Page 14 of We Were Meant to Burn (Ashes and Ruin Saga #1)

The next few weeks blurred together. Each hike left me more exhausted than the last, and ditching Malakai’s group was starting to feel impossible. Worse, I wasn’t sure if I even wanted to.

We’d fallen into a rhythm—something almost comfortable. Too comfortable.

Which was exactly why I had to leave. I couldn’t let myself settle into this, not any more than I already had. I needed to get back to Rojas. Back home. Back to what I knew. Back to Mother.

I could still fix what had shattered between us. I could reclaim my purpose.

After a particularly grueling hike, Malakai had selected another cave to make camp in.

A fire crackled low, embers pulsing like a dying heartbeat as the mercenaries lounged around it, exchanging stories of past missions.

Their laughter and gruff voices mixed with the jungle’s nocturnal symphony—chirping insects, croaking frogs, the distant hoot of an owl.

The cave carried the sound strangely, amplifying it one moment and swallowing it the next.

I sat cross-legged near the fire, listening. Watching, storing away every detail.

It was a habit I couldn’t break—studying people, cataloging their tells, their ticks. Lian’s easy smile when he got too comfortable. Kerun’s restless hands, always fidgeting. Elías’s constant, unconscious preening. And Dom—

Dom, who hadn’t spoken a word in over an hour. Who sat rigid, his jaw flexing, his fingers curling and uncurling over his knee like he was imagining them wrapped around my throat.

My marca burned—a slow, pulsing heat. A warning. I flicked my gaze to Dom and found his eyes already on me, hazel and burning with barely restrained fury. He wasn’t just glaring. He was measuring. Calculating.

Waiting for an excuse.

The tension between us had been simmering for weeks, as thick and stifling as the jungle humidity.

It couldn’t last—not if we were stuck together for months. And at this rate, I was starting to worry it might actually take that long for me to get strong again.

Enough.

I pushed up to my feet, ignoring the ache in my legs. Every muscle screamed in protest, but I willed them silent as I crossed the short distance between us.

Dom’s hand twitched toward the hatchet at his hip.

The conversation around the fire choked off. Lian sat forward, his brows furrowing. Elías went still. Even Malakai, who rarely looked troubled, had a muscle jumping in his jaw.

I lifted my hands slowly, keeping my voice even. “Look,”

I said, “I know you don’t trust me. I know you think I’m dangerous.”

Dom’s nostrils flared, but he didn’t speak.

“You’re right,”

I continued, voice flat.

"I should have controlled myself before. It won’t happen again.”

I swallowed hard, forcing the next words out.

"I’m sorry.”

The fire crackled. No one spoke.

Dom scoffed, low and guttural. His lip curled, fingers tightening on his hatchet’s handle.

"Are you done?”

he asked, voice like gravel.

I let out a sharp breath. Of course he wouldn’t accept my apology. Of course, this wouldn’t be that easy.

“I’m just trying to make the next few months bearable,”

I muttered through clenched teeth.

Dom said nothing. Just held my gaze, cold and unrelenting.

Fine. Let him stew in his own bitterness.

I turned on my heel, shoving my frustration down into the pit of my stomach.

Behind me, I swore I heard Malakai sigh.

“Do you know how your mother came to power?”

he asked, voice thick with disdain.

I stilled. My pulse thudded in my ears. Across the fire, Malakai shifted, rolling his shoulders as if bracing for a storm. Lian and Elías suddenly found the cave ceiling endlessly fascinating, while Kerun leaned forward with an eager glint in his eye, like he was waiting for the first punch to be thrown.

My throat felt tight, but I forced myself to scoff.

"You say it like she led a coup,”

I said, keeping my voice neutral, level.

"The Zaldanna family has ruled Rojas for generations.”

Dom’s laugh was sharp, humorless.

"Did they teach you that garbage in school? Have the histories been stripped of the truth, too?”

I rolled my eyes and turned away. I knew this game. I had spent my whole life listening to the whispers of courtiers, the rumors peddled in the dark corners of Rojas. Mother had warned me about people like him—bitter relics of a past they couldn’t let go of, desperate to tear down the empire she had built. I wouldn’t waste my breath on baseless gossip.

