Page 23

23

DAIN

H er mouth keeps flashing in my mind even if I don’t want to.

I don’t want to think about her hands, about the way her fingers clutched at me, pulling, wanting.

Her taste lingers in my lips even if I hate it; I loathe the way she melted against me like she belonged there, the way her breath trembled as she let me take.

It meant nothing.

It should have been nothing.

But my hands still burn, my skin still feels her, and I hate it.

I need to put distance between us.

I move away, stripping the soaked remnants of my shirt, letting it drop to the cave floor. The stone is cool against my bare skin, but it does nothing to ease the heat still clawing under my flesh.

Liora watches me, arms crossed, still glaring. She is equally furious, equally shaken, and that fact alone nearly sends me over the edge.

"What the hell was that?" she demands, voice shaking.

I don’t answer.

"Don't you dare ignore me!"

A muscle ticks in my jaw. I grip the nearest rock, digging my claws into it. "You started this."

Her breath hitches, just slightly. But then—defiance.

"You dragged me into the water!" she snaps.

"You were staring," I say, voice low, dangerous.

She flushes, and some twisted, primal part of me likes it.

"And you kissed me," she fires back. "You?—"

I am on her before I even register moving. Too close.

Her breath stutters, but she does not move away.

"I stopped," I growl, voice tight. "I pulled away. So what does that say about you, little human?"

She glares, but I see the conflict there. The raw, simmering heat neither of us have the luxury of entertaining.

I can’t do this.

I need to move. I need to think.

A sound.

Deep. Wrong.

Liora hears it, too. Her shoulders go rigid, her eyes flicking toward the cave entrance.

My muscles coil, every instinct screaming danger.

The dark presence.

But no, it is something else.

Something inside this place.

I gesture for her to move, to stay behind me, but she’s already creeping forward, stepping deeper into the cave.

Foolish girl. But I do not stop her as something inside me whispers, Follow .

The stone walls stretch ahead, narrowing into an arched corridor, leading into something bigger. After minutes of walking, we arrive at what seems to be the dead end.

A dwelling.

Old. Forgotten.

The remnants of a life once lived remain here, long-decayed furniture, discarded relics, the crumbling remnants of parchment.

This was someone’s home. But whose? Why is it here, hidden deep beneath these cursed mountains?

Liora gasps.

I whirl, claws raised, only to see her holding something.

A notebook.

Tattered, its pages barely holding together.

The moment my eyes land on it, something in my gut tightens, coils, snaps.

I know this.

No. I shouldn’t.

Liora’s fingers tremble as she flips through the pages, her eyes scanning the script. She can read it.

Impossible.

Humans are not taught language. They are not allowed.

Yet, she understands.

"It’s… magic," she murmurs. "Purna magic."

That word sends something sharp through me.

I lunge, ripping the notebook from her hands.

She stumbles back, startled by the force of it.

"I—Dain, what?—?"

My grip tightens on the book, my claws nearly tearing through the ancient pages.

This is wrong. This place.

This writing. This feeling.

My chest is too tight. My mind is a fractured thing, a broken past that refuses to fit together.

I see flashes.

Hands, ink-stained. A voice. There’s laughter ringing in my ears, soft as silk and sharper than knives.

I see her. The woman.

The one who sealed me away.

The purna.

My gaze lands on the figurine at the farthest end of the room.

My stomach lurches. A small, hand-carved stone figurine, resting atop a crumbling shelf.

A gargoyle.

I know this.

I remember this.

My breath is razor-sharp, my chest tight. I step toward it, picking it up. It fits into my palm perfectly.

I’ve held this before. Because she made this.

My mind blurs, fractures.

Liora is still speaking, still asking questions, but I do not hear her.

I do not hear anything.

Something led us here, probably wanted us to find this place.

I hate feeling like a piece on someone else's board.

This was not coincidence. This was not fate.

Someone has been waiting. And they have led us here for a reason.