Page 8

My stomach clenches at the sharp defiance in those eyes.

Something about her expression, the curve of her lips, sends a warm spike through my system.

A swirl of rage and something else. Attraction?

I kill that thought instantly. This is a purna, the same breed that ruined my life.

I force my voice to remain cold as I call out, “You will come with me. Now.”

She stands straighter. “Not without the girl.”

My men exchange derisive laughs. One steps forward, brandishing a blade. “You’re in no position to make demands.”

She flicks a glance in his direction but doesn’t move.

I see the faint tremor in her hands, though she tries to hide it.

She’s preparing a final gamble, I can feel it.

My frustration flares. If she unleashes the full force of her powers, it’ll turn into a bloodbath.

I need her alive, but I won’t hesitate to use lethal measures if she lashes out.

I stalk forward, letting my boots ring loudly against the stones. The ring of torches and armed elves parts to let me through. “Stand aside,” I say to my men. They shift, still keeping their blades at the ready.

Her eyes trace my approach. I note her features: golden-olive skin dulled by dust, a few silvery strands in her otherwise dark hair.

Beneath the grime, she has a fierce quality.

Scars mar the ridge of her left wrist, intricate swirls that look arcane, half-hidden by worn wrappings. That confirms it—no ordinary human.

She lifts her chin a fraction. “You must be their commander.”

My pulse kicks. I force calm into my voice. “Commander Vaelith of Orthani’s forces. You’re under arrest for trespassing and suspected sorcery.”

She holds my gaze, unflinching. The child clutches at her cloak, eyes darting around the circle of soldiers. “If I surrender, will you let the girl live?”

A laugh rumbles low in my chest, but it’s devoid of humor. “That depends on your cooperation.” My men murmur in approval, sensing the shift of power in the courtyard. “You’re cornered, purna. Don’t be foolish.”

She breathes in slowly. I see the faint swirl of energy around her fingertips, as though she’s seconds from conjuring something that could blind or maim us.

My anger simmers, held in check only by duty.

The tension between us feels electric, a clash of wills that stirs an unexpected heat beneath my skin.

I step closer, letting her see every inch of my obsidian-hued armor, the silver war brands on my left forearm signifying my rank.

I stand nearly seven feet tall, and my build is that of a warrior forged in a hundred battles.

My skin is the color of polished onyx, a hallmark of Orthani nobility with strong martial heritage.

A scar slices across my cheek—my reminder of a near-fatal skirmish.

My hair is pulled back in a short tail, streaked with pale strands from years of contact with raw magic.

I stare down at her, waiting for submission.

She doesn’t cower. Instead, she lifts that defiant chin even more. “I know what you do to purna,” she says, voice laced with contempt. “What you did to humans, to children, means nothing to you, does it?”

That stings, though I refuse to show it. “I obey Orthani’s law. Surrender, or we will take you by force.”

Her lips curl. For a split second, I see something akin to sorrow behind her fire, but it vanishes as she sets her jaw. “If that’s the way it has to be,” she murmurs. “Then come and claim me... if you dare.”

An inexplicable wave of heat ripples across my skin, like a challenge that crosses the boundary between hostility and a raw, potent undercurrent of attraction.

It’s maddening. A moment of silence stretches, thick with unspoken tension.

My men shuffle, eager for a signal to seize her, but also wary of any arcane trap she might spring.

My heartbeat pounds in my ears. I despise purna, yet this woman’s audacity makes my blood burn. “Very well,” I say coldly. “Your choice.”

I raise a hand in a precise motion, and half the circle lunges forward.

She thrusts out her palm, and a twisting shimmer of energy flashes across the alley.

My soldiers stagger back, disoriented by the strange spectacle.

I hiss under my breath. She’s trying to sow confusion so she and the child can slip away.

I press forward, refusing to be cowed. Adrenaline ignites my limbs.

We can’t let her escape. The others rally around me, tightening the perimeter.

Two of my men rush her, blades lifted. The child shrieks, ducking behind the woman’s cloak.

She shifts to protect the girl, fending off the soldiers’ attempts to grab them.

Her stance is lethal grace, honed for quick strikes.

She’s no novice. She parries a guard’s blade with a deft thrust of her forearm, pivoting away from the second attacker.

My men curse under their breath, struggling to keep up.

