Page 22

Midwinter’s Second Breath

T he dark forest is alive.

The sensation is visceral—every step sinks into moss that pulses in sync with our strides. The trees don’t sag with age; they murmur. Listening. Waiting.

Kainen walks ahead, his black robe trailing behind him like smoke. His fingers graze the pommel of his sword—not out of readiness, but habit. A reminder. He doesn't need to draw it. Not here. Not unless the forest disagrees.

“This is where my mother came from,” he says without turning.

My chest tightens.

He’s never spoken of her without bitterness. But now—no accusation. Just truth. The air here is different. Wilder. Older. Woven with enchantments I feel thrumming beneath my skin. My mother once stood in this very place. And I, unknowingly, carry her legacy. The blood of witches sings in my veins.

Malachi lingers behind, his massive shadow shifting in the moonlight. He doesn't like it here.

Neither do I.

The trees part to reveal a stone circle, half-swallowed by ivy and glowing faintly blue in the moonlight.

“This is them, isn’t it?” I ask, my voice softer than I intend.

Kainen looks at me. The silver moonlight etches sharp lines across his face. “No,” he says, stepping closer. “But you won’t find what you’re looking for without them.”

“She’s gone,” I whisper. “But there’s something of her left. A book.”

“The mirror,” he says.

I follow his gaze to the center of the circle, where a towering mirror shimmers into existence, carved from obsidian and bone, its edges wrapped in ancient runes. My reflection stares back—no glasses, no sweatshirt. Just Selene. A girl caught between two worlds.

“It’s a gate,” Kainen says. “One that opens with blood.”

“I don’t even know if I want to go back.”

He steps in close, his voice low. “Then don’t. But if you do… take me with you.”

My heart stutters. “You don’t belong there.”

“Just like you thought you don’t belong here. Until I found you.”

I should pull away. I should run. But I don’t. I move closer. Close enough to feel the heat of his body.

“What if we can’t come back?” I ask.

He presses his forehead to mine, his voice a soft vow. “Then we burn the world and build one that will have us.”

The mirror pulses.

A witch steps out of the trees. Her hair falls in silvery waves, her eyes deep pools of knowing. “You seek to open a door that cannot close without consequence,” she says. “You wish to cross the veil of memory… and return with truth.”

“I need the book,” I say. “And my aunt’s ashes. I have to bring them here. With me.”

She nods once. Then slices her palm and presses it to the mirror. Red runes blaze to life as the glass ripples.

Kainen takes my hand.

“You’re not going without me.”

I don’t argue. We step through.

The scent of cheap coffee. Candle wax. The hum of city life just outside the window. I’m back.

In my dorm room.

I land awkwardly, breathless, on top of Kainen. His hands grip my hips, steadying me. I’m straddling his lap. He’s still holding me.

“Oh my god,” I whisper.

He smirks. “You brought me into a realm without weapons. Reckless, Thrazelene.”

“Don’t call me that,” I whisper, my breath hitching. “Look. It’s real. I wasn’t lying.”

He stares, something unreadable flashing in his eyes.

“I believe you,” he says softly.

And then I don’t know who moves first. Maybe him. Maybe me. But suddenly, his lips are crashing into mine. It’s frantic. Breathless. Hungry. Not just a kiss—an unraveling. A claim.

One I’m not ready for.

And one I can’t resist.

His kiss isn’t gentle.

It consumes .

I shouldn't want this. I shouldn't want him . But the moment our mouths collide, all my reasons burn to ash.

My fingers curl into the collar of his shirt, desperate, trembling. I should stop him. Remind him where we are—who we are. But every time his hands touch me, the world goes silent, and all that exists is him . The heat. The gravity.

He turns us, and I land with a breathless gasp on the mattress, my back arching at the contact. His cloak surrounds us, trapping the heat, drowning out the world. I feel the scrape of his armor, the leather and steel still clinging to his frame, the jagged edges of scars that drag across my bare skin.

His breath skates along my throat, reverent. Shaking.

“You’re real,” he murmurs, voice raw. Like a prayer on the edge of a battlefield.

“I told you I was,” I whisper, threading my fingers into his hair.

It’s soft. Too soft for a warrior. Too gentle for the things he's done.

And when his lips trail lower—down the curve of my throat, over the hollow of my collarbone—I feel it.

The hesitation .

