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Chapter 18

Rhyker

F rom the moment I first laid eyes on Selestina, I knew there was something different about her. The way she moved, the intensity in her eyes—it all captivated me. I’ve always been good at observing without being seen. But this… this was different. I wasn’t just observing; I was drawn to her in a way I couldn’t explain.

I find myself watching her more often than I care to admit. She’s an enigma, a puzzle I’m desperate to solve. Today, like many days before, I follow her from a distance, blending into the environment seamlessly. She’s heading back to her dorm, her posture rigid, her steps purposeful. Always on guard, always alert.

Being Fae means I can glamour myself to almost any Tonaloca, but especially to humans, it is to be forged from the raw, unyielding spirit of the earth itself. There’s no gentleness in our kind, no softness; we are born from the primal force of the land. The magic that runs through me is wild, fierce, like an ancient beast slumbering beneath the surface, waiting to be unleashed .

The green tattoos spiraling across my skin are more than markings; they’re bonds, conduits for the earth’s energy. They shift and grow with me, a living testament to my connection with the land. Each twist, each line, is an extension of the forest, a promise to uphold its power and to wield it without mercy.

Fae magic is not gentle. My magic stirs at my command, rough and unrelenting. With a thought, I can split the ground, call forth walls of thorns, raise barriers of stone as unforgiving as the cliffs of Itzcalli. But this magic is hungry, it demands tribute, and each time I summon it, I feel its cost—a weight that settles into my bones, a reminder that nothing in nature is ever given freely.

I am bound to this power, as much a servant as I am its master.

My father has shown me the consequences of weakness. In his court, power is everything, and mercy is a foreign thing, a weakness. To be fae is to embrace that brutality, to accept that survival is a battle, that control is an illusion, and that strength must be seized, not begged for.

When she reaches her room, I slip in behind her, my presence undetected. I’ve done this countless times now, memorizing her routines. However, she does something different this time. Without going to the bathroom to bathe and change, she undresses quickly, exhausted from the day and only thinking of sleep, down to her sports bra and underwear, revealing a body marked by scars.

Scars. She has scars .

My breath catches in my throat at the sight of them. The urge to reach out, to trace the lines of her pain, is overwhelming. I’ve seen scars before, my body is littered with them, remnants of lessons learned, but hers… hers are different.

There's one that runs from her shoulder to her hip, as if clawed by something far more ferocious than a blade. Another scar curls around her side, wrapping over her ribcage like the impression of a serpent. The ones on her arms are small and jagged. They're rough to look at, as if they'd been reopened and healed over time and again.

The last scar I see is the one that stops me cold; a thin line across her throat, barely there but unmistakable. How have I not seen it before now? Someone once held her life in their hands, close enough to feel her pulse, and decided to leave her breathing.

I clench my fists, willing myself to be silent. The roommate is sleeping in the bed opposite across the room, just five feet separating them, and the last thing I need is to alert her to my presence. I've come too far to risk being discovered now. As Selestina climbs into bed, I retreat to the corner, my heart pounding in my chest.

I feel the anger in me rising as I think about her scars and what kind of disgusting creature would ever think to harm my kitten.

My breath catches, and for a moment, I'm immobile. The anger starts low, a simmering heat in my chest, but it doesn't stay there. It grows, surging like wildfire through my veins until I'm shaking with the effort of keeping it contained.

What kind of monster could do this? What kind of vile, twisted creature would even dare touch her, let alone leave these marks? My jaw clenches so hard it aches, but I don't care. All I can see are the scars. All I can feel is the rage building inside me, threatening to break free .

My fingernails claw into the edge of the door frame of her closet, as I fight against myself to remain in place, telling my body to be still, still as stone, quiet as silence, while my every urge implores me to have this explained and this anger coursing within the blood of my veins to pour forth.

The day I find the son of a bitch, and I will, he'll be begging for death long before I'm done. I'll tear him to pieces bit by bit, make him feel every ounce of the pain he has inflicted on her. No one hurts her. No one scars her and gets to walk away.

I take a shaky breath, the effort to keep quiet nearly unbearable. But gods help whoever is responsible, because their time is running out.

She's pulled almost immediately into a fitful sleep, her face contorting with whatever nightmares haunt her. Her body jerks and she begins to murmur, the words lost to the distance. She suddenly lets out a scream, a sound so raw, full of anguish, it rips through me.

I glance at the roommate but she is in deep sleep.

I get up without thinking and go to her side, my instincts prevailing over reason. I slip into bed beside her, wrapping my arms around her trembling form.

She is so small, so vulnerable in this moment. I hold her tightly, whispering soothing words, hoping I reach her through her nightmare.

Gradually, her breathing starts to steady, and her muscles relax. She sags into me, her body molding to mine. I stay there, holding her close, my heart aching with a mix of emotions I couldn't fully understand.

There's something about her that tugs at the edges of my memory, something just out of reach. It's maddening, this obsession I have with her. I don't understand it, neither can I deny it.

As she settles into a deeper sleep, I take the opportunity to study her features. There's a softness there, a vulnerable place that she conceals from the rest of the world. It just makes me want to take care of her, to block whatever demonios who haunt her from getting into her dreams.

She stirs slightly, and I tighten my hold, afraid she might wake up and find me here. But she doesn't. Instead, she cuddles closer, seeking comfort even in her unconscious state. I know I should leave before she wakes, but I just can't bring myself to move. I stay with her until the first light of dawn filters through the window.

It is only then that I slip out from her bed, not waking her. I watch her for a moment longer, my heart heavy with conflicting emotions. Then I slip out of her room, disappearing into the shadows once more. As I make my way back to my own quarters, I can't stop thinking about her.

Selestina is… unlike anyone I’ve ever seen. Her hazel eyes seem to shift under the light, as if they hold secrets I’ll never understand, golden flecks catching and reflecting every glint. The defiance I see in them every time she talks to a prince or the roommate. The glare she gives back to everyone who whispers about her. The calculation she stores at every glance she takes.

She doesn’t try to draw attention, doesn’t need to. She simply exists, and it’s enough to steal the breath from my lungs. Her presence fills a room, commands it without a word, a kind of quiet power that radiates from her every step, every look. It’s in the way she walks, like she’s carrying her own private world with her.

She’s not someone to be tamed or claimed; she’s a force of nature, and I can’t seem to pull myself away .

As I slip back into my own bed, I can still feel the warmth of her body against mine, the softness of her skin. I close my eyes, replaying the moments we shared in my mind.