Page 17

17

Oberon

THOUGH SMALL AND resilient, the abandoned building withstood the passage of time and encroaching decay. Unlike most forgotten places I’ve seen, it still held an air of defiance; its frame refused to bow to ruin. The warped slats of the walls allowed the wind to slip through in ghostly whispers, scattering brittle leaves across the frozen dirt.

My boots landed with a heavy thump, the weight of the moment pressing down on my shoulders. There was no rot, no prominent weak spots, and, more importantly, no traps. A few moths clung to the splintered beams, their wings fluttering against the icy draft like dying embers.

I tracked their fragile movements until my attention shifted to the shadows stretching long against the warped walls. An unnatural silence lingered in the space, making my instincts bristle, as if something had claimed the place.

My knuckles recognized the familiar spin of my dagger, a habitual gesture. The steel caught the moonlight filtering through the fractured roof, with brief reflections flickering in the dust-laden air. The blade felt heavy in the silence, a reminder that I was present, breathing, and upright.

A scoff broke the eerie stillness.

“Show-off.”

My eyes darted to Quinn. She leaned against the doorway with her arms crossed, unimpressed as always. I shot her a pointed look, warning her to remain silent. She rolled her eyes in response, dismissing my unspoken order with a defiance that only she could muster.

‘The way her eyes would roll back…’

My fingers tightened around my dagger, pressing into the leather. The knight’s words from the tavern echoed in my mind—the jeers, the implications, the truths concealed beneath them.

I scowled and shoved the memory to where it belonged: buried and forgotten.

The wood groaned beneath my boot as I kicked the door open harder than necessary. The sound split through the night, serving as a warning against the dark, yet nothing stirred. Even the usual chittering of night insects had dulled as if Elduvaris were holding its breath.

Dagger in hand, I entered, my eyes scanning the room. It was empty. No movement or life was visible except for a single frost-limbed spider that skittered across the floor before vanishing into the cracks.

At least, something had gone right.

Quinn’s voice echoed in the space. “Can I go in now?” The sound lingered, absorbed by the void, but there was no response.

She moved past me as I stepped aside. Her shoulder brushed against mine in a fleeting warmth against the cool night air before she set her satchel on the floor by the hearth. Her movements remained steady and controlled, yet her fingers trembled. The ambush had rattled her more than she wanted to admit. Her knuckles turned white on the reins; her gasp when the arrows flew by, and her widened eyes upon realizing our disadvantage in numbers spoke volumes.

‘What? Are you out of your mind?’

Yes.

It was absurd.

The jump had been blind and desperate, with the river churning below like the gaping maw of a beast. I wasn’t even sure we would survive, but staying was worse. Darkness obscured her view of the dense canopy. It would have been difficult to distinguish the moving shapes among the trees and the glint of metal reflecting the sparse moonlight that filtered through the leaves.

Killing them was within my capabilities. That wasn’t the doubt. I had faced worse odds and walked away, bathed in the blood of those foolish enough to stand in my way. But to fend them off while ensuring she emerged unharmed? That had been the risk. Not the jump or the river.

Her.

My mission was to keep her safe, and, regardless of whether I liked it, I needed her.

Whoever cursed Silverfel was aware of the Fae residing in Aurelith. They concealed the magic from me, causing it to escape my perception. It was a deliberate act, a warning, a challenge, and a silent dare.

And I needed her to unravel it. Her wits, her talents, and her knowledge were essential. She had dedicated her life to studying poisons, herbs, and how magic intertwined with nature, even if she refused to acknowledge it. If anyone could decipher the curse’s origin, it was her.

Outside, the wind howled through the trees, rattling the building’s loose beams. Distant thunder rumbled in the night, creating a static-charged atmosphere. A few drafts slipped through the crevices of the walls, carrying the aroma of damp elduvaris and distant rain.

Quinn kneeled by the hearth, inspecting the logs that someone had left behind long ago. Her fingers brushed against them, testing before reaching for the striking tools. She struck them together—once, twice—and nothing happened. A spark flickered, feeble and fleeting, but it extinguished in the kindling. She huffed and readjusted the bundle of dry twigs.

