M y eyes flutter open to a thudding sound. My hands feel something soft. Not grass, not dirt, but something grittier, finer. I blink rapidly, my vision adjusting behind the lenses perched on my nose. Everything looks normal. Maybe too normal. I push myself up, the weight of my thick glasses sliding down my nose. I adjust them with one finger. I raise my fingers to eye level and realize I’m covered in black soot. It clings to my skin like ink, seeping into the cracks of my palms.
I continue to push myself up on trembling arms, my knees sinking into ashen ground that shifts like burned sand. My breathing is ragged, uneven, and wrong. The air smells of charred wood, smoke, and something metallic beneath the glow of three moons in the sky. Which is not normal, because it almost looks like liquid. When have there ever been three moons in the sky?
Normally, with my glasses, there are some blurred shapes and mild distortion, but my vision isn’t straining at all.
And then, I see him.
A man—or something close to one—stands a few feet away. His obsidian eyes reflect no light, only black depths, swallowing the stars overhead as the sun dips slowly on the horizon. My gaze trails downward, following the carved planes of his bare chest, the lean muscle of his stomach until his form changes. My breath catches. Legs. No, hooves. Sleek, powerful, and covered in black fur like velvet.
I freeze when he tilts his head, his expression unreadable. “Are you lost?”
His voice is liquid silk, smooth yet heavy, like it’s meant to settle deep inside me.
What. The. Fuck.
I must be dreaming. I have to be.
“I—” I turn in a circle, and that’s when I see it.
A river flowing like the rapid, the color of blood. It’s moving, pulsing like a living thing, the rapids thick and crimson as they carve through the land, separating this dark, burned terrain from the other side where the ground is white as snow.
I whip my gaze back to the creature in front of me. “Where am I?”
His lips curl, not quite a smile, not quite a smirk. “Nithya,” he says, watching me closely. “The lost kingdom.”
A shiver rips through me.
This isn’t real. It can’t be. He studies me like he’s never seen something like me before. Maybe he hasn’t. “Do you have a name?” he asks, stepping closer.
“Selene,” I manage.
He repeats it slowly, his tongue curling around the syllables like he’s savoring it. “Selene.” Something in his voice warms my skin, heating me from the inside out. I swallow hard. “You’re human.”
I glance at myself, at my ash-covered hands, my purple sweater still twisted from where I was on the floor by the bed. “Is that a problem?”
His smile sharpens. “No. Just… rare.”
My pulse jolts.
“How did you cross the river?”
Something in his tone changes.
“I—I didn’t,” I stammer. “One minute I was standing in front of a mirror, and then?—”
His expression flashes with something I don’t understand. “A mirror?”
I nod.
His eyes glow subtly, the depths turning molten. “That doesn’t explain much,” he murmurs, almost to himself. “A mirror.”
Before I can ask what that means, his hand lifts toward me. “Are you thirsty?”
The moment he says it, my throat turns to sandpaper.
I nod, despite every instinct warning me not to.
“Come,” he says smoothly, gesturing toward the trees behind him. “Let me offer you a drink. A song. You must be tired.”
A song?
Every hair on my body rises. But my tongue is dry, my limbs aching, my head still spinning. What choice do I have?
Inside, the cabin is warm, lit by a fire crackling in the hearth. The walls feel closer than they should be. The shadows stir unnaturally. But then the air shifts, slowly thickening. The firelight flickers strangely. I adjust my glasses again, but something is off.
Eryndor hands me a glass. I blink down at it, noticing the liquid is black or it’s a trick from the firelight. “What is it?” My voice is thick, slow.
“Mineral water,” he says smoothly. “Drink.”
My tongue is so dry it hurts. The air thickens, heavy and honeyed. The fire flickers blue, then red, then gold. My heartbeat slows, my skin tingling as if touched by unseen hands. I feel him watching me, not sure if I should.
“It’s infused with… nutrients,” he says convincingly. “To keep you hydrated.”
“Oh.” I take a long sip, holding my breath to avoid the bitter aftertaste as much as possible, and then chug. I’m so thirsty I could drink mud water, and I wouldn’t care.
My eyes find him over the glass, watching me. I place the glass down on the table.
“Would you like to hear some music?” It’s the second time he’s mentioned it. I’m not sure what his obsession with listening to music is. I’m about to decline when I hear the wind howl outside, followed by a loud crack of thunder. Shit.
“It’s about to rain,” he says with a smile. “It’s good when it rains.”
“You don’t get much of it?”
“Not really. I guess it’s a good thing I invited you to my home, or you’d be out there alone, walking in the dark under the pouring rain.”
An uneasy feeling slams into me when he points that out, like he’s reminding me he’s doing me a favor and I should be kissing the ground he walks on.
“How about that music?” It’s not like I have a choice now. It’s better in here than being out there. How bad can his music be?
I scan the space for a speaker or some type of device but come up empty.
“Have a seat,” he says and gestures to the couch.
I sit facing him. He watches me intently, and suddenly, I see balls of fire in his eyes, burning like two flames dancing. I blink vigorously. The air in the room grows thick with heat. My skin prickles with sweat between my breasts, my nipples pressing against the top. My breathing slows.
