Page 36 of Kingdom of the Two Moons

Melody

Running has always been a matter of instinct.

But so has sensing danger.

I’m halfway to the city when the ground suddenly starts shaking, as if something monstrous is slithering underneath, so hard that I fall. I brace myself, my hands and knees scratching over the rough terrain.

As quickly as it came, it stops again, like a spent earthquake.

I take a few more steps. The trembling starts again. It’s the only warning before the soil in front of me suddenly erupts. The ground gapes open, stones flying through the air.

A giant worm comes shooting out, its mouth a yawning hole filled with ring after ring of saw-like teeth, two evil-looking pincers right in front.

My heart stops before it starts to hammer.

The worm surges…

And misses me by a yard.

I’m already running for dear life. I saw no eyes on the creature, so my only hope is that it’s blind. I store the information away. Not that this will be of too much help. I bet it can detect me by vibrations or even smell alone, but it might buy me a few precious seconds.

Behind me, the worm disappears into the ground again, the world reverberating from its thunderous movements. I wait until it’s right under me .

Then I stop dead, trying not to even breathe.

Fear squeezes my heart, closing in on my ribs.

I feel the creature’s senses zeroing in on me.

Again, that rumble, stronger than before, as if the worm is daring me to move. To give away my location.

It works. I stagger back. It’s only a small movement, but enough to betray me. Fuck.

Against every instinct, I force myself to stay rooted, silently counting to three. Then I turn on my heel and sprint back the way I came, trying to make my moves as unpredictable as possible.

Kayne once taught me how to dodge a sniper in the woods. They hid behind trees, shooting at me. The essential lesson was to move randomly and unpredictably. So I had sprinted and slowed, zigzagging, dodging, pivoting, and running off in random directions.

I know I’ve failed when the worm comes shooting out right behind me, sending me airborne, flinging me through the air as if I weighed nothing. My cry gets stuck in my throat when I hit the ground hard. My skin rips open, my bones sing from the collision; the pain nearly robbing me of my senses. Dust fills my mouth, coats my tongue, for a moment blurring my vision.

Breathe! Just breathe and focus, die later!

When I turn my head, the worm’s horrific brownish body writhes in the air, then comes surging for me above ground. Fast.

I’m dead.

I know I am when I stare down that gaping hole full of horrible, shredding teeth right in front of me. Its rotten smell slams into me while those bizarre, ghoulish pincers snap for my body. Desperation and panic claw at me.

No, I won’t end like this! I can’t! Breathe! And get up! my inner voice yells at me.

Those pincers close around me—

And again miss me by an inch.

I’m already on my feet again, throwing all my remaining strength into my legs. The Fortress is farther away than ever, so I veer right, running for the lights I’ve watched from my room on so many evenings. The town.

I don’t turn back to see the massive body slamming back into the ground again.

Run. Run. Run!

I need to be faster, stealthier. There is that strange silence again before the rumble shakes the ground all over, more aggressively now, as if the creature’s gotten angry.

Impatient with hunger. Probably spurred by the smell of my blood.

Again, I stop dead, panting heavily before sprinting off to the right. Again, I’m sent flying as those vicious teeth rear up out of the soil right underneath me.

I hit the ground, only to feel it sagging toward the massive hole that has opened right behind me, the tunnel ready to suck me in and bury me alive. No! Not like this!

My fear becomes wild.

My fingers dig into the soil, fighting the pull as hard as I can. In vain. I feel the lower part of my body being pulled down.

I mash my eyes shut, expecting certain death. Expecting to be shredded into mincemeat. The atrocious stench so immediate it’s overpowering.

But suddenly—

It stops.

I gulp down precious air, my brain trying to catch up.

It stopped.

I’m still alive, still breathing.

I dare to open my eyes again. Blinking against flying stones and sand, I risk a glance over my shoulder. That ghoulish body of the worm and those pincers are so close behind me I could touch them. But the worm’s not moving.

No, it’s trying to... sense me.

Blind. It is blind. Relying solely on movement and vibrations. Unable to see what’s right in front of it.

I can’t believe my luck.