Another attempt.

Another failure.

The entire hearth would have roared to life with a single spark had I ignited it, but my curiosity held me back. Frustration did not dissuade her determination. Her jaw remained set while the fire became an adversary she refused to lose to. She didn’t ask for help, even when she should have.

Had she always been so self-reliant?

The wind slammed against the walls. The lantern light flickered, casting long, restless shadows across the room. One of them danced over her bandaged hand, a reminder that her wound had yet to heal. Fumbling with the tools as if she had something to prove would only worsen it.

She made one last attempt before I spoke. “If you can’t start a fire, just say so.”

Quinn flinched, her head whipping around to face me. Her wide pupils struggled to constrict as darkness swallowed the edges of her irises. Her gaze remained distant and unfocused while my voice pulled her from her reverie.

Unease pulsed through me.

For a moment, she stared. Uneven breaths escaped her when her lips parted, a sign that she had forgotten her words. Then she blinked, scoffed, and pulled herself out of it, except that her practiced and seamless reaction lacked the proper speed. “I know how to light a fire,” she muttered. “I just—” She cut herself off with a shake of her head and stood.

Then winced.

My eyes narrowed.

Pushing off the wall, I crossed the room in a few strides, kneeled, and picked up the kindling where she had left it. The tools felt cool in my hands, smooth from years of use. With a practiced flick, I struck them together. A breath of ember curled through the thirsty kindling before flames licked up the dry twigs. The logs followed, crackling as they yielded to the heat. The golden glow stretched outward, pushing back the restless darkness and chasing away the chill lingering in the room’s corners.

Quinn crossed her arms over her chest. “Of course, you would do it on the first try,” she sighed, watching the fire as if it had betrayed her.

I tossed the flint aside as the flames grew stronger.

She tilted her head, studying me with an intensity that sent goosebumps down my spine. Not mocking. Not challenging. Just… considering. The dazed look had vanished, but its ghost still lingered between us. “Is there anything you can’t do?” she asked.

I met her gaze, holding it as I deadpanned, “Make you stop talking.”

A startled snort escaped her. “I suppose so.”

The wind howled outside, rattling the walls with a restless energy. The wood groaned beneath me when I dropped into the chair, testing its strength before allowing my weight to settle into it. The tension in the room eased, growing quieter and allowing for easier breathing.

Quinn rubbed her arm, her fingers gliding over the bandages on her palm. Her gaze remained distant, lost in thought.

Silverfel.

Was that what occupied her thoughts? The moment she reopened the cut on her palm, despite my warning?

Her fingers flexed as though testing for pain. She wouldn’t speak unless she wanted to, so I shifted my attention to the fire and its shadows. Anywhere but her.

The glow vanished when she stepped in front of the hearth, her silhouette obstructing the faint light. I blinked, and my gaze lifted upward to the rag and a tin of salve in her hand.

A deep groan rumbled from my chest.

“Take it off,” she demanded.

She must have noticed the slashes in my tunic. Knives and arrows flew toward me as we left the ambush. They missed their mark, yet several had made a slice. Nothing deep. Nothing that required fussing over.

Rather than for her being hit or grazed by them, it had been the preferable outcome.

“I don’t need it.”

“I might as well check your stitches,” she insisted.

My muscles tensed. I had forgotten about those—the ones she restitched on our way to Silverfel, which nearly killed us because she insisted we stop. She distracted me; her gentle hands touched my skin, and I forgot how to think.

She reached for my sleeve.

I sighed and grabbed the hem of my tunic, yanking it over my head. A tingling sensation slid up my spine as the fabric brushed against my skin. It had become a peculiar habit: she insisted I remove my clothes, and I complied with her.

My focus centered on Quinn when she kneeled before me.

‘She’s got those big, pretty eyes. The kind that looks up at you all soft.’