His movements are fluid, but not practiced. Every caress is too careful , like he’s discovering me. Like he's never had this— me —before.

One hand pins mine above my head, while the other slips beneath my shirt. I gasp when his calloused palm glides over my ribs, then lower. Reverent. Possessive. Like I’m a weapon he doesn’t know how to wield… but needs to.

“You drive me mad,” he rasps. “Everything about you. Your voice. The way you look at me. The way you breathe.”

“You don’t control me,” I whisper, panting.

His lips brush mine again, softer now. Slower. “No,” he agrees. “But I’d burn down kingdoms to belong to you.”

My breath catches.

And just like that, we break.

His mouth crashes against mine in a kiss that’s all tongue and teeth and ruin. I arch into him, gasping when he grinds against my core, and the thickness I feel between us makes my thighs quiver.

Clothes tear away. Armor thuds to the floor. And then, we’re bare.

He stills.

His eyes devour me like he’s trying to memorize every detail—the curve of my hip, the swell of my breasts, the vulnerability in my parted lips. He touches me like a soldier touches sacred ground.

And then he lowers himself, mouth dragging between my thighs.

My moan is ragged and wild.

He doesn’t use finesse. But the intensity—the need —makes me see stars. His tongue is rough and untrained, but insatiable. Hungry. His hands grip my thighs like I might disappear if he lets go. When I shatter beneath him, his name breaks from my lips like a prayer.

Then he’s above me again. Bigger. Wilder . Shaking with restraint.

He lines himself at my entrance, and for a second—just a second—his gaze flickers to mine, like he's asking .

I nod.

And when he slides into me, my back arches with a cry. The stretch is exquisite. Devastating.

His jaw clenches. His whole body trembles.

And still, he doesn’t move.

His forehead presses to mine. “Tell me to stop.”

“I dare you,” I whisper, wrapping my legs around his waist.

Then he begins to move. Slowly. Too slow. Each stroke is measured , like he’s testing the rhythm. Finding the edges of pleasure he’s never known.

Gods, he’s never done this before.

I feel it in every stuttering breath, every unsure thrust that turns into something deliberate . He’s learning me. And with every minute that passes, he becomes brutal . Perfect .

I rake my nails down his back, tracing the ridges of old wounds. I kiss each scar like a vow. His hips slam into mine harder. Faster. His breath turns to growls against my skin.

“Selene…” he grits through clenched teeth, biting down on my shoulder. “You’re— undoing me. ”

“I want to,” I moan. “I want you to fall apart.”

His mouth crashes over mine. It’s not gentle. It’s claiming .

We move like war—desperate, wild, clawing for something we’ll never name. We fall together in a tangle of sweat and bruises and broken moans. When we both shatter, it’s not quiet.

It’s violent .

A gasp. A cry. A soul-deep quake.

And even in the aftershocks, his arms stay around me. His breath still fans against my neck.

He doesn’t let go.

Not yet.

His scent clings to my skin.

Leather. Smoke. Ash. And something darker.

My breathing remains uneven. A delicious ache coils low in my thighs, sore in the way that reminds me he was there—inside me. Beside me, Kainen lies with one arm draped across my waist like he’s claimed territory. Like I’m his.

Maybe I am.

But the haze of what we just did begins to clear as the reality of my dorm room creeps back through the broken window.

“We don’t have long,” I murmur, chest rising and falling beneath the thin blanket. “My roommate could come back any second.”

Kainen doesn’t even open his eyes. But the corner of his lips curves—not quite a smile, more a smirk, like he's only ever known how to smirk in this world, and never smile.

“Then it’s time to go.”

I roll out of bed, legs shaky beneath me. My room greets me like a stranger. Outside, shadows cast by streetlamps crawl across the walls, touching the faded posters, half-finished coffee cups, the broken mirror with Midterms = death still scribbled on a post-it note.

It all feels too small now. Too mortal .

But then I see it—the worn book.

The Book of Legends.

The leather cover worn, the sigils dulled but still pulsing with power. I brush my fingertips over them reverently, and something hums inside me. A low, ancient sound.

“I found it,” I whisper, breathless.

Kainen’s already dressed, clad in his tunic tight over his muscles like a sleek coat of obsidian. Enough to pass for a college boy—barely.

I open my desk drawer and pull out the small wooden urn. The weight of it punches something low in my chest. “And this,” I say. “My aunt. I came back for her.”

