Page 50 of Mystic's Sunrise

My throat tightened. I knew what she meant. More than she realized.

"You're free now," I said, my voice quieter.

She looked at me for a long moment, then shook her head. "Not yet."

The weight of that truth settled between us. She was here, but Drago was still out there, still holding the strings she was trying so hard to cut.

She took a step closer, her gaze searching mine. "I do not know why, but..." she hesitated, swallowing. "I feel like I was meant to meet you... to know you."

Something in me cracked. I felt it. A slow, splitting ache.

I was moving before I could think better of it, closing the space between us. I didn’t touch her, but damn if I didn’t want to. My hand lifted halfway before I caught myself, caught the need that nearly tore free from me.

"You believe in fate?" I asked, low, rough. "That I was meant to find you?"

Her lips parted slightly, her breath catching. Then, just like outside, she reached out. Her fingers brushed my cheek, hesitant, warm, real.

I let my hand hover near her waist for one reckless second, so close I could feel the heat of her skin through the fabric. One more breath, and I would’ve pulled her in. Held her. Tasted her.

But before I could move, before I could ruin everything, a sharp knock slammed into the door.

"Church," came Devil’s voice from the other side. "Now."

Zeynep’s hand dropped. The space between us cooled like someone had thrown a bucket of ice water over the room.

I clenched my jaw, forcing a slow exhale before looking at her.

"You should get some sleep," I said, nodding toward the bed. "You can crash here if you want. If it makes you feel better."

She nodded, but something about the way she looked at me—something raw, somethingunspoken—told me this wasn’t over.

Not even close.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

SLEEP WOULDN’T COME.

I lay on Mystic’s bed, the mattress carrying the scent of leather, soap, andhim. It wrapped around me like a second skin, making it impossible to forget where I was—whose bed I was in.

The sheets were too warm. The air too heavy, thick with things I hadn’t spoken. My heart hadn't settled since I crossed the threshold into this room, since his voice wrapped around me with that quiet, dangerous promise.

You believe in fate.

I did. But did he?

Was I just someone to protect? A burden he hadn’t figured out how to set down?

I turned onto my back, the creak of the mattress under me loud in the heavy quiet. The small lamp beside the bed cast a soft glow across the room, making the shadows feel closer. Like they were pressing down on me.

I had spent years locked inside fear, my world reduced to nothing but pain and obedience. Now I was here, free from Drago, but not free from what still lived inside me.

And then there was Mystic.

I pressed my fingers to my lips, still feeling the ghost of his warmth on my skin. The way I had touched his scarred face—the way he had let me.

Not like Drago.

Drago’s love had been a prison dressed in silk and gold. Possessive. Controlling. Crushing.