But the moment I turned, I heard his boots scrape against the stone. Then his growl, low and feral.

“Don’t turn your back on me, princess.”

Something in his voice stopped me cold. I flicked my gaze over my shoulder.

Dom was standing now, hands clenched at his sides, his massive frame coiled with barely contained rage. His nostrils flared, his chest rising and falling in sharp, measured breaths.

“You came to me, remember?”

His voice was dangerous, like the warning rattle of a snake before it struck.

"So you’ll listen to what I have to say.”

Slowly, deliberately, I turned back to him. Met his gaze head-on. I had stared down worse than Dom. I had survived worse than Dom.

But as I held his stare, something twisted in my gut.

Because beneath all that fury—beneath the rage, the loathing—I saw something else.

Pain.

The fire crackled between us, but the warmth did nothing to thaw the ice creeping through my veins.

Dom’s voice was a low rasp, a blade honed to the sharp edge of memory.

"It was the middle of the night.”

Something about the way he spoke made my breath hitch, the hairs on my arms rising as if responding to a presence unseen. I wanted to ignore him, to scoff and roll my eyes at his dramatics, but I couldn’t. His gaze was a snare, dark and unrelenting, pulling me into the story whether I wanted to hear it or not.

“My father and baby sister slept at the end of the hallway from me. My aunts and uncles were on the lower levels of the palace.”

His fists flexed at his sides, the firelight casting harsh shadows across his knuckles.

"I woke to screaming. To the sound of steel clashing, to the walls shaking from magic so strong it splintered stone.”

He had me hanging on his every word. I could picture it. The chaos of battle so visceral, so ingrained in my bones. I knew it all too well.

“I hid under my bed,” he added.

The admission was so soft, so unlike Dom, that I almost didn’t register it. The man before me, the one who had spent the last few weeks glaring at me like I was some venomous creature he couldn’t strike down, had once been a terrified child, cowering beneath the weight of his own home as it crumbled around him.

“That’s where Malakai found me,”

Dom continued, voice thick.

"Dragged me out before the whole place burned.”

His shoulders trembled, his anger simmering beneath the surface. He inhaled sharply through his nose, his lips curling back over his teeth in something between a snarl and a grimace.

“I lost my entire family that night. Every last Mondragón. My father, my uncles, my aunts. And my sister.”

His voice cracked, and he clenched his jaw as if to swallow the pain down.

"She was three years old. And she was murdered.”

His hazel eyes met mine, fury burning so hot it should have incinerated me where I stood.

“By your mother.”

My stomach bottomed out.

I took a step back without meaning to, and that movement—that weakness—felt like a confession.

Lian stiffened beside the fire, his hands curling into the fabric of his pants. Kerun’s eyes turned to slits, his distrust settling over me like a thick shroud. Even Elías, who always had something to say, suddenly found the ground more interesting than looking at me.

I turned to Malakai.

He didn’t look at me.

Didn’t defend me. Didn’t tell Dom to shut up. Didn’t do anything except stare into the flames, his expression unreadable.

But that was an answer, wasn’t it?

No. No, it wasn’t true. It couldn’t be.

“Lies,”

I whispered, my voice hoarse, my throat tight.

"That’s not true.”

Dom barked a laugh, humorless and sharp as broken glass.

"Isn’t it? And where, exactly, did you learn your version, princess? Let me guess—your dear mother told you herself?”

His smile turned cruel.

"Of course she did.”

I opened my mouth, but nothing came out.

Mother had told me the Mondragóns were traitors. That they had tried to steal me, to sacrifice me to some other goddess in some sick power grab. That Mother had only done what was necessary to protect me.

It was true. It had to be.

But then why did my marca burn? Why did the fire suddenly feel so cold?

Dom took a slow step forward, looming over me, his broad frame swallowing the light.

“Whatever version of the story you think you know—it’s a lie.”

His voice was low, venomous.