I pull myself out of the hole and scramble back to my feet. I bolt away, flinching against every aching muscle and bone in my body. The worm snaps its pincers once, probably realizing its mistake before it gives chase.

I don’t look, I just run. Faster than ever.

My lungs are breathing fire, every muscle in my body protesting. A plan! I need a godsdamn plan!

There’s a tiny hill of solid rock in the distance. I need to make it there. The monster might not be able to chew its way through solid stone. It’s an idle bet. But all I have. The city is too far away. I’ll never make it there.

The soil under me shakes and rumbles all over when the worm disappears once again.

I dash on, stumbling over rocks before catching myself, stopping despite every instinct. Sweat streams down my body, my whole being is trembling with stress and exhaustion while I wait out the already familiar, treacherous silence.

The wind carries laughter from the city, a cruel mockery to my ears. But I’ve got no time for tears or self-pity, no time for panic. One. Two. I wait one more second before I sprint off to the left.

I’m sent flying one more time, sprawling on the dirt. But as soon as I hit the ground, I hurtle to my feet. The short flight brought me closer to that rock, just as I planned. A few yards. A few more yards and I’ll be safe.

I run harder than I’ve ever run, sobbing through my clenched teeth. The desert rushes by in a blur of red and brown. The worm chases me underground until there’s silence again. I don’t stop this time, knowing every one of my steps is telling that sinister creature my precise location.

I reach the rock. I jump, stretching out my arms, my fingers touching the solid stone as I try to find hold, try to pull my body up. I slip off. No! No! Fuck no!

I claw and kick at it, scrambling for purchase, grabbing onto it, pulling and trashing, fighting. My foot finally finds hold, and I manage to drag myself up .

I collapse onto a kind of flat plateau, gasping for air.

I made it. I fucking made it.

The worm shoots up from behind me, and I whirl onto my back. This time it’s coming farther out of the ground than ever, exposing a rump that seems like it never ends, its terrible mouth shooting at least twenty yards into the air.

It’s bigger than I thought. Much, much bigger.

I get up and watch with growing horror how the thing bends its impossibly long body, the mouth now like a black hole directly over me. Ready. Ready to devour and slice me into tiny parts, rock and all.

My ribs seize my heart, making it stutter into an uneven beat.

There’s no more fighting. No more running. There’s nowhere to hide. Nothing to make a weapon from.

I stare at the hole with its thousand rows of nightmarish teeth over me, hissing and churning, closing in; those horrifying pincers snapping and clicking.

I will die right here. All I hope is that it’ll be quick.

I force myself to look away. To look at the sunset instead, at the last, breathtakingly beautiful crimson that seems to burn the sky. At the glittering stars and the two moons. I’d never see more of this world, nor of mine.

The worm’s putrid breath slams into me, invading every part of me, but I still refuse to spend the last moments of my life staring down a nightmare.

Then, for a second, something erupts in silvery light all around me.

I roll into a ball, shielding my face with my hands. Through my fingers I glimpse the worm’s massive body reeling back and flinching , as if blinded by something a creature without eyes shouldn’t be able to see.

I blink once, twice, and the silvery light is gone.

Instead, there’s something like blue and silver lightning dividing the sky. Then everything happens in slow motion: the worm’s back-end collapses, leaving the other, now-severed end strangely suspended in the air. Its deadly teeth are still hissing and turning as if the worm hasn’t yet realized that its other half has just been extinguished.

It hovers for a split second before it comes crashing down on me, faster than before. It would have squashed me, but something swipes me up and drops me yards away, only to shoot back into the air and slice the worm into more pieces… and then some more.

It all happens so fast, I only see a blur of movement from afar before, suddenly, Caryan’s standing next to me. His gaze is trained on the shredded pieces of the worm raining down from the sky.

Caryan lifts a hand, then closes his fist. The ground rumbles again, but differently than before. When he opens his hand again, the earth opens up in answer. Not to devour the worm but rather to push the other, still unharmed part of its body out. To my shock, this part is still moving, still very much alive.

But not for long.

