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Her archery had been temporarily confiscated by The Court, so she couldn’t shoot the mortals.

But unlike humans, inanimate objects are fair game to deities.

With a snarl, Wonder had used the discarded buckles to strangle one of Malice’s torturers, noosing the warden until his head nearly popped off his neck.

Although she used the restraints to lash and twist the neck of two more figures, additional medics and guards poured into the room, too many to combat even with her speed.

And unlike arrows or blades, the bonds simply weren’t as wieldy, thus compromising her kinetics.

Wonder needed something more flexible, something that killed quicker. But before she could race into the hall and grab a makeshift alternative, the orderlies had swarmed Malice.

That’s when he snapped out of his trance. Then he exploded into motion.

It should have taken Wonder milliseconds to locate a suitable method of defense in the corridor.

Yet terror had impaired her faculties, deterring her from acting swiftly enough.

So when that priceless human who’d stolen her heart attempted to do his captors bodily harm, they retaliated.

The knife one of them carried would have merely inconvenienced a goddess. To a mortal, it did worse.

The orderly lanced the blade through Malice’s stomach, the impact caving his body forward. His blood oozed down the handle, the weapon lodging deeply as he slumped in the casket of the guards’ arms, at which point they slammed their fists into his face while calling him a demon.

If Wonder had been in possession of her archery, she’d have dropped it.

Instead, she raged like an inferno, attempting but failing to kick and punch and tear them from her mortal.

Murderous, she eliminated several more figures with the buckles.

Choking them. Snapping their necks. Her invisible vengeance sent the rest dashing from the room, spooked and cursing.

Dropping the restraints, Wonder had plummeted to her knees beside the human she loved. Shrieking, whimpering, she pawed at his kindly mortal face to no avail. She tried but wasn’t able to cradle him, hadn’t been able to comfort Malice in death.

Well… Malice hadn’t been his name yet. Not back then.

Expelling herself of the story, Wonder sinks into his arms, limbs still hooked around his waist. All the while, Malice studies her.

“I remember a warm breeze and sparkling light when it happened,” he says.

“Like a guardian had knelt in front of me. It was the same feeling I’d gotten every time I reread your letters. ”

He recalls the knife skewering him, the slick coat of crimson, and a metallic scent. “Despite the pain, I felt you there with me,” he says, etching his thumbs over Wonder’s tears. “I felt you there, not wanting to let go.”

Indeed, she had burdened him instead of letting him rest in peace. As she’d suspected before, the tether between them had been strung too tightly. He died inexplicably linked with a deity, but without closure.

Yet he doesn’t look furious about her interference, nor accusatory that she’d sealed his fate. “Tell me who I was,” he murmurs.

“You were a beautiful figure. You ruled a library surrounded by pomegranate trees and a wild meadow.” She traces each of the scars stitched into his skin, a tapestry of mortal and immortal wounds.

“You liked reading about birth and death and legends, and I remember thinking, ‘How his eyes alight for myths.’ You had three hounds and a black horse, whom you adored. You wrote with your left hand and had a raspy singing voice.”

She kisses the inside of his wrist. “And your name was Quill.”

“Quill,” Malice repeats, drawing out the moniker. “Yeah, that’s it. Except you never told me your own name.”

“I tried to save you.”

“I tried to answer you.”

“But we’re here now. We’re right here.”

He quirks an eyebrow. “Are we? And who am I? Right here?”

Wonder rivets her gaze on him. “You’re…”

She may know the details of who he used to be, but she’d never gotten to know that man. Not like she knows him today. Yet although the request should be simple to fulfill, Wonder stammers.

After a moment’s contemplation, Malice’s visage darkens. “Tongue-tied, eh? I’ll make it easier on you. Who do you want? Me or him?”

Again, her mouth goes numb.

And with a slit of his eyes, Malice cuts through her silence, his words slicing down to the cartilage. “That’s what I thought.”

Just like that, his weight is gone, and his scent is gone, and his voice is gone. But it’s only when the door slams shut that Wonder realizes he’d gotten dressed, then stormed from the room. Though, not before leaving something behind.

Her corsage rests on the mattress.

Wonder’s throat contorts. No more bartering. No more deals. Plucking the bracelet, she twines it around her wrist, her insides cramping.

Every moment she delays is one step closer to losing him all over again. But which him ? Malice or Quill?

She launches from the mattress. Racing to the wardrobe, Wonder yanks a blouse over her head, steps into a pair of pants, and thrusts her feet into a set of boots.

Although she prefers bare feet, now doesn’t feel like the time.

Needing as much armor as possible, she collects her archery for no other reason than to catch his attention.

If need be, she’ll shoot a quartz arrow past him.

Wonder descends from the dormitories. Along the corridors, lanterns twitch. Ethereal sapphire light illuminates the halls. Tenderness, angst, worry, and regret clash in her ribcage, so that she’s unable to reconcile his question and her reticence.

