Page 19

The fire crackled softly behind her, but Myanin barely heard it.

All she could focus on was the crumpled paper in her hand and the face that had been sketched upon it.

It was as though seeing him again, even in a drawing, had ripped open a door she’d nailed shut centuries or longer ago.

Memories poured through the crack like a dam breaking, drowning her in a flood of emotions she wasn’t ready to face.

She remembered the first time she’d met him.

Four hundred years ago? Maybe more. Time blurred when you were immortal, but some moments were seared into your soul no matter how much time passed.

The djinn realm had been a place of vibrant colors and endless horizons back then—a realm of shifting sands and skies that burned with eternal sunsets.

A place she’d called home and loved. She had been young—too young according to Shade—wild—more wild than she was even now—untamed, and full of fire—more fire than sense, as her elders had often reminded her.

And he had been different from the others.

Even among the djinn, who were known for their beauty and power, Shade stood out.

His name had been whispered with equal parts reverence and intrigue.

Shade . The one whose power was like a living entity, coiling and shifting around him like smoke.

Where others sought to flaunt their abilities, Shade wielded his with a quiet confidence that demanded respect.

He was powerful, yes, but it wasn’t his magic that had drawn her to him.

It was the way he looked at her, like he saw beyond the sharp edges she used to keep people at a distance.

Like he saw the parts of her she didn’t dare show anyone else.

Only one other person had ever even come close to looking at her the same way, and she’d made the mistake of thinking he felt more for her than he actually did.

Myanin remembered the first time Shade’s voice had wrapped around her, smooth and rich, like dark honey.

She’d been sneaking into the sacred oasis—a place only the elders were allowed to enter—because, of course, rules had never been her strong suit.

She’d expected to be caught by a guard or maybe one of the elders, but instead, it had been him, leaning casually against a twisted tree that glowed faintly with ancient magic.

“You’re either incredibly brave or incredibly stupid,” Shade had said, his tone laced with amusement. His dark eyes sparkled, and, for a moment, she’d forgotten how to breathe.

“I’m both,” she’d shot back, tilting her chin defiantly. “What’s it to you?”

He’d smiled then, a slow, lazy curve of his lips that had made her stomach flip in a way she hadn’t understood at the time. “It’s everything to me.”

Those words had haunted her for centuries, though she hadn’t understood their weight at the time.

Back then, she’d just thought he was being cocky—a typical male trying to charm his way into her good graces.

But Shade hadn’t been typical. He’d been …

more. More patient, more perceptive, more everything. And that had terrified her.

She remembered the nights they’d spent talking under the endless sky, the stars so bright they seemed close enough to touch.

He’d listened to her in a way no one else ever had, not even Thadrick, Shade’s gaze steady and unflinching as she’d poured out her frustrations and fears.

He hadn’t tried to fix her or tell her she was wrong for feeling the way she did.

He’d just … been there, his presence a quiet reassurance that she wasn’t as alone as she thought.

She remembered the way he’d touched her, his hands both gentle and possessive, as though he were afraid she might slip through his fingers but determined to hold on to her anyway.

His touch had been a contradiction, just like him—soft yet firm, soothing yet electrifying.

It had made her feel seen, cherished, and utterly exposed all at once.

Though all he’d ever done was hold her hand, or the occasional touch on her lower back, or a brush of the shoulder.

But he’d only kept their relationship teetering on the edge of more than friends.

He’d told her she was too young, despite the fact that she’d been past her adolescent years, but at the same time, he’d dangled his interest in her like a carrot before a horse.

And his inaction had left room for her feelings to grow for another.

She’d written Shade off as a lost cause and convinced herself that she’d imagined his interest in her.

She thought of how his expression had changed the last time she’d seen him, the warmth in his eyes replaced by something cold and unyielding.

She’d made a mistake—a stupid, reckless mistake, though at the time she hadn’t realized it was a mistake.

She’d fallen for someone else who had shown her interest, though she’d realize later it wasn’t the kind of interest even Shade had for her.