Shadows creep in over the valley, whisper-soft against my skin, spreading over the ground, weaving through the air and sweeping over the desert, devouring light and life in their path. For a second, they even block out the moons and the stars and it turns pitch black.

For a moment, there is no sound, no light, just darkness.

Only pristine, primal darkness that devours all living things.

It’s over in a heartbeat and the shadows pull back into their dark creator. Flakes of ash waft into my face—the only remnants of the worm.

I swallow hard.

Caryan just killed the rest of that monster with half a thought.

With his shadows. Shadows that can erase a monster like that worm in seconds, eating it up, reducing it to its very essence—dust.

I’ve seen the work of Caryan’s shadows before. His magic. I saw what he could do with it—like shattering Kyrith’s hand without having to lift a single finger. I know he can do much darker things if he wishes to.

But knowing it is different to witnessing it firsthand. Feeling it firsthand is different .

I sense the flow of his power everywhere, endless and mighty, writhing and ancient, singing around me through the air. A black, but beautiful melody through the world. What I felt on him when I touched him, what sometimes brushed up against me—I realize, with a kind of cold shock—was just a whisper of his raw, true power. A shard. A fragment.

No wonder he’s feared.

Was he ever to release it fully, it might raze a forest, level a city. Destroy a whole world.

But I feel him calling it back, that tidal wave on the surface of an ocean of darkness. It obeys, pulling back into him, but not without one more brush against me, gentle and… curious , before being once again leashed and contained.

Only then does Caryan turn to me, his eyes as dark as his shadows, as if they’re still shining through his eyes. They would be all black if it weren’t for the golden ring around his irises, keeping the darkness at bay. His fangs are bared, the blue, glowing sword with which he cut the worm still in his hand. It’s almost as long as my own body.

But for once, I don’t look at his eyes or that sword, but at the huge, angelic wings that are protruding from his back.

Velvety, black feathers that look so soft I want to reach out and bury my whole body in them dance in a soft breeze. The last sunlight bounces off them, silvering their mighty arches, vying with the ink-black remnants of his magic that curl off them like living night and smoke.

Hells, he looks apocalyptic. And utterly, terrifyingly beautiful. An avenging angel who’s just fallen from the sky.

“Are you mad? Do you so desperately want to die?” His voice is ice-cold, startling me out of my stupor. His anger, a living thing simmering in the air between us. But however lethal, I’ve never been happier to see him.

He is here. He came. He saved me.

My heart can’t fully comprehend this possibility.

All I manage is a shake of my head .

I’m not dead. Not yet . Slowly, so slowly does this realization seep in.

He flares his wings once, shadows still whirling in their wake, trailing off him in waves now. His voice comes out more as a growl than words as he snaps, “No? Why do you break through my wards then and run out into the wild when I warned you about this? About monsters lurking and crawling here?”

My ribs are still too tight from the shock, and for a moment, relief is all I’m capable of feeling, although I should probably be terrified. Caryan’s deadly, he’s just proven that. Again.

And there will be consequences. It’s that fact ringing in my head that makes me lift my chin, cutting through my dizziness. Sobering me up. “You warned me about yourself. You said you are the worst of them.”

“And I told you not to push me, didn’t I? I told you not to push your luck.” His eyes have shifted to a flaming amber now, as if they are radiating from within.

It takes all my strength not to shiver, not to retreat from his sight, from those fangs and those eyes that seem to devour the darkness around us. Devour me. A part of him looks like he wants to do just that.

And gods help me, but right now he looks far more frightening than that fucking worm.

Maybe it’s the adrenaline in my bloodstream, the crazy high from it making me daring, but I find myself saying, “Yeah, I guess I should consider myself lucky to be held as a slave in the middle of nowhere.”

The growl that follows feels like a lash. The sound so definitely not human, I fight not to cower. To keep holding my ground and look him in the eye when he snarls, fangs flashing with every word, “Where would you rather be? Back in your world? Because your world was so— enticing ?” Again, he’s baring those vicious teeth fully, making a wild gesture with his hand. “Because you liked it so much? With Lyrian and his soulless lackeys?”

I shake my head.