She cannot perceive Malice and Quill as separate. But then, neither does she think of them as a single entity.

She had cherished yet harmed Quill. She had hated yet fucked Malice.

In The Hollow Chamber, engraved titles decorate the book spines. Wonder follows the pungent smell of discontent and uneven texture of hurt. Though, these sensations could be coming from both of them.

Wonder increases her pace, striding into the restricted section. She heads for the spot where they first consummated, where everything changed between them, where he stood naked after a rainstorm, and she exposed their secrets, and they fucked until she felt nothing but earth-shattering pleasure.

She spots Malice prowling down that aisle. Bracketed by books, he paces ahead without a destination.

“Malice!” she snaps—or cries. It’s a little of both.

He stops, the ramps of his shoulders tensing as if her words have nailed him in place. He’s partially clothed, with his feet unshod, chest bare, and jeans slumping across his waist.

Like her, Malice carries his weapons, the poplar bow and quiver flush with his spine. He might have collected the archery from his room for the same purpose. Either to target her or blow off steam by shooting something breakable.

The same instant he whips around, his arrow nocked and fixed on her, she’s got him in her line of sight, the quartz arrowhead braced. They stare at one another, her grip shaking as visibly as his.

According to the legend, he’s restored his heart. So why does it feel like everything and nothing has changed?

They lower their weapons. As Wonder opens her mouth, Malice’s lips compress. Harnessing his archery, he turns and continues striding away.

“Malice, no,” Wonder pleads, her voice splintering as she pitches aside her bow. “No, wait. Please, don’t go!”

Again he freezes, muscles straining. She rushes up to the demon, startled to find his eyes clenched shut. Surging to her toes, she flings her arms around him, because if she cannot reply to his question, she can at least show him the answer matters just as much to her.

Malice flinches when her mouth crushes against his.

And then he grabs her. Muttering a hoarse “fuck,” the demon snatches Wonder’s ass and spears her lips apart.

He slams the kiss into her, the maddened force pulling a cry from her lungs.

Driving her against him, Malice uses a free hand to seize the back of Wonder’s scalp, fastening her in place as he consumes her tongue, striking in and out until she’s keening.

Wonder pulls on the gilded waves, urging his mouth harder, deeper. But before she can fully ride the kiss or bask in the hungry, punishing swats of his tongue, Malice veers back on a haggard groan.

“Out of the way, Wildflower,” he rasps. “Before I say something I’ll regret.”

“I could give the same reply,” she grates out. “Every manipulation. Every mind game. Every person I care about that you’ve hurt. If I’m guilty in your past life, you’re guilty in the present. We’re both at fault.”

Malice’s face clenches. “Christ. I’ve been a piece of shit,” he grovels. “The shit I’ve pulled. The way I’ve put you through the ringer. I’m so fucking sorry, Wonder.”

“Then stay with me. Don’t leave.”

“I have to,” he grits out softly, grazing her jaw. “I have to because I’m not the one you want. I’m not even the one you deserve. I never fucking was.”

Because he’s not Quill. Not anymore.

Wonder’s soul rebels. She opens her mouth to protest, but Malice’s frown strays over her shoulder.

Spinning, she follows the trajectory. She hasn’t revisited this aisle since the first time they had sex, the force of their bodies toppling books from the shelves. While straightening out the area afterward, he must have restocked the titles out of order, because one volume is glowing.

Then again, texts don’t glint to indicate disorganization. The brunt of their fucking must have dislodged something.

Wonder and Malice swap a look, then step closer to the volume. Its spine glimmers like a celestial. Vigilant, she presses her fingers to the book, which causes another title to flare.

Malice repeats the action with the next book, invoking a third volume to blaze from across the aisle. Wonder’s pulse escalates as she recalls previous incidents when she experienced such spectacles, in which light had animated a path of titles.

She had deemed those events optical illusions. And maybe they had been.

But not this one.

“It’s a trail,” she says.

They rush from text to text. Throughout the restricted section, each spine ignites another the moment either Malice or Wonder makes contact. Although these random titles fail to make sense as a unit, the result is a route leading to someplace unforeseen.

At a shelf embedded into the wall, they reach the final tome. Quickly, Wonder snatches the book. However, Malice goes rigid beside her. His eyebrows punch together, detecting something.

Out of nowhere, a hiss slices from his mouth. “Ah, shit.”

She stalls, the book arrested in her grasp. A percussion of noise rumbles through the library, the volume increasing. Seconds later, the commotion infiltrates her ears, realization dawning as distant footsteps stampede in their direction.

Meanwhile, the book trail flashes. It marks a phosphorescent path to Malice and Wonder like a silent alarm, a ploy designed to lure its targets.

Malice’s head whips toward the cacophony. “It’s not a trail.”

Fear clutches her throat. “No, it’s not.”

It’s a trap.