Thadrick had become a constant companion, and in her young mind, she’d become infatuated with him and even thought she loved him.

Now she knew better. Damn, she was a fool.

And in one of her lesser moments, she’d thrown those feelings in Shade’s face because she had been frustrated with him.

He hadn’t yelled or raged. That would have been easier.

Instead, he’d looked at her with a quiet disappointment that had cut deeper than any blade.

“You’re better than this, Myanin, better than him,” he’d said, his voice low and filled with a sorrow that had made her chest ache. “Or at least I thought you were.”

She’d wanted to scream at him, to tell him he didn’t understand, that he didn’t know what it was like to feel like nobody wanted you.

The humans called it the “friend zone,” and that’s where she seemed to perpetually be with the only two males she’d ever wanted.

But the words had died in her throat, because it didn’t matter.

He’d made it clear that in his mind she was too young for him, even though she was an adult, perhaps a young adult, but still an adult.

He was more than a century older than her, and for him, the gap was just too big.

Though not big enough to cut her lose entirely.

Which now, with all the memories and emotions coming back, still pissed her off, just as it had then.

She remembered the way he’d walked away, his silhouette framed by the glowing sands of the djinn realm, and how she’d stood there, frozen, unable to call him back.

She’d told herself she didn’t care, that he didn’t matter, that she didn’t need him.

But the truth was, she’d cared too much.

And that had scared her more than anything.

She’d wanted him and he’d rejected her. So, she’d turned to Thadrick, and what a brilliant idea that had been.

Dumb ass. She locked up the memory and emotions for Shade and decided to never think of him again. She’d moved on.

Why was he popping up now? Centuries later, here he was again—or at least his image was.

Myanin stared at the crumpled drawing in her hand, her chest tight with a mix of emotions she didn’t want to name.

Anger. Regret. Fear. Longing. She hated him for still having this power over her, for making her feel things she’d spent lifetimes trying to bury.

And she hated herself for feeling any of it because she’d once again chosen another: Gerick.

Her gut clenched as disgust with herself rose in her throat.

How could she even entertain those past feelings when she’d agreed to be Gerick’s mate?

The Great Luna had joined them, and nothing would separate them.

Myanin supposed that didn’t mean things couldn’t test their relationship.

Gerick treated her well. He made her feel special and allowed her to be exactly who she was.

He’d accepted her past and had not held it against her.

Gah, she wasn’t good enough for him, and she didn’t deserve him.

To be fair, Myanin had never even entertained the idea of seeing Shade again.

And until now, she’d all but erased him from her mind.

This was like a punch to the gut, and it was seriously pissing her off.

Who was he to suddenly pop up and bring back old shit?

“Myanin?” Jezebel’s voice cut through the haze, pulling her back to the present.

She turned, keeping her expression carefully blank. “What?”

Jezebel’s eyes flicked to the drawing in Myanin’s hand, then back to her face. “Who is he?”

Myanin hesitated, the words sticking in her throat.

Finally, she forced herself to speak. “No one that I’d ever discuss with you.

” She didn’t care if her words insulted or hurt the witch.

They weren’t anything more than two females fighting for the same cause.

That was the extent of their relationship, and nothing would ever bring her to discuss Shade with Jezebel.

As the white witch walked away, Myanin made her way to a flat rock at the edge of the firelight and eased herself down, the crumpled drawing still clutched in her hand.

She stared out into the darkness, her thoughts a tangled mess of memories and emotions she wanted to cram back into the box they’d come pouring out of.

The faint hum of the others’ voices buzzed in the background, but she tuned them out.

She needed space. She needed time to think.

And most of all, she needed everyone to leave her the hell alone.

Unfortunately, Peri didn’t seem to get the memo.

The fae materialized beside her like a silent wraith, her presence as subtle as a hurricane. Myanin didn’t look at her, but she felt the weight of Peri’s keen gaze, like the woman was peeling back the layers of her mind with sheer force of will.