Page 21

21

DAIN

S he sleeps, but I do not.

The storm outside rages, a beast tearing through the mountains, wind clawing at the entrance of the cave. The fire flickers, casting her in shadow, painting her too soft, too fragile against the harsh stone.

My hands flex at my sides, restless.

I should not be here.

I should not be watching her.

Yet, I cannot look away.

She is curled beneath the furs I threw at her earlier, her breath slow, steady, the lingering scent of the spring still clinging to her skin. There is no filth left, no trace of the blood and grime from before. Only her. Clean. Warm. Bare beneath that pathetic scrap of cloth she calls clothing.

Heat coils in my gut, sharp, unwanted.

She is human. A weakness wrapped in trembling flesh.

My hand moves, hovering just above the curve of her cheek. I should not touch her. But I do.

My fingers trail the edge of her jaw, a slow, lazy path that should not feel like a brand against my own skin. The warmth of her seeps into me, something treacherous, something that burrows deeper than I would like.

Her lips part slightly, a whisper of sound escaping her.

I jerk my hand back, exhaling sharply.

What am I doing?

I clench my fists, pressing them against my thighs, forcing my body into stillness, forcing my mind away from her. Away from the pull, from the thing between us that refuses to die.

She shifts in her sleep, her face softening, her body pressing deeper into the furs. I should be disgusted by the sight of her. I should want her dead.

But all I feel is reminded.

The memories come unbidden, slipping through the cracks of my mind, like blood seeping from a wound.

Another woman. Another lifetime.

A past buried beneath centuries of stone and silence.

Her face is lost to me, blurred at the edges, but the sensation remains. The way she felt beneath my hands, the way her magic thrummed through the air like a song meant only for me. The way she gazed at me as she betrayed me.

The woman who sealed me away.

The woman I should have killed.

I should kill Liora now. This is the only way. I can’t make the same mistakes.

Ending her is the best choice.

Destroy the link between past and present.

My hand curls around the hilt of my blade.

She stirs, lashes fluttering, breath catching.

I hesitate.

Something inside me snaps, recoils, resists.

What is wrong with me?

I shove away from the fire, dragging a hand through my hair, trying to breathe, trying to stop this madness before it consumes me. I need space. I need distraction.

I need the water.

Steam rises from the spring, curling through the air like whispering ghosts. The heat is nothing to me, I am always burning.

I sink into the depths, letting the warmth soak into my muscles, letting it ease the tension coiled too tightly beneath my skin.

My mind is a battlefield.

I do not understand what is happening to me.

The memories are too fractured, the past a jagged mess of instincts and fragmented truths.

But one thing is certain.

Liora is tangled in it. I do not like it.

I drag a hand over my face, exhaling roughly, trying to purge her from my thoughts. Trying to forget how she stared at me when she begged for answers, the way her hands trembled when she touched me in her fevered state.

The way she feels like something I’ve lost.

A sound shatters my thoughts.

A breath.

Soft. Close.

I freeze.

Slowly, I turn my head.

She is standing at the entrance of the chamber, her hair damp, tangled, her bare feet silent against the rough ground.

She is watching me.

Her lips part slightly, wanting to speak, but she does not.

A slow, lazy smirk curls at the tip of my mouth.

“Enjoying the view?”

Her breath hitches, barely audible.

She glares, but it is weak, unconvincing. “You?—”

“Me?”

Her fingers tighten around the fabric of her dress, as if that will shield her from me. As if I do not already see everything.

I let my head tilt back, the water lapping against my chest, my voice dropping lower. “You’re staring, little one.”

She swallows hard. “I—wasn’t?—”

I laugh, low, dark, sinful.

She goes rigid, her cheeks burning, her entire body betraying her.

She wants to look.

She wants to run. And she doesn’t know which urge to listen to.

Something dangerous and satisfied coils through me at the sight.

She should be afraid.

Instead, she is tempted.

Tempted by a monster. Tempted by me.

I move without thinking.

She gasps as my hand shoots out, gripping her wrist, dragging her toward the edge.

Her pulse races beneath my fingers.

“Dain—”

I pull.

She falls and the water swallows her whole.