The embers in his irises continue to singe me when he growls on, not yet done with me, his vast wings flaring wide behind him. “I saw in your blood, felt it—how much you hated that cold every single day. The relentless rain. To be locked away for days in that cell. I felt it. Your desperation! Your panic. Your nightmares! Now tell me, isn’t this much better?”

It hits me like a whip—the fact that he’s seen in my blood all the awful things Lyrian did to me. Without my permission. Only to throw that intimate knowledge right back into my face.

“Good. Because then you know that I don’t want to be locked away anymore. I want to be free for once! Not to be at anyone’s mercy! Bowing to someone’s whims!” I seethe right back, all caution to hell. “Locked up and…” Hurt, being threatened and punished, I want to say but don’t. Instead, I take a step back. “You’re just like him.”

His eyes flare and for the split of a second, I see horror flashing over his features before it all gives way to an icy, soulless cold. And I know he’s going to slap me, smack me, whip me.

But then he sheathes the sword back into the scabbard on his back and speaks calmly, coldly, oddly collected, the ruffling of his wings the only sign of annoyance. “Get up.”

I watch him walk away, those ridiculously magnificent wings tucked in tight behind him, that lethal sword strapped down his spine between them. Despite my anger I hurry to catch up with him, struggling to keep pace while my adrenaline levels dwindle. And with it, reality returns in stark relief. A secret part of me is afraid I pushed him too far. That he will just change his mind and fly off, leaving me behind for another monster to feed on.

Another part is terrified of returning with him to the Fortress.

I will pay. I know I will pay for this.

He’s still furious, his aura a caliginous midnight river streaked with red. His whole being shedding heat and tension. He doesn’t talk to me the whole way back, doesn’t once turn to me, not even when he effortlessly climbs those stairs back up to the Fortress, keeping his wings elegantly above the ground .

And I, already tired, fall behind.

Hell, every part of my body aches. My bones, my muscles, every fiber.

We get in through the same door I sneaked through, the wards dissolving at the touch of Caryan’s hand, a mere ripple in the air.

Caryan finally pauses in the tiny corridor in front of the stairs. I watch how he closes his eyes, rolls his shoulders once, and those wings vanish in the blink of an eye. He starts to walk up the stairs, again not waiting for me, his black clothes unscathed on his back, leaving no trace of what I just saw.

I follow him unasked, trying hard not to think of what exactly will happen next. Not while I trail him up the corridor that leads to his private rooms.

But my body is already tensing with the prospect of violence.

We meet no one on our way, but the music of the festival haunts me up to the huge door and the strange, talking head I actually have a fondness for.

“Welcome, my lord,” the door says, swinging open. Although the head doesn’t greet me this time, I have the feeling that it wants to but deems it better not to.

Caryan strides in, still heedless of me. Another door to my left, opposite the library, swings open, revealing a kitchen and a living room behind it. Kitchen counters made of a single block of moonstone greet me, glistening like his wings in the light.

Caryan walks over to a fridge to pour himself a drink while I silently come after him. I pause in the doorway, lost, my arms protectively folded around me. He still isn’t looking at me as he takes a long sip. I watch the elegant movement of his Adam’s apple as he swallows.

When he eventually turns to me, his eyes settle on me with predatory intensity.

I’m careful to keep the kitchen counter between us as he takes a step closer.

He pauses, the corners of his mouth pulling up into a cruel smile. “You look like you want to hide from me. Run from me. Again. ”

I swallow, hard. All the useless fury in my belly curdles into feral fear. He knows . The way his eyes shine, I know he knows .

“Do you want to run from me right now?” he asks, his voice deep and laced with cruel amusement.

“I do,” I whisper truthfully, my eyes not once leaving the savage amber of his irises.

“Well—” he makes an elaborate gesture with the glass in his hand “—it would definitely be entertaining to watch you try now.”

My gaze drops to my hands. I force myself to stay rooted to the ground as he prowls closer, steps soft as a whisper. His aura is still a storm, brimming with fury and violence.

His power brushes up against me, against my torn clothes, raw skin, and wind-wild hair. I swallow.

