Page 4

Alaric

Earth Realm to Nightfall

My entire being trembles when she says yes .

That single word slices through the veil like a blade.

It echoes in the space between us, and I feel it, My magic responding, swirling, claiming.

She doesn’t even realize what she’s done.

I step closer, slow and careful, not because I fear her, but because I don’t want to rush the moment.

The silver thread between us tightens like a snare, humming with Fate’s breath.

She blinks up at me, those wide, dark eyes soft with confusion, lashes trembling. A lamb in the mouth of the wolf.

But she doesn’t run.

She trusts me.

Foolish girl.

Beautiful girl.

I reach for her gently, press two fingers to her temple.

My magic coils there, sinking into her skin with practiced ease.

She gasps.

Just a tiny sound.

So fragile. So precious.

Then her body goes limp and falls forward.

I catch her easily.

Soft.

She is unbelievably soft.

The moment I have her in my arms, the air begins to crackle. The veil stretches thin as spider silk, and then tears open in a slow, luxurious rip.

Magic surges like a tide, wrapping around us both, greedy and eager.

The tether is locked.

The crossing has begun.

I step through with my bundle— my mate, my viyella —cradled close, her breath feathering against my collarbone.

My plan is cemented in my mind like a spell inscribed in blood.

Charm her. Claim her. Use her to win the crown.

But there’s something rising in me I didn’t account for.

A flicker.

A whisper.

A feeling that maybe that this slip of a girl in my arms isn’t what she seems.

She’s human. Mortal. Ordinary.

She’s supposed to be.

And yet, there’s a resonance.

A warmth that doesn’t come from magic.

A quiet hum that coils around my ribs and tugs tight like she already lives in the hollow parts of me I thought long dead.

It doesn’t matter.

It can’t matter.

I have a duty to the realm.

And this, lying to her, creating the illusion of a devoted lover , is the only way to see it through.

The veil parts for me, and I step across the threshold, determination rising like the north wind inside of me.

Entering Nightfall feels like diving under a waterfall.

The power of it all comes crashing over me, familiar and fierce. The realm breathes beneath my boots, thick with magic and memory.

Here, my power unfurls just like my wings.

Here, I’m not just a creature playing mortal.

I’m me.

Alaric. Demon. Lord of Air.

She whines and I glance down, frowning.

The shift is always jarring for humans.

Their bodies resist, their minds twist in protest.

The realm changes the rules of reality, and their fragile senses fight against it.

But for me?

It’s simply coming home.

I carry her through the stone halls of my keep, down the spiral corridor to the chamber I’ve prepared.

To my bed.

“Easy, viyella ,” I murmur, frowning.

The word for mate slips too freely from my tongue.

I ignore it, settling her atop the bedding.

She looks so pale and soft, shimmering like a silver star across the midnight colored blankets and sheets.

My magic stretches with a sigh, curling around us both like smoke seeking flame.

I breathe it in, holding her tighter.

Her scent is a balm in the storm.

Warm, light, and soft sweetness, threaded with exhaustion and unspent dreams.

Yes. She’ll do. More than do.

I don’t know why or how, but I feel something stirring.

Like something is shifting inside me, too.

And I can’t tell if it’s the realm, the magic, or her.

Nightfall always welcomes my return with shadows and silence. But now the air is thick with the scent of power and the weight of old magic.

I stare at her helpless to do otherwise and feel my loins stirring in response. It’s unexpected. And so damn powerful, I almost groan aloud.

I don’t mean to take her. Not tonight. Not yet. But I can’t deny my attraction to her.

And the scent of her— gods, the scent of her —is already driving me mad.

Her cheeks are still flushed from the transition to this realm. Her dark curls are sticking to her skin.

I frown, noting her jeans are dirty and her shirt is splattered with cheap vodka and spilled beer.

That won’t do.

I wave my hand, using my magic to remove her clothing and freshen her skin. I keep her modesty in place, hiding her luscious form beneath a silken sheet.

Fuck, she smells divine.

Like something mine.

I lean closer, inhaling at the curve of her throat.

Creamy. Warm. Sweet.

I nuzzle a little nearer, letting the scent settle into my bones.

Something animal in me purrs in response. My Dragon memorizing her already.

Then she stirs.

And I go still.

Her eyes blink open. Dark, rich, stunning. Confused, but not screaming.

Her voice is rough when she whispers, “Wha-what are you doing?”

I straighten just slightly, eyes locked on hers.

“What is that you smell of?” I ask, genuine curiosity in my voice.

She blinks. “It’s body cream. Um, it has shea butter.”

I hum. “It’s lovely. Soft. It suits you.”

She stiffens, trying to sit up, eyes wide when she realizes she is nude beneath the sheet.

“You undressed me?”

I nod.

“Do not worry, Myrrin. I didn’t touch you.”

Fuck. These terms of endearment keep spilling from my lips without so much as a by your leave.

“ Myrrin ?” she asks, putting the emphasis on the wrong part of the word.

“ Myrrin. MEER-in ,” I correct her pronunciation.

She cants her head to the side and says it again, correctly this time.

“ Myrrin .”

I grin. Really, she is taking this much better than I thought.

“It means Sweet. Like your scent.”

Her eyes widen before sweeping the room.

I watch her catalog everything—the stone walls, the flickering torchlight, the impossibly tall windows.

Then her gaze snaps back to me.

“Okay, why am I here? Where am I? And why am I naked?”

I take a breath. No more lies. Just not all of the truth.

“This is Nightfall,” I say quietly, stepping closer. “You are naked because your clothes were soiled. And I’ve brought you here, Jules Strano, to be mine.”