Page 13 of The Dark Mage
What struck her most, though, was his magic.
He was a berserker, wielding that raw, intense power that made them nearly invincible in a fight.
Yet his composure hinted at discipline, a hard-won mastery over the chaos within him.
That mix of restraint and power intrigued her, even gave her hope.
Someone this strong—someone who had risked his life to save her—might also be kind.
He saved me. He can’t be cruel, ca n he?
Still, Ren’wyn gripped the blanket tightly as another realization crept in: He’s powerful and trained. She had never encountered anyone outside the Academy who wielded magic. And yet, here he was.
She met his eyes cautiously, returning his wary assessment with one of her own.
Setting his sword aside, he pushed back his hood, and Ren’wyn’s breath ca ught.
An imperial sol dier.
Dark tattoos curled intricately across his scalp, faded but unmistakable beneath a short crop of dark hair.
Her heart sank. How had he survived court, hiding his magic when the empire hunted and killed those like her?
And what would he do to her now? She was as good as dead, exposed as a dark mage with no allies left.
“Please,” she choked out, her voice dry and cracked. A sob welled in her chest. “Oh gods, please let me go. Leave me here. Pretend you never saw me. I’ll never tell anyone. Please, pl ease.”
His mouth twisted into a wry smile, a low, dark chuckle escaping as his hazel eyes glinted with anger. His striking features sharpened with the emotion, full lips tilting and brows furro wing.
“I’m not your enemy, girl,” he said, his voice rich with the accent of the Capital. “But if you want, I can leave you here to starve—or drown trying to escape wherever it is you’re running from.”
He glanced away, muttering to himself. “Probably from that ass in the manor who can’t keep his hands to himself, regardless of what his women want.”
The statement hung in the air, half a question. Ren’wyn’s pained gaze answered it. His eyes narrowed, and his hands clenched into f ists.
“You’re imperial,” she whispered, hating how breathless and young she sou nded.
Another mirthless chuckle. “‘ Were ’ is more accurate than ‘ are.’ I’m no longer welcome at c ourt.”
Ren’wyn breathed slowly through another wave of nausea. “Do you have any w ater?”
Without a word, he reached into his cloak, unhooking a water skin from his belt, and slid it toward her.
He moved close enough to place it in her outstretched hand before retreating across the fire.
She noticed how he never took his eyes off her, as though wary she might lunge for him at any moment. He’s as cautious of me as I am of him.
She drank deeply, the cool water clearing her head and mouth. At last, she broke the silence. “I’ve never met ano ther.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Ano ther?”
“Someone with magic,” she clarified. “I’ve never met another who wields power while on my own.”
His expression darkened. He turned his face away, cheeks flushing slightly as he took a slow, deliberate breath. She recognized the instinct: defensiveness born of a life spent hiding magic, shielding it from accusations of evil, greed, and hunger for innocent b lood.
“Very few have ever seen it before,” he admitted, his voice low. “And certainly not like that.”
Her eyes widened. “Like… what?”
“No one has ever drawn it out—or used it for themselves,” he said pointedly, his hazel gaze locking onto hers.
The accusation—or challenge—hung between them like a charged wire.
The memories crashed into her: the flight through the forest, her ankle giving way, the overwhelming pain, the Void’s feral hunger, the guards’ panicked screams. Her stomach turned over, bile rising as the recollection of her actions washed over her.
She gasped and retched, her body heaving as the guards’ begging filled her ears. The ancient roar began again in her bones, coaxing that dark power to rise, the shadows trembling at the edges of her vi sion.
Oh gods, I killed them.
They had planned to harm her, true, but they were people—men with dreams and goals, lives that had ended by her hand.
Never before had she used her power to kill, and the weight of it crushed her.
Her heart wrenched as violently as her stomach, and she gasped against the physical pain of it. They were gone, and it was her f ault.
Cool hands pulled her damp hair from her neck, twisting it up against her scalp. That strong arm slipped beneath her chest, steadying her as she heaved and coughed. The roaring magic inside her receded to a low thrum, leaving her shaking and drenched in s weat.
“The first time is the hardest,” he said quietly, his voice steady. “It cuts deep. You extended them mercy with quick deaths. Those men deserved far worse. You will never forget them—or the act it self.”
His strong hand rested on her shoulder, a gesture of solida rity.
“I’ve never met one of your kind,” he said softly, releasing her and leaning back on his heels. She sagged as he propped her against the cool stone of the cave wall, sliding a soft, sturdy pack behind her for sup port.
“I’ve known berserkers. Druids, wights, empaths. Once, even an oracle. But you…”
It wasn’t a question, but she heard the curiosity beneath the w ords.
“A dark mage,” she whispered, bracing herself for his reac tion.
His hands stilled as he tucked the blanket back around her, but he didn’t recoil. Instead, his gaze met hers—wary, perhaps, but not af raid.
“You are not what I expected,” he said si mply.
Ren’wyn gave a hoarse, broken laugh, a sound that teetered between hysteria and disbe lief.
“What did you expect? A tall, terrible mage with soulless black eyes? A force of nature cutting down everyone in his path?” She gestured weakly to herself, her smile faint and bitter. “Not a young woman fleeing through the forest at n ight?”
His silence stretched, his unspoken thoughts pressing on the air between them. Closing her eyes, she let herself sense his magic again. It was bright and steady, its presence like the warmth of a fire on a cold n ight.
But there was something more.
Red met black in the space between them, their powers brushing like hesitant hands reaching out in the dark.
The connection surged, sudden and visceral, like a falling star pulled to earth.
It wasn’t just power—it was recognition, a magnetic force that drew her in and settled in her chest like em bers.
Her eyes snapped open, and his met hers. His expression held the same recognition, tinged with surp rise.
“I’m Ren’wyn,” she whispered, letting a note of trust soften her v oice.
“Fael,” he replied gruffly, the gift of his name a guarded offe ring.
He rose, the firelight casting long shadows across his face, and stepped into the n ight.
Ren’wyn leaned back against the stone, exhaustion finally overtaking her as she surrendered to s leep.