He’s right. It was ridiculous, trying to flee from him.

He stops close to me. His scent is everywhere, entrancing and dangerous. Then my chin is in the cage of his fingers. He tilts my head so I look up into his eyes again, the rage in them still as hot as burning coals.

“Will you let me go after you’re done with me?” I need to ask. Need to know.

“ Done with you. What do you think I will to do with you?” he asks back, right into me. Lashes lowered. His gaze on my lips, on the echoes of bruises on my face.

My mouth goes dry. “I don’t know.”

“Don’t lie to me,” he snarls, his grip on me hardening. “Tell me what you think I want to do to you?”

I look down, startled, unable to hold his gaze. My body trembles with tension. Exhaustion. And more.

“Tell me, Melody ,” he says again, his power banking up against me like a wildfire.

It’s all wrong. So wrong. Yet the sound of my name on his lips floods me.

“Hurt me.” I can hardly force the words out.

His fingers trace down the line of my neck, pausing directly on my pulse, as if he could stop it. His voice still vicious and deep, his face so close, his breath a brush against my senses. “And why would I want that?”

“Because you’re angry.” I force the words out.

This time, it’s not a question as he says, “Indeed, I am.”

I close my eyes, nodding, biting down my lips so hard I taste blood. Every instinct in me is screaming to run. Moments pass between us. I say nothing, only looking up when he says with a jerk of his chin, “Take that off.”

He takes a step back, pointing at my shirt.

I freeze, my eyes wide as I glance up at him. He’s going to flay me. He’s going to punish me for what I did. Of course he is. He warned me last time, and I was stupid enough to ignore it.

But I can’t find the strength to move.

When I don’t react, he repeats, “Take that top off. I won’t say it again.”

I look down to the floor and slowly start to peel the half-torn T-shirt from my raw skin. I pull it over my head, holding the scrunched-up fabric protectively in front of me as if it could shield me.

He looks at me, his gaze swiping indiscreetly over me in a way that makes me self-conscious all over. Absurdly enough, my mind goes back to those incredibly beautiful women at the equinox celebrations. My cheeks flush with shame, vying with the fear that has befallen me. Although I’m wearing a black bra, I’ve never felt more naked.

I will not be afraid.

I pull my shoulders back the way I did in Lyrian’s house. Force myself to look him straight in the eye. Fuck the rules . Force myself to bear the bottomless depths in them.

I don’t blink when he snarls, “I really should teach you manners.”

“Then don’t make me wait, please,” I reply coolly, still not looking away. I would not yield.

I will survive. I will not be afraid. I will never be afraid again.

He tilts his head then. His fingers are cool when he touches me again, running the tips over the vulnerable stretch of skin where Kyrith hit me. My flesh is still sore, still swollen. His eyes flicker with something dark.

His voice falls low, even lower when he asks, “Would you want that? That I hurt you?” He doesn’t say it like he’s angry, though, but gently. Darkly. There’s something in his voice that runs down my throat like slow-dripping honey. As if he’s my lover, asking for permission.

His words, his change of tone, do something to me. To my body. To my very soul. I shiver against it. Heat fills my blood. I know he notices; feels that shift in me.

What is this? A game? A dark one. One I don’t know the rules of.

Or maybe I do.

His eyes are a whirling dark now, as is his aura, but there are those gold and blue tendrils leaking in again. His gaze rests on my lips; his face unreadable when he says, “You’re begging for trouble. I warned you, and yet you chose to ignore it. What am I to do with you?”

His magic still ebbs off him and around me like a dark mist, but it’s no longer biting and hissing and snarling. Instead, it feels like dew and velvet and something night-streaked when it ghosts around my naked skin, twining around my ankles and wrists.

Caryan leans down as if to kiss me, so close his lashes brush my cheeks. I’m unable to shrink away as he whispers right into me, “Do I need to hurt you?”

His voice is like dark silk, gliding over my nervous, restless skin; twin to his magic that keeps twirling around me, sliding over my belly, under my pants, and up my bare legs.

All I manage is to shake my head, no longer sure what’s happening. I feel as if the ground had been swept from under my feet.

