Page 88 of Stormvein (The Veinbound Trilogy #2)

It’s not the first time I’ve seen him kill.

But it’s the first time since I admitted to myself that I have feelings for him.

Since I felt the way his touch changes when it was just for me.

How his eyes warm when they meet mine. The way he fights against a smile when I do something that amuses him.

Since I let myself imagine what it might mean to stay in this world with him.

Now those same hands that traced my face are stained with blood that isn’t his own.

Those eyes that looked at me with something close to wonder show nothing but death.

And for one long moment, I don’t know which version is real.

The man who touches me like I am something precious, or the killer who steps over bodies without a second glance, calling the shadows back like they’re nothing more than tools.

I want to speak, want to say something … anything. But what is there to say? The guards would have killed us if Sacha hadn’t killed them.

I know that. I know that.

Just like I know this part of him exists. I’ve always known. But seeing it now, so close, so soon after feeling his mouth on mine … it turns my stomach in ways I don’t have the words for. And I don’t know if that’s because of what he did, or because of the way I’m accepting it as necessary.

By the time we reach the next floor, my breathing has steadied, but everything else still feels off, like my skin doesn’t quite fit right.

The architecture changes as we ascend the stairs, stone giving way to remnants of past elegance.

Faded tapestries still hang in places—once vibrant scenes of forests and hunts now dulled to ghostly outlines.

Their neglected beauty speaks to the keep’s former purpose before the Authority claimed it.

Wooden doors with decorative panels replace the simpler ones below, carved with symbols I recognize from the Meridian language.

Windows appear, allowing slivers of light to penetrate the gloom.

Voices alert us to the presence of people ahead, and Sacha’s hand finds my wrist, his grip firm as he tugs me back into an alcove. The touch, so different from the violence minutes ago, sends confusion coursing through me. He deepens the shadows around us, as footsteps grow closer.

Three soldiers come into view, their uniforms crisp despite the early hour.

They chat about mundane things. Complaints about the keep’s food, speculation about upcoming assignments, gossip about a commander’s drinking habits.

Their ordinary concerns make them suddenly, achingly human.

Nothing in their conversation suggests they’re aware of our presence, or of the two men left dead on the lower floor.

Sacha tenses beside me, shadows gathering at his fingertips, ready to strike. The darkness responds to his intent, eager and hungry. I can feel the moment he mentally issues their death sentence.

I place my hand on his arm. His skin is warm beneath my palm. So normal, so human . A silent plea passes between us.

Wait. Let them pass.

His eyes meet mine, a frown pulling his brows together. For a moment, I think he’ll ignore me. That necessity will override whatever softer impulse might exist. But something in my expression must reach him because he nods and lowers his hand.

I don’t know if it’s mercy or selfishness that motivates me. Not wanting to witness more death or not wanting to see him deal it. Not wanting to reconcile the man who let me stop him with the one who whispered ancient killing words minutes before. But he stays in place, and lets them go.

When they’re gone, we step into the hallway again.

The keep is more active on this floor, and twice more we encounter guards.

Once more, Sacha’s shadows eliminate them without sound or struggle when we don’t duck out of sight in time.

Each death adds to the weight in my chest, the recognition that I’m part of something that cannot be stopped without bloodshed.

Blood that Sacha sheds without hesitation, while I stand witness.

And then we turn the corner, and Sacha stops.

A grand hallway stretches before us, leading toward a set of ornate doors at its end.

There are two guards positioned on either side.

Unlike the others we’ve encountered, these men stand at perfect attention, alertness evident in every line of their bodies. Elite guards, not ordinary soldiers.

Sacha sends shadows along the ceiling to scout beyond the doors. When they return, his expression is grimly satisfied.

“Sereven,” he confirms in a whisper barely audible even inches from my ear. “In the main hall with his commanders.”

My heart pounds harder. This is it. The moment we’ve been working toward since leaving Stonehaven. The chance to confront Sereven directly. The man who betrayed Sacha, who ordered his torture, and who wields the crystal weapon that nearly destroyed him.

Sacha studies the guards at the door, clearly debating the risk of killing them or not. But before he can act, something else catches his attention.

“Someone is coming.” He pulls me back around the corner, one arm circling my waist, weaving shadows around us until we’re enveloped in darkness. I can feel his heartbeat against my back, steady where mine races.

I hold my breath while I listen to the doors open, and someone speaks.

“The High Commander will leave within the hour. Double the watch on all approaches.”

“He’s preparing to move. We’re running out of time,” Sacha whispers.

Before I can say anything, a voice calls out, cultured and amused, carrying the authority of someone accustomed to being obeyed.

“Sacha, you may as well enter properly instead of skulking in the shadows like a child. We have much to discuss before I depart for Stonehaven.”

Sacha’s jaw tightens. I glance around, searching for any sign we’ve been seen, but find nothing.

How does Sereven know we’re here?

Sacha turns to face me, eyes searching mine. For a moment, the battle-hardened Vareth’el recedes, replaced by something that seems more vulnerable.

“Stay here. Let him believe I came alone.” His fingers brush over my jaw, sending warmth through me despite the danger surrounding us.

“No!” The word comes out sharp. “I didn’t come all this way to hide while you face him alone.”

“Ellie—”

I reach up to touch his face. “You promised me. You promised you wouldn’t sacrifice yourself to save everyone else.”

His eyes close briefly, and when they open again, my breath is caught by the conflicted expression in them. “This isn’t about sacrifice. This is about keeping you safe. If I lose you …”

He doesn’t finish the sentence, but I can see it. The truth he’s never spoken aloud. That somewhere between the tower and here, between his imprisonment and his healing, I’ve become the thing he’s most afraid to lose.

“You won’t.” I let my fingers trace along his cheekbone, memorizing the sharp angles of his face. “But I will lose you if you try to do this alone. Whatever is going to happen, whatever trap he’s set, we face it together.”

His sigh is soft, almost defeated. “Very well.” His fingers cover mine, pressing my hand against his face. “But let me enter first. Your presence may be the only advantage we still possess. And if things go wrong … if he tries to use that crystal …”

“Where shadow leads, storm will follow.” I rise up on my toes to press a kiss to his lips.

When I draw back, his mouth curves into the smallest smile. “Mel’shira.”

He steps away from me, and walks around the corner. The guards tense immediately, hands moving to weapons, but make no move to stop him as he pushes the doors wide and strides through.

I follow two steps behind, entering a large chamber that might have once hosted grand feasts, but now serves as some kind of war room.

A dozen Authority officers stand at attention, hands moving to weapons as our presence registers.

Every eye fixes on us as we cross the polished stone floor, the sound of our footsteps echoing in the sudden silence.

At the center of the room stands Sereven, dressed in robes of deep crimson traced with gold symbols.

My eyes move to his face, taking in the sharp angles and aristocratic features.

But it’s what he holds that stills the breath in my lungs.

The blue crystal rests in his palm, pulsing with the same terrible light I remember from River Crossing, from Blackstone Ridge, from the night I thought Sacha was destroyed.

Even at this distance, I can feel its wrongness. The way it seems to drink in the natural light around it, the way my silver power recoils instinctively. The crystal that nearly destroyed the man I’m falling for, held casually in the palm of his enemy’s hand.

“Well … well … The Shadowvein Lord returns.” His voice carries the cultured tones of someone accustomed to command. “I would pretend to be surprised, but you’re very predictable in your behavior. When will you learn, br?—”

His words cut off abruptly as I step fully into view. The smugness drains from his face, replaced by genuine shock. The crystal in his hand pulses brighter.

“ Elowen .”