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~ D evin ~

The girl was a phantom.

I followed the pulse of her magic through the city’s veins like a dying man chasing the scent of water. Her presence burned in the ley lines—barely there, a shimmer of starlight against my shadow—but I could feel her

Starborn.

Every Death Mage in The Spire would kill to get their hands on her. Some would do worse.

But she was mine.

It should not have taken me this long to find her. I moved through the alleys of the capital like a storm—quiet, fast, lethal. I passed through illusion wards and mirror-glamours without hesitation. But the farther I followed the trail, the more resistance I felt.

Someone was masking her.

Someone with power.

By the time I reached the grim stone building squatting like a prison at the edge of the river quarter, the stars had shifted, and several moons hung high. All the lights were out. The city had gone quiet. But I didn’t need sunlight to see. The darkness welcomed me like a lover.

This was the place. Her essence was everywhere.

I stepped onto the cracked stoop, raised my hand, and pounded on the door hard enough to rattle the hinges.

Once. Twice.

A third time—and the rusted lock snapped open from within.

The door creaked open a sliver. A sliver was all I needed.

A woman peered out at me with sharp eyes sunken deep into folds of skin. She wore a threadbare shawl and the scent of vinegar. Her mouth opened to curse me—or question me—but the words caught in her throat when her gaze locked onto the sigil woven into my cloak. The Spire.

The old woman shuddered before meeting my gaze. “What do you want, Death Mage? The hour is late.”

“Let me in,” I said, voice low, controlled. Barely. The woman I sought hid within these walls. Her presence made my pulse race, by lungs burn. My cock harden and ache.

She hesitated, then opened the door wider and stepped back, wringing her hands. “We’re closed. The girls are asleep?—”

“Not all of them.”

I moved past her like a shadow with purpose, ignoring the stench of mold and ancient dust. The interior was even worse than the outside—cold stone walls, rotted wooden beams, the distant creak of something large and broken. The sounds of rats rustling under the floorboards. I didn’t care.

The moment I passed the threshold, I staggered.

She was gone. The absence of her was like a physical punch to my gut, as if a fire had been there and gone, leaving only the scorch behind.

I followed the trace of starfire magic up the narrow stairs, into a hallway lined with heavy wooden doors. Her magic clung to the walls like perfume. Faint. Fragile.

I stopped before one of the doors.

This room was hers.

I pressed my palm against the wood and felt it pulse faintly beneath my skin—like her soul had touched it once, long enough to mark it. My chest ached. My breath came unevenly.

I pushed the door open.

The room was empty.

The bed was cold.

The scent of her—lavender, ink, and warmth—faded like mist. Her things were gone. Every instinct inside me roared.

Too late.

Too. Damn. Late.

I turned on the woman who hovered in the hallway, blinking like an owl.

“Where is she?” I asked. No longer gentle.

Her mouth opened and closed. “I—I don’t?—”

“Her name. Give it to me.”

“Cleo,” she whispered, taking a step back. “Cleo Rathmore.”

Rathmore. A human surname, common in the outer provinces. A false name. No Starborn mage would carry such a name, nor bestow it upon a child. Unless they were in hiding. “How old is she?”

“This is her twentieth summer.”

Void be damned, she was old enough to be mine. A full-grown woman. “And where is she now?”

“I told you, she’s not here?—”

I closed the distance between us in a blink. “Do not lie to me.”

Her knees buckled, and she braced herself on the railing.

“She… she ran,” she said, voice shaking. “Tried to, anyway. Took her things and slipped out just before dusk. But… but someone came for her.”

Ice flooded my veins. “Who?”

She shook her head.

“Tell me.”

“One of yours.” She swallowed hard. “One of your kind. A Death Mage. Lord Morren. Jarrik Morren.”

My vision went white.

Jarrik? He was formidable. Powerful. Connected. A Death Mage who would want her power for himself whether she felt the bond with him or not.

One of mine. No. Jarrik was nothing like me. Had he felt her presence, as I had? Felt the pull of her magic? Decided to claim her as his own? Use her to take the throne? Use her power to gather favors, gain influence?

“And you just gave her to him?” I snarled.

“He had papers!” the woman squeaked. “He said he was her betrothed. The match was arranged! Signed and sealed with the Matron’s mark!”

A low, terrible growl built in my chest, and the lantern lights flickered. If he touched her, I would kill him.

“If he’s taken her,” I said, more to myself than her. “He knows what she is.”

That was the only reason. The girl—Cleo—wasn’t just a trinket or a trophy. If he’d gone to this much effort to secure her, it was because he knew.

He knew she was Starborn, wanted to solidify his hold on the royal court with her power, her influence, a magic not seen in all the realms of Lunaterra for decades. A fire feared for centuries before that.

My hands clenched into fists.

But the bond with Cleo Rathmore was mine. I had felt it. If legend was true, she would not feel the same connection to Jarrik or any other soulless bastard The Spire had spawned. She was mine. And she had looked at me like she felt the bond, too.

No wonder she ran. What woman would want a cursed soul like mine?

“She doesn’t belong to him,” I said softly.

“Please,” the woman begged. “I don’t know anything else. She went with him. He said it was time. She didn’t even argue.”

I froze.

“She didn’t argue?”

She shook her head. “Packed her things and left. Quiet as a ghost.”

No. That didn’t sound right. The girl I saw in the square—the girl who looked at me like fire catching dry wood—she didn’t seem the type to go quietly.

Unless he cast a spell on her.

Unless he bound her.

Unless she was already in danger.

I turned on my heel.

Kassio waited at the bottom of the stairs, arms folded, his expression unreadable.

“You heard?” Of course he had. The shadows carried information, and this time of night, shadows were everywhere.

He nodded. “I’ll talk to my spies. There are many from The Spire in the city right now—it won’t take long to discover where they are headed.”

“I’m not waiting.”

“You shouldn’t go alone.”

“She’s mine, Kassio.”

He nodded once, without argument. “Find her. Before the bond drives you mad.”

Too late.

By the time I stepped out into the street again, the evening’s first moon had dipped low behind the rooftops and the wind had changed.

I closed my eyes and let the bond guide me.

It pulled like a thread caught in my chest, twisting, winding, frayed. She wasn’t far. But the magic I had once felt so clearly was now muddy. Blurred.

He was hiding her with a binding spell.

Damn him. He was masking her from me. Layering veil upon veil, trying to cut the bond’s voice from my soul.

It wouldn’t work.

I could still feel the tug. Like a heartbeat out of rhythm, like a name I couldn’t forget. She was ahead of me. Somewhere in the woods beyond the city, or already on the road to The Spire, or— naked. Seduced. Claimed by another.

No.

I wouldn’t let that happen.

I would find her.

I would take her from my brethren.

And if I had to burn the world to ash to claim what was mine… so be it.