All of a sudden, I feel so terribly, utterly young. Lost and fragile.

I know how to fight, but not here.

Not with these strange, new rules. Not against him.

I want to hide, but he’s still holding my chin, staying so close. Not yet done with me.

“No? Then tell me what will keep you from running off, trying to kill yourself. Tell me what I must do.”

His fingers tighten, digging into my bruises, making me flinch. Hurting me as if to remind me what he could do. So easily.

I feel my fear rising in answer, worse than ever before. I realize I’ve started to tremble. I only barely register that I’ve let go of my T-shirt, that my fingers are digging into his black shirt instead. Only barely register that I’ve wriggled free of his grip, leaning into him, hiding my head in his chest, breathing him in while tears well in my eyes, seeping into his shirt.

We stand like that for a while. I can’t tell for how long. I can’t tell how he will punish me for this impudence.

When he tries to step back, I only hold on tighter and whisper, without knowing where the words come from, “You were gone. You were just gone. You left me.”

My voice comes out shaky. I feel him stiffening under my fingers but not pulling away.

He looks down at me, his eyes an indifferent gray, sizing me up—for what, I don’t know.

He says nothing, so I ask too quietly, knowing too well it isn’t appropriate— it’s uncouth : “Are you going to go away again?”

It takes him a long time to respond. His voice is raspy when he says, “I won’t be at the palace the day after tomorrow, but all the other nights I will.”

My cheeks heat at the word night , although he certainly means nothing by it. Right, the equinox festivities in town . They are celebrating Gatilla’s death day—that’s what the servants said.

He shifts his weight before stepping back a little and freeing my body.

Without another glance, he turns his back on me and walks over to the kitchen. A bright light jumps on above, probably on his silent command.

He doesn’t look at me when he says soberly, “Come over here, I want to see to those wounds on your arms. ”

I do, resisting the urge to pick up my shirt and pull it back over my head, but he barely looks at me anyway when I approach.

“Your arm,” he demands.

Only then do I notice the patches of raw, bloodied skin where I’d skidded over the stony ground. He cleans my left arm first, then my right.

Eventually, he says, “Sit down. I want to see to those too.” He juts his chin toward my naked belly.

I climb onto a stool, so he can clean those ugly cuts too. I stay silent all the while, not daring to look at him once, nor to flinch when it hurts. Not after what I’ve just said to him. It all feels so surreal—those words that I whispered. Where did they come from? Did I mean them?

But I feel their truth. I feel his physical absence like a hole in my body, as if a part of me is missing if he isn’t around. Had always been missing. It scares me.

I don’t dare to contemplate whether he might feel anything vaguely similar.

Of course he doesn’t. Why the fuck would he? I bite my lower lip, hard.

My head is still dazed, swimming with too many wild thoughts.

Eventually, he steps back, and I watch as he takes a knife out of a drawer and cuts his own flesh, dripping his blood into a glass. After that, he licks the cut, and it closes up within seconds. He walks back to me and starts to apply his blood to my wounds. They’re gone instantly as if sealed by magic, yet I gasp when I feel his fingertips on the tender stretch of skin right below my ribs.

“What—what was that in the desert?” I dare to ask as he rinses the glass. I watch his wide shoulders, the play of hard, powerful muscles beneath the black fabric, tense a little.

“A sand worm. But it shouldn’t be here.” His voice is grave as he answers.

“But why is it then? Nidaw said the land obeys you,” I go on quietly, taking in my surroundings while he still has his back to me.

The first room is a place where he clearly holds official meetings, but this feels more like his private rooms. The open terrace, the warm wind blowing in. There’s a gray, modern sofa, and a chair opposite. A coffee table made of matte, ashy wood. And the kitchen—so, he eats normal food too? I haven’t seen him eat anything so far, so he probably does.

Does he cook too? Does he maybe even like to cook? The thought sounds absurd, but why not?

I turn and look over my shoulder only to see another room containing a huge bed draped with dark silks. I don’t know why I’m surprised that he, too, needs to sleep. Somehow, it feels absurd to imagine him lying down and closing his eyes like everybody else.