He crosses the room, footsteps nearly soundless on the linoleum.

“That’s it?” he asks, gaze unreadable.

I nod, clutching the book and the urn to my chest like lifelines. “That’s everything.”

He studies me for a moment too long. “You’re shaking.”

“No,” I lie. “Okay—yes.”

He cups my jaw, thumb grazing the corner of my mouth like he’s addicted to the feel of me. “Thrazelene, it’s okay.”

“That name again,” I mutter. “Stop calling me that.”

He only laughs, low and wicked, and turns toward the window.

“You’re not taking the dragon?” I ask.

That smirk returns—danger and seduction all in one.

“I am,” he replies, “just... not the way you’re used to.”

A car pulls up. No. Not just any car.

A Lamborghini.

Dark red like the river in Nythia. Sinewed. Its surface absorbs the light. On the hood, glowing faintly in red, is a dragon’s eye.

“ You turned into a Lamborghini, ” I whisper, stunned. “Seriously?”

The car’s speakers purr in a familiar voice. “Your people call this... a flex. Get in.”

Heart still racing, I gather the book and the urn and slide into the passenger seat. The interior hums—hotter than it should be. There’s a low hiss as the doors close, sealing us inside.

The dash dims.

My eyes ache.

The edges of the dashboard blur. The buildings outside smear together in streaks of shadow and light. I blink rapidly, jaw tightening, trying to fight off the strange veil pulling over my vision.

Not now.

Not this.

Ever since I first stepped foot in Nythia, I didn’t need my glasses. Maybe it was magic. Maybe just adrenaline. But now, back in this world, a soft pressure builds behind my eyelids—a throb that pulses like a warning bell.

“Kainen,” I murmur, pressing trembling fingers to my temple. “Something’s wrong.”

He doesn’t bring the car to a stop. It glides forward in smooth, silent defiance. But the interior lights flicker, then deepen into a low, glowing crimson. The console glows warm, almost alive. The speakers thrum with his voice—low, steady, intimate.

“Focus on me.”

I try. Gods, I try.

A golden-crimson shimmer rises from the dashboard, and then his presence envelops me like a breath exhaled between worlds—heat, strength, and absolute command.

Then—release.

The pressure vanishes in a sudden wave, and I gasp, chest rising sharply.

My vision clears.

As if the haze never existed.

“What did you do?” I whisper, nearly breathless, one hand bracing against the seat, the other still hovering by my temple.

From the vents, his voice curls like smoke—velvet and steel. “What I never should have waited to do. We’re connected now. I protect what’s mine.”

My breath catches.

I blink again—then rub my eyes slowly, stunned. The clarity is sharp. Too sharp. Every light, every edge of the street outside glows with startling precision. I feel like I’m seeing the world as it truly is—for the first time.

“You rewired my eyes,” I murmur, more to myself than to him.

“I prefer them clear,” he says. “So I can see myself in them.”

My dorm fades into silence as we glide through the streets, swallowed by shadows.

My throat tightens. It shouldn’t. My fists shouldn’t clench, and my legs shouldn’t feel hot beneath the hem of my thin skirt.

But they do.

Outside the window, a paper skeleton dangles from a tree limb, caught in the wind, spinning wildly. Strings of green and purple lights blink across the house ahead—alive with music, bodies, laughter. All of it belongs to my world.

Or it did.

We glide through the street, my dorm shrinking behind us into shadows and silence. The ordinary world vanishes in the rearview mirror.

“Are you sure you want to say goodbye to this?” he asks, his voice curling through the speakers like smoke. Like a lover’s whisper against my throat.

“I need closure,” I whisper back. “ I left Diana a letter in her room but still.” I think of Micah even though he proved to be someone I thought I knew.

The car slows, gliding to a stop half a block from the costume party. Lights flash. Music spills into the night, wrapped in the sharp tang of cheap beer and glittered chaos.

I spot Micah on the porch, dressed like a lazy version of a Greek god. His eyes find mine. Then drop to my legs. The urn in my hands. The black car at my side that pulses like something alive .

His brow tightens. His jaw sets.

And I know what’s coming.

Behind me, Kainen’s voice curls again, silk and steel.

“Shall I keep driving?”

“No,” I whisper, steadying my breath. “I have you with me.”