My teeth ground together, and I averted my gaze from her. I shouldn’t have felt that searing, twisting anger in my chest, that possessiveness curling low and vicious within me. It wasn’t my place.

Not after what I had done.

Or what I hadn’t done to protect her.

I wasn’t meant for this. I wasn’t built to protect anyone. I was a predator, a murderer, a torturer.

Her fingertips grazed my shoulder, featherlight, tracing the line where the stitches had once been. I went rigid at the touch.

Soft.

So damned soft.

“It shouldn’t have healed that fast,” she murmured, frowning. “That’s not humanly possible.”

“Well, I’m not human.” The words came out clipped and harsher than I intended. I wasn’t angry with her; it made sense that she felt confused. I loathed how she made me feel. She stirred my Fae instincts, a part of me I had forced into dormancy, awakening them with her mere presence.

‘The herbalist must bleed.’

The words crept through my mind. My jaw tightened again as the memory surfaced—the beast in Silverfel lunging for her, its gnarled roots snapping, and the way my vision had tunneled. My instincts took control before I considered a response. It was pure reaction, pure rage, pure possession.

I hated she made me care enough to follow it.

Her brows knitted together, and her body became tense.

Good. She should be wary of me. She should keep her distance like everyone else. It was safer that way.

Except… she didn’t.

Her familiar, forced smile reappeared, a feeble attempt to dissipate the heavy, charged silence between us. She made a light, meaningless joke, yet the words fell flat. My thoughts tangled with the sensation of her presence being too close, too warm, too overwhelming.

Her hands found purchase on my jaw as she stood, her gentle fingers cool against my heated skin. She tilted my face toward the firelight, her lips parting as she assessed the damage. I should have pulled away. There were a few scrapes that would heal by morning. I didn’t need her fussing over them.

The bandage wrapped around her palm brushed against my skin, causing a dark sensation to curl deep in my chest. The memory of her slicing her palm open without hesitation, blood welling crimson against pale skin, resurfaced. My anger wound and unraveled inside me.

She trembled in her sleep. Her voice sounded fragile and broken as she begged someone to stop. I shook her arm to wake her from whatever horror had gripped her in rest. Her eyes glistened when she realized I had re-bandaged her hand. The heat of her body against mine, the way she tensed but didn’t pull away as my hands covered hers on the reins, and I steadied her when fear threatened to overwhelm her. Yet she stood before me, touching me as though I were the one who required care.

I swallowed hard, my throat as dry as sand. I should have moved or done something, but her face held me captive. The firelight flickered across her skin, painting gold along her cheekbones and tracing the curve of her parted lips. She wiped the blood from my cheek with careful fingers, gentle despite the faint tremor in her hands.

She said something—another joke, another desperate attempt to shatter whatever new tension had rooted itself between us. She met my gaze and faltered. A sharp current surged through my spine, searing hot in my gut, as color bloomed high on her cheeks, deepening into a warm breathlessness. She looked as though I had caught her doing something she shouldn’t have.

‘You’re beautiful.’

The words acted like a slow-burning ember, smoldering beneath my skin. A low, simmering irritation coiled in my gut, tightening with every breath and replacing the energy that had flowed through me. She was beautiful, bewitching in a way that defied reason. But that hadn’t been what irritated me. It was the way she blushed, how another man’s words had captured that reaction from her, causing her skin to flush with a delicate shade of pink.

Why did that bother me?

She wasn’t mine.

The thought hit hard, a harsh truth that should have been comforting. Yet something within me growled in protest- a deep, primal instinct I had spent my whole life suppressing.

Mine.

No.

She could never be mine. She would never be mine.

The laws prohibited Fae from loving humans. They were obsessed with their flawless, untainted lineages. That was why they abandoned me; I became a mistake, a blemish they wanted to forget.

So, what triggered such a visceral reaction from it?

From me?

Why did she torment me in ways that no one else ever had?

A stillness lingered between us, stretched tight. Her soft voice shattered it. “Are you…” She hesitated, her brow furrowing. My entire body went rigid, hyper-aware of her every movement. “Are you an assassin?”