Caryan’s whore, that’s what the blonde elf called me. My mouth goes dry as I remember what Caryan said to me the other night. The way he said it. You’re mine.

I shouldn’t be thinking about it.

Heat flushes my entire body while I fight all those thoughts I haven’t allowed myself to have. I haven’t yet dared ask what he wants with me. And I don’t have the courage right now—and probably never will, knowing me.

When I turn back, I know Caryan caught me looking. My heart skips a beat, and I know he can read everything in my face. I’m too unguarded around him.

I lower my eyes too quickly to read his expression, though, letting my hair fall over my face. My treacherous heart still flutters like a trapped bird in a cage, and it won’t slow, despite my best efforts.

He says finally, “The land does obey me. But the sand worm comes from another world.”

Another world. So the human world isn’t the only other world. I’ll think about that later. “And why is it here?”

He leans with his back against the counter, his muscled arms crossed in front of his chest. “There are a lot of reasons. But all of them have to do with magic and its delicate equilibrium.”

Briefly, I think he will stop at that, but then he pushes himself off the counter and sinks down on one of the stools opposite me— the sight so strange, so absurd, seeing the most beautiful man sitting in what looks like a human kitchen that I might almost—almost—laugh.

He doesn’t seem to notice because he keeps his focus trained on the room behind me. “Magic is everywhere, like air. There are some of us who can access it, conjure it, channel it. Even carry it, naturally. Others steal it.”

“Steal it how?”

“You saw the medallion Lyrian wore around his neck to hide his true appearance from the humans? It was stored magic, wrung from harvested blood. An artifact or relic. You can bind magic to it, even magic you stole from others. Elves tried it, others tried it, and it led to an imbalance that caused too much magic in some realms, too little in others. As a result, the land began to react, the veil between the worlds ripping open, and this is how those creatures come in.”

“So Lyrian was…”

He frowns again, and I remember his expression when I said he was just like him. I wonder whether he’s thinking about it now too.

“Lyrian was a lot of things throughout his life, but yes, he became a magic harvester in the human realms. The most successful one ever.”

“Because of me,” I whisper. I don’t know what to do with the darkness that fills my heart. I dare glance up at Caryan.

He watches me back before he inclines his chin. “Yes, because of you.”

His voice is void of emotion. There is no judgment there. It’s just a fact, sober and rational, and I realize when I look at his aura, that he’s indeed not judging me.

I don’t know why it matters. But somehow it does—that he doesn’t see me as a monster. Even if he thinks he is one himself.

He leans forward, bracing himself with his arms on the countertop, long, strong fingers splayed. The sleeve of his black tunic is still rolled up, revealing pristine white skin with bluish veins, beautiful yet brutal hands, and elegant wrists. Something shifts over his skin then. Something gold and dark snaking down his forearm .

The tattoo I once spotted.

He notices it too and rolls his sleeves down.

I suck in my lower lip. “Lyrian said that this portal where we—” I struggle with the word lived , because it sure as hell didn’t feel like living so I just say “—where we were , he said that it was the last portal to your world.”

“It is. Once there were no boundaries between the human world and the fae world. All the portals were open for every fae to cross freely.”

“What happened?”

“They became too powerful in the human world, and we intervened. We closed all the portals save for this one. There are a few who can still open one to jump from world to world, but this requires a lot of magic and skill, and they are only temporary openings.”

“We?” I ask quietly, sensing that there’s more.

Shadows flicker in his already night-veiled eyes. “We angels,” he says, but it seems to cost him some effort. “They called us wanderers of the worlds. It’s what we were made for—to tear the veil of the worlds to pass through it, to rip it open or shut it down if need be, taking our power with us wherever we went.”

I still at that, not wanting to imagine the aftermath should Caryan unleash his power on the human world.

Instead, I ask, “Called?”

“My kind has been hunted down to extinction,” he explains darkly. “Well, almost. I am the last.”

“Why?”

He frowns at the compassion in my voice, as if he doesn’t know what to do with it. But his eyes flash in a warning.

“Because we are cruel beyond redemption.”