Page 17

Was it a dream when everything felt so real?

Tragic images night by night of a past slipping through my fingers like grains of sand.

Memories of a life lived by an immortal creature fading away.

A ghost of myself whispering her final goodbyes as the darkness of Infernus and the weight of the curse in my bones ate away at me.

Then the light came. Red. Red. Burning red.

A blue tide swept in, chasing away the crimson shadows prowling at my heels.

With one heaving gasp, I opened my eyes to a world so painfully familiar I wanted to weep with relief.

A silver moon hung heavy over an ancient forest. Rosemary, wet earth, and a crisp breeze fluttered through leaf laden boughs.

White rose petals flit and swished on the wind, following the swirling patterns of the unseen air currents.

A languorous stretch released the tension in my muscles. The knot of unease in my stomach loosened. I melted into the bed of fluffy moss beneath me and soaked in the vibrant sunset, cleaving through the trees and dappling the forest grove in sweet light. A haven. Home.

Warmth seeped into my feet, causing me to curl my toes. Hands with long, strong fingers smoothed higher. They circled my ankles before rising higher, carefully teasing the sensitive skin with a barely-there touch.

“ You are divine ,” said the shadows.

I jolted upright, breath ragged, heart clawing against my ribs like it wanted to escape. The dream still clung to my skin like sweat—warm hands, whispered words, the fading scent of smoke and loam.

The warmth had faded.

Only cold tension remained, and the oppressive hush of the castle walls pressing in around me. My sheets were tangled, my legs damp, and my palms still tingled from where dream-fingers had traced them.

Was it only a dream?

It hadn’t felt like one. Not when I could still hear the voice.

You are divine…

Unlike my other increasingly frequent dreams, this time it hadn’t been Mavros. Where the beast prince’s voice was gravel, heat, and thunder held back by fraying control. This had been silk and rot, syrup-thick and sweet, a lure masked as reverence.

A magic-using hunter. The Crimson Mage.

I pressed a trembling hand to my mouth, as if I could wipe the memory from my lips. Shame bloomed low in my belly. Not because I had dreamed of him, but because, for a moment, I hadn’t wanted to wake.

That terrified me.

I slid out of bed, limbs aching from the tension I hadn’t released even in sleep. The chill of the floor bit at my soles as I crossed the room, needing distance from the sheets, from myself.

Through the door. Down the hall. Past stone-eyed statues and hushed gargoyle-head sconces that flickered like a held breath. The castle felt more alive in the quiet. Watchful, ancient, aware. My heartbeat was the only sound.

I leaned against a column, skin pressed to cool stone, and closed my eyes, wanting to forget.

But the whisper came again, curling through the icy silence like smoke.

You are divine.

And for the briefest, most damning moment I couldn’t tell if it was the wizard I feared. Or the changes in myself.

During our afternoon reading lessons Mavros sensed my unease.

He hadn’t said so, but I saw it in the way he watched me—as though waiting for a storm that never broke. As though he knew I was still unraveling in places I couldn’t name. Tormented by dreams and lurking phantoms.

Agonized over the changes in my body, yet curious to feel those sinful things while awake.

Instead of remaining in the castle library, he brought me somewhere quieter.

Hidden behind a veil of curling vines and broken stone arches, he revealed a secluded pond adjacent to the garden.

A place that felt like a secret the world had forgotten.

Light streamed in through ruined pillars overhead, slicing through the haze in golden beams. They caught the surface of the pond before us and turned it to liquid fire—ripples glowing orange and gold, as if the water itself burned.

I stared, breath caught in my throat. “It’s beautiful.”

Mavros offered a weak smile. “I came here all the time when I was young.”

“And now?”

His grin faded. “Not nearly enough.”

Instead of offering an explanation he simply sat beside me on the mossy bench, one large hand holding open a leather-bound book. The words he read were smooth and rhythmic. It was some old tale from Infernian history, but I heard none of it.

Not really.

Not when he was this close. So close. So large. So warm.

His leg brushed mine as he shifted, and I swore I felt it all the way up my spine.

There was a strange, molten heaviness blooming low in my belly.

A slow, pulsing warmth that reminded me of my dreams of him.

It was there, coiled and insistent, whenever he looked at me like that.

Whenever his voice dipped low. Whenever I caught the scent of ash and spice and him.

I couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think. His presence seized my mind and blurred the world around us.

The words on the page meant nothing. All I heard was the thrum of blood in my ears and the faint sound of his breath—deep, even, frustratingly calm. As if he wasn’t affected at all. Did he not feel this?

I stood abruptly.

“I need to move,” I muttered.

The beast hummed, but didn’t stop me. I explored and he continued reading.

I stepped down onto the stone steps leading into the pond.

They were smooth and worn, moss trailing their edges.

I dipped a foot into the water. It was cool, not cold, and so clear I could see the strange, luminous fish gliding beneath the surface.

Scaled in copper and cobalt, some with fins like lace or gossamer wings, they shimmered with the luminescence of submerged stars.

I leaned forward, watching the swish of tails and the ripple of motion across the surface. The water distorted my reflection. It shifted.

And it wasn’t Astoria I saw.

It was me. A sylph.

White and silver, ethereal and proud, eyes wide with sorrow. Me, before the curse. She stood in the water’s surface as if waiting for me to remember. To mourn.

I gasped, stumbling back a step.

My heel slipped on the mossy stone. A cry tore from my throat.

A shock of water crashing into me stole the breath from my lungs—cold, instant, biting. My arms flailed. Water closed over my head, dragging me under in a swirl of gold and green. The weight of my dress tangled around my legs. For a terrible second, I couldn’t find the surface.

Then something slammed into the water beside me.

Strong arms wrapped around my waist. Heat pressed against my back, cutting through the chill with the soothing radiance of a welcome flame. We surged upward together, almost effortlessly. We breached the surface with me coughing and the beast prince holding me tight.

Mavros carried me from the pond like I weighed nothing.

I shivered against him, blinking water from my lashes. His body was slick and warm, breath ragged against my temple as he stalked back toward the castle without a word. His grip didn’t loosen even once during the long walk through the endless corridors.

The library fire still burned from earlier. Flames licked up the stone hearth, casting golden light across the high walls and shadowed shelves. The scent of smoke and moss and damp silk hung in the air between us.

Mavros set me down gently on the rug in front of the fire. His clawed hands lingered at my waist for a second too long, fingers pressing, as if reluctant to let go. When he stepped back, the cold rushed in as swift as a ghost’s breath.

I shivered.

The dress clung to my skin, soaked through, heavy and useless. Each movement made it cling tighter, suffocating, cold. I looked down at the water trailing down my arms and legs.

Without thinking, I reached over my shoulder, found the seam, and yanked it down.

The soaked fabric slid from my body in one slow motion, pooling at my feet with a soft slap.

I stepped out of it, bare, unashamed, and turned back toward the fire.

The heat reached out to me in gentle waves, far kinder than the fabric soaked with the pond’s lingering chill.

I stretched my hands toward it, sighing softly as warmth began to seep back into my limbs.

Behind me, I heard the sharp intake of breath.

I looked over my shoulder.

Mavros hadn’t moved. He was still crouched where he’d set me down. Watching me. Staring.

The beast’s pupils dilated, eyes black around the edges of molten fire. His mouth had parted slightly, but whatever words he’d meant to speak had died there. His tail slowed to a stilted, occasionally swish.

“What is it?” I asked.

He blinked once. Twice. “Are you not cold? ”

My brows pinched. “No?”

His chest heaved. Something wild glinted in his eyes. Not anger, but something deeper and older. Something akin to primal impulse.

I turned to face him fully, as bare as the day I was reborn.

I didn’t understand his stillness, or the tension in his shoulders, or the way he looked at me like I was both a temptation and a curse.

In the wild, there was no modesty. No shame in skin, no hiding from warmth.

Bodies were only bodies. Mine just happened to be on fire whenever he looked at me.

I took a step toward him. “Not when my body feels so warm when you’re near me. When you touch me.”

He stared at me like I’d just broken something inside him.

“Don’t say that,” he said, bodily shaking with fracturing restraint.

“Why not?”

“Because I don’t have enough discipline to make this easier, Astoria.”

I stood in front of him, the fire behind me casting light across his face. Steam still rose from his shoulders. His shirt clung to him, soaked and half-open, revealing dark fur and taut muscle. I reached out, fingers brushing against his chest—just above his heart.

He didn’t flinch, but he trembled.

“I shouldn’t,” Mavros murmured.

“Shouldn’t what? ”