confusion in it, the fear.

I should stop her.

But I don’t.

“I saw a woman,” she continues, swallowing hard. “She was fighting it. She was sealing it away.”

The breath leaves my lungs in a slow, cold rush.

I go still.

The mountains around us are silent, the wind curling through the rocks like whispers of things long dead. She watches me carefully, eyes searching, peeling away at something I don’t want her to see.

I should turn away. I should walk. I should say nothing.

But instead,

“Do not speak of her.”

Liora’s brow furrows. “Who?—?”

I step closer, my body a wall of stone and heat, crowding her, forcing her back against the jagged cliff. “Do not ever speak of her.”

Her breath hitches, but she doesn’t shrink away. “Who was she?”

“I said?—”

“I need to know.”

My hands snap out, caging her against the stone. “No, you do not.”

Her jaw tightens, frustration flickering across her features. “I feel connected to her.”

I bare my teeth, irritation curling through my chest like wildfire. Of course, she does.

She always had to be tangled in things best left buried.

Liora shakes her head, voice rising. “Why does that thing want me? What is it? Why does it feel?—”

“Because you’re trouble.”

The words cut through her like a sword, sharp and ruthless, meant to wound. I see the flicker of something in her eyes, something wounded, betrayed, but she masks it quickly, straightening her spine.

“Then leave me,” she says, voice cool. “If I’m such a burden, go.”

Her defiance grates against my skin like raw stone.

I wish I could walk away from her and never look back.

But something inside me is anchored to her, bound by a force I don’t understand, a force that makes me fight for her when I should let her die, that makes me claim her when I should have left her in the ruins.

I hate it.

I loathe her for it.

But not nearly as much as I should.

The silence stretches between us, thick and charged, neither of us willing to break it. Then, with a slow, measured breath, I pull away, stepping back, forcing the tension to uncoil.

She watches me warily, her fists clenched at her sides, still waiting for an answer she will never get.

I roll my shoulders, shifting my wings slightly before speaking.

“I don’t know.”

Liora blinks. “What?”

“My memories,” I grit my teeth. “They are fractured. Scattered. Some things I know by instinct alone. But that thing,” My lips curl in irritation, in something close to rage. “I do not remember it. I only know it is old. Older than even I.”

She exhales, shaking her head. “That’s not good enough.”

“It will have to be.”

She glares, but for once, she has nothing to say.

She looks exhausted, her body barely holding itself together, blood still drying on her skin, her limbs trembling with unspent energy.

She needs rest. She needs to be tended to.

I detest that I care.

I huff out a breath, turning on my heel. “Come.”

She hesitates, still waiting for something more. She won’t get it.

With a quiet curse, she follows.

I lead her into another cave just as the first drop of rain hits my skin.

A storm is coming.