My thoughts blanked.

I blinked. Her words took a moment to register. She had rendered me speechless once again. My brows furrowed. “What?”

She crossed her arms, the warmth of her touch a fading memory. I hated losing it more than I wanted to acknowledge. “Is that why you’re so grumpy, dark, and mysterious? It all makes sense now.”

I should have seen this coming. After Silverfel, after the way she pieced together every puzzle with her clever, infuriating mind, I found it surprising that it took her so long to uncover the truth.

“Your armor when I first arrived at the castle. Your uniform.” She waved a finger at me, gesturing to my appearance. “Your dark and mysterious aura, your throwing knives, and the way you discovered that trap before the ambush.” She rattled them off with excitement, as if thrilled by her discovery.

Then, with a sharp gasp, her lips curled into an overly pleased grin. “Oh, gods. You thought I might be a sinister assassin or something, too, didn’t you?” She barked a laugh, her eyes gleaming with amusement. “That’s why you slammed me against that tree. You give me too much credit, Sinclaire… I think I like it.”

My stomach twisted.

Hi fucking insufferable adaneth.

This fucking insufferable adaneth.

My tongue pressed to my canine, eyes narrowing. “What?” Her expression dulled. “Did I get it wrong?”

I huffed. “Aren’t you afraid?” Rising to my feet, I grabbed my tunic and slipped it over my head.

She blinked. “Of what?”

My teeth ground together as I stepped forward, closing the distance between us. The firelight flickered, casting dancing shadows across her face as I glared at her. “Of me, Dilthen Doe,” I snarled. “Because if you aren’t, you should be.”

Her brows furrowed, but she didn’t back down. She didn’t flinch. Instead, her shoulders squared, and her gaze met mine with unwavering resolve. “You don’t scare me.” The words struck deep in my chest.

“If you harbor death within you,” she continued, “then I shall dance with him. Your darkness is what draws me in. Like a moth to a flame, you captivate my soul, and I am drawn to you in ways I cannot explain. So no, Oberon Sinclaire, I am not afraid of you.”

A sharp breath escaped my lungs. My heartbeat drummed in my ears, mirroring the slow, burning tension that vibrated between us. It wrapped around my ribs with an unspoken force, drawing me toward her when I should have stepped away.

She remained still and unflinching.

And that just made it worse.

“You don’t know what I have done, Dilthen Doe,” I warned, my voice low, almost guttural. The weight of my past hung between us, intensifying with every breath. “The people I have hunted. The ones I have silenced. The things I have had to do to survive.”

Her eyes searched mine. I waited for the unavoidable flicker of fear, for the moment she would understand and see my true nature.

Yet she didn’t recoil or tremble.

Her expression softened. “I understand what it means to be hunted,” she countered. “I understand what it means to do whatever is necessary to survive.”

I stepped forward, narrowing the space between us until only heat and shadow remained. My fingers lifted to brush over the area on her jaw where the bruises still lingered, dark reminders of that bastard knight’s touch. A slow, aching pull twisted inside me as my thumb ghosted over the bruised skin, light as a breath.

She shivered.

“You should be afraid,” I murmured, my voice dangerously soft. “I’ve killed men for less than what that bastard did to you in Silverfel.” My gaze fell to the mark, the ugly proof of his touch, and my chest tightened. “For much less.”

She scoffed. “Do you think I haven’t figured that out?”

My fingers curled against her skin, just enough to feel the warmth beneath the bruises, the proof of her presence. “I don’t regret it,” I admitted. The words, though soft-spoken, pierced the thick air between us with the threat they carried. “Not a single one.”

Her lips parted as if she intended to challenge me, perhaps to pry more from me. After a moment, she enunciated, “I am not afraid of you, Oberon Sinclaire.” The words sent a painful sensation ripping through my ribs.

My thumb traced over the bruise one last time as my pulse throbbed beneath my skin.

“You will be.”