I watch, both impressed and infuriated. She’s so quick that for an instant, my soldiers appear clumsy.

I bark an order. “Surround them!”

In the corner of my vision, flames from a toppled torch spread across a puddle of spilled oil, illuminating the scene in wild orange flickers.

She whirls, hair snapping around her face, the arcane glow intensifying around her hands.

The child clings desperately to her belt, stumbling as the woman evades another blade.

Roath emerges from behind, slashing low to force the woman away from the exit.

She twists aside, but I seize my moment.

I launch forward, grabbing for her arm. She senses me, tries to jerk free, but my grip is iron.

Her eyes flare wide, and a charged current passes between us as if the mere contact triggers a primal surge of awareness. It makes my pulse hammer.

She spits a bitter whisper. “Get your hands off me.”

In response, I wrench her closer, ignoring the jolt of power that crackles along my forearm. The edge of her cloak drags across my thigh, and the subtle aroma of sweat and raw magic floods my senses. It’s strangely intoxicating, something I would never admit aloud.

“Stop fighting,” I growl, forcing her arm behind her back. She snarls, refusing to yield. Her movements are sinuous, her body all coiled muscle and suppressed fury. It’s nearly impossible not to admire that lethal elegance, though it sparks all my bitterness toward her kind.

The child cowers behind a fallen crate, trembling in plain sight of my men.

For an instant, the woman’s attention flicks to the child, and that distraction is enough.

I slam my weight into her, pinning her against the nearest wall.

She gasps, the breath knocked from her lungs.

My palm wraps around her wrist, pressing it to the damp stone. I can practically taste her rage.

She glares daggers at me, face inches away. “You think this ends with you?”

I hold her there, my breathing ragged, heart thunderous. “It ends when I say it does.”

She tries to summon that flickering magic again, and I feel the sudden rush of heated energy swirl near my chest. But now I have her pinned, and my men close in around us, weapons raised. Roath darts to the child, yanking her away from the debris.

The woman hisses, “No!”

I tighten my grip, ignoring how every cell in my body sparks at the contact. “There’s nowhere left to run, purna.”

She bares her teeth, eyes wild. Sweat beads along her temple. If it weren’t for the raw fury emanating from her, I might find that expression almost alluring. It’s a twisted moment of shared breath, her chest heaving against mine, tension thrumming through every bone.

Her next words slice the air. “I’ll kill you before I let you drag us into whatever sadistic cage Orthani built.”

I press my forearm against her shoulder, holding her tighter. The threat only adds a spark to the taut wire strung between us. “Try. You’ll find me ready.”

A flicker of something crosses her expression—defiance mixed with a flicker of reluctant intrigue. I can’t fully decipher it, but it sends a prickle down my spine. My men remain on high alert, each second intensifying the stifling presence of steel and aggression.

Slowly, she stops struggling. A faint tremor runs through her limbs, as though her magic is still coiled and eager to strike but she can’t find an opening.

I exhale through clenched teeth, relief tangled with an odd surge of triumph.

She’s captured, though I suspect breaking her spirit will be far more difficult.

I jerk my chin at Kalen, who steps forward with iron cuffs. “Restrain her,” I command. “And keep that child within sight.”

Kalen snaps open the cuffs, moving to lock her wrists. She stiffens, glaring at me as though memorizing every angle of my face for future retribution. Something about that steady glare makes my blood pound, even as logic warns me never to trust a purna’s cunning.

I speak softly, so only she can hear, “You’ll answer to Orthani’s court. Pray they show you a mercy that I wouldn’t.”

She lifts her chin, a mocking light in her eyes. “And you’d show none, right? Another big, dangerous soldier who thinks capturing me proves your worth.”

That sends a spear of anger through my chest, laced with an undercurrent of uneasy attraction. “Don’t test me.” But the words feel hollow. She already has tested me, and part of me hates how alive that feels.

Kalen locks the cuffs around her wrists, forcing her arms behind her back.

She winces slightly, though she tries to hide any sign of discomfort.

Roath seizes the child’s arm, ignoring her whimpers.

The child’s eyes well with tears, the flicker of raw power dancing around her small hands.

I give Roath a warning look, silently telling him not to provoke an outburst. He slackens his grip just enough for the child to stand without stumbling.