Page 92 of Stormvein

And then he’s breaking away, pulling back, staring at me out of eyes that have turned black.

“The connection is stronger than I realized.” His voice is rough and uneven, stripped of its usual perfect control.

I lick lips that feel tender and swollen. His eyes track the movement.

“Is that all this is to you?” I need to know, even if the answer might hurt. “Just another side effect of our powers reacting? Another advantage for your cause?”

Shadows dance around him, and for a brief moment, I see the faintest hint of raven’s wings unfurling at his back.

“No. No, it’s not.” He takes a breath, and I’m shocked to see the confusion on his face. This man who calculatesevery move has found himself in uncharted territory. “This is unexpected. Unprecedented.” Another breath. “Though what it means beyond this moment, what we could become?—”

A sharp knock shatters the moment between us. The sound is jarring, discordant. His shadows recede immediately, his expression closing like a door slammed. He blinks, eyes returning to their normal state.

“We are not finished with this conversation.” He backs away with clear reluctance, his eyes never leaving mine. “Wait until I’m in the other room before opening the door.”

When I turn toward the door, my fingers lift to touch my lips. Whatever has formed between us—this power, this connection, this undeniable attraction—that kiss proves that it’s changing him just as much as it’s changing me.

But now we have to go back to pretending he’s dying. Back to the lies and the deception.

My only hope is that we’re strong enough to see it through.

Chapter Twenty-One

SACHA

The exile learns the shape of home by its absence.

Ravencross Market Ballads

The tasteof her still lingers on my tongue—heat and hunger, defiance and grief. My lips tingle with the memory of her, the soft hitch of her breath, the way her fingers twisted in my shirt. Each detail is vivid in my head. The slight tremor in her hands, the warmth of her breath against my face, the hesitation before she leaned in. And then that moment when hesitation became certainty, when her body pressed against mine.

I didn’t mean to kiss her. Not like that. Not with such abandon and need. I meant to offer control. Instead, I lost mine. All thought of holding back crumbled the moment her lips touched mine.

And now the air feels different.Charged. Her light still clings to the edges of my senses, tangled with my shadows in ways I don’t have the strength to untangle. It’s not just attraction, it’s not just magic. It’s something more powerful than that.

I stare at the wall, counting the cracks in the stone, and try to order my thoughts. Try to regain the focus that’s kept mealive through a lifetime of warfare and imprisonment. The kiss should be the last thing on my mind. With everything at stake, with enemies all around us, potentially wearing the face of allies, I should be focusing on strategy and not the way her lips felt against mine.

Strange how a single moment can rewrite priorities.

My shadows respond to my agitation, shifting restlessly inside me. The connection between emotion and power, something I mastered as a child, frays at the edges. I force them to stillness through sheer will, drawing slow breaths until they settle.

Control. I need control.

The Shadowvein Lord doesn’t have the luxury of distraction. Doesn’t have the freedom to be consumed by a single kiss. The burden of the Vareth’el demands clarity, especially now when our very existence hangs by a thread. One misstep, one moment of weakness, and everything we’re fighting for could collapse.

And yet.

I should be focused on my performance. Getting into the bed, pulling shadow and Voidcraft around me, crafting the perfect illusion of a dying man. But I’m still thinking about the way she kissed me back.Fiercely. Without reverence or fear. Like she wanted to break down everything that stood between us. Like she recognized something in me that I barely recognize in myself anymore. Like she saw past the Vareth’el to the man beneath.

ToSacha.

Not Lord Torran. Not the Vareth’el. Not the symbol the Veinwardens need me to be.

She shouldn’t have done that. She should never have been able to cross that line. The woman from another world. The woman I’m increasingly sure that prophecy brought to me. She shouldn’t have awakened this hunger in me. Thisneedthatthreatens to overwhelm strategy and purpose. These feelings that make me want to choose to be the man over the symbol.

For twenty-seven years, locked away in a tower, I never once lost sight of my purpose. Now, in the span of weeks, she’s making me question everything.

But I shouldn’t have let her. Shouldn’t have allowed that moment of weakness. Shouldn’t have given in to the pull between us that’s been growing since she appeared in my tower. Since she broke my binding and set me free. Since she became the catalyst for everything that followed. Because now I’m off balance, and I can’t afford to be.