Everything in the room becomes brighter, reminding me of the first time I was buzzed on alcohol. I shift in my seat, awareness from his gaze skating over my exposed skin, holding me still.
“What music do you like to play?” I ask, getting lost in the fire dancing in his black glossy eyes.
“I like to sing. In the forest, when my kind unite after a hunt, we gather around the fire and eat. After, we celebrate by singing and dancing.”
“How many are you?” I ask curiously without breaking eye contact. As much as I want to stop staring, I can’t.
“Enough. When we chant, the Ubrenymphs come out to celebrate with us from deep in the caves where there’s barely light. They are drawn to the shadows brought forth by the fire.”
“And where are the others now?”
“Some are on a hunt. That was where I was supposed to go before you showed up.”
Guilt claws at me. “I’m sorry.”
“Oh no,” he rushes out. “It’s an honor.”
He holds his hand out to me, and I take it without thinking. He pulls me gently toward him and begins to sing. His voice is beautiful, a deep undercurrent flowing through the hair coasting over my skin, like wind flowing through the tall grass in a field. I’m not sure if it’s his singing or the heat kissing my skin, but I start to undulate my hips. I’m not sure why or how I’m doing it. I smile when he twirls me around, causing the room to spin like I’m on a merry-go-round, spinning faster and faster.
My chest rises and falls with each breath. My skin is aroused with heat. I moan when he pulls me against his chest. “That’s it…just like that,” he praises, whispering in my ear.
I try to focus, but the room keeps spinning. My clit throbs, and I’m trying to make it stop, but I can’t. I’m losing control. My body hums like an instrument plucked by invisible fingers vibrating through my bones.
I blink, and his eyes are large burning embers, flickering like firelight. “Would you like to hear my song?”
The words curl around me, sinking deep into my bones. A melody slips into the air, not from an instrument, but from his lips. It’s beautiful, softer than any lullaby, richer than any hymn.
My breath catches with the need to run, but my body betrays me. My hips move on their own, slow and undulating. Pleasure unfurls in my stomach, curling low. My head is foggy, my limbs turn weightless, but I’m not falling.
This isn’t me. This isn’t real.
“Eryndor,” I moan, trying to pull away.
He hums another note, and my knees buckle.
“That’s it,” he murmurs. “Just like that.”
My vision warps. No. No. No.
His hands skim my sides. My clothes feel too tight, my breath too shallow. A voice in my head screams to wake up.
“What are you doing?”
“What I need to do,” he says and continues to sing. The melody laces through my mind, sweet like honey and thick like syrup. My limbs refuse to move, heat curling in my stomach.
I feel something heavy on my shoulders and then something hard rubbing between the cheeks of my ass over my pants. He drags his rough hand over my sweater.
“Touch yourself, Selene. You know you want to.” Then he continues to sing in a haunting melody. The sound wraps around my ribs like a vice, a symphony of deep notes and whispered words I don’t understand. My chest rises and falls, but I can’t tell if I’m breathing or drowning in the string of notes. Golden threads ripple from his lips, twisting the air like tendrils. It slithers around me, curling around my arms, my throat, gripping my mind. It’s euphoric, trapping me in its golden vine.
Rolling my head against his shoulders, trying to fight, I whisper, “No, I can’t. Please. Stop.”
“Easy,” he hisses. “I can make this feel good for you. Give in.” A part of me screams. My pulse beats too loud. My fingers twitch. The room around me pulses gold and violet. Ribbons swirl in the air.
Then—
The door slams open. A gust of cold air rushes in, killing the warmth. The flames die instantly.
My eyes pop open when I hear a loud boom that makes the walls shake. The singing stops.
A large, cloaked figure looms over me, and then a large blade moves with precision in my peripheral. “Move,” he growls, and it’s like everything obeys.
Shadows curl, hungry tendrils freezing me in place.
Eryndor’s eyes widen, his lips parting in shock. The smell of copper singes my nose. A loud scream escapes my throat. I hit the ground hard on my knees.
“You’re a fool,” he says coldly. “And in my way.”
A pulse of dark energy ripples from him, knocking me back. Not hard, but enough to show me one thing: he could kill me.
I’m floating in the air, but the room continues to spin. I still can’t feel my limbs. I turn my head, and in a moment of clarity, the large, cloaked figure raises a blade in the air; a wet sound fills the room—a dull, sickening crack. Eryndor’s eyes go blank, and then in slow motion, his head falls and rolls on the wooden planks. I let out a piercing scream. His sword drips black blood from Eryndor’s corpse. Blood is spraying like a geyser as his headless body slumps forward.
“What about the girl?” a woman’s voice asks behind me as the room begins to spin again.
“Lock her up. We don’t know who or what she is,” the deep voice replies.
“What about the Spellbinder?” another voice asks.
“Burn it all,” the deep voice answers.
“Let me go,” I yell, trying to get free, fighting with all I have, but it’s no use. I can’t move my arms. “Let me go,” I repeat, my voice skinning my throat raw.
A sharp pain shoots to the back of my head, causing my eyes to roll back. The room tilts.
A shadow looms over me, colder than ice.
“I said, get her,” his deep voice commands.
I try to struggle, but my limbs won’t obey.
The world tilts.
Then—darkness.