"Ask anyone else. Anyone. See what they tell you.”

His words slithered under my skin, pressing into the cracks I hadn’t realized existed.

I clenched my fists, forcing my breathing to slow. He was lying. He had to be.

And yet, deep inside my chest, the cold certainty coiled tighter.

Dom’s gaze raked over me one last time, full of unfiltered disgust. Then, without another word, he turned on his heel and strode out of the cave, disappearing into the darkness.

I stood there, rooted to the ground, feeling something in me—something important, something I had held onto all my life—fracture.

The cavern felt smaller than before. The walls pressed in, the air thick, damp, suffocating.

I moved on instinct, retreating to my bedroll like a wounded animal seeking shelter. I curled onto my side, squeezing my eyes shut as Lian approached.

“Nix—”

I went still, breathing slow and steady. Pretending to be asleep was easier than facing the quiet concern in his voice, easier than acknowledging the guilt still gnawing at my ribs.

I didn’t deserve his kindness, or his sympathy.

I didn’t deserve much of anything.

Hours passed.

The fire dwindled to embers, the voices of the others fading one by one. Somewhere in the distance, the jungle murmured to itself—whispers of creatures lurking in the dark, of wind weaving through the trees like a warning.

I lay still, tangled in my blanket, my body restless but exhausted. My mind wouldn’t quiet, thoughts circling like vultures over carrion.

Dom’s voice echoed in my skull. My sister. She was three years old. And she was murdered. By your mother.

I clenched my jaw and forced myself to recall Mother’s version of events.

The Mondragóns had been traitors. They had stormed the palace in the dead of night, seeking to steal me away. To use me. To corrupt me.

Mother had saved me.

Hadn’t she?

My fingers dug into the fabric of my bedroll. Both stories couldn’t be true.

And yet—Dom’s words had felt true. They slithered beneath my skin, tangled around my ribs like vines, refusing to let go.

I hated him for it. Hated that he had cracked something inside me that I had spent years fortifying.

Whatever version of the story you think you know—it’s a lie. Ask anyone else.

My breath hitched, and I squeezed my eyes shut, willing sleep to take me before I could spiral any further.

But when unconsciousness finally claimed me, it did so without mercy.

The palace loomed around me, vast and golden, a dream of a memory I could never escape. The obsidian entryway stretched endlessly, its dark surface swallowing my reflection, warping it into something wrong. Overhead, the concave ceiling glittered like sunlight fractured across a lake, shifting and shimmering as if it might ripple at any moment.

The twin jaguars stood as they always had—green jade and golden tiles, their fanged maws gaping in silent warning. Their eyes gleamed, unblinking. Watching. Waiting.

I knew this place.

I knew what was coming.

Still, I moved forward, crossing the threshold into the palace’s heart, where the central courtyard opened to the night sky. Curtains fluttered along the living quarters, whispering like unseen mouths against the breeze.

A pull, deep in my chest, dragged me forward.

Up the stairs, gilded filigree shifted beneath my steps, their once-fixed gems winking like watching eyes. At the top landing, I stopped. The weight of something unseen pressed against me.

A child was crying.

A small, trembling thing huddled in the corner of Mother’s chambers.

My breath hitched.

The air changed—vibrated—before the room exploded into flame. Fire leapt from the drapes, curling toward the ceiling, swallowing everything whole. Smoke wreathed the massive bed at the chamber’s center, curling over a lifeless form. A man, his body twisted in the stillness of death.

Magic clashed in the halls behind me—steel shrieking against steel, the scent of blood curling into the smoke.

The child’s sobs were raw, desperate. I stepped closer, heart hammering, and crouched to see her face.

The girl lifted her head.

And I fell back, crashing into a mirror.

A scream wrenched from my throat as I turned toward the glass, expecting my own reflection—but it wasn’t me.

Mother’s emerald eyes met mine from the other side of the mirror.

Her sharp, lean face—my face—stared back at me, the moonlight casting a ghostly sheen across her ivory skin. Her ebony hair pooled down her back like a living shadow.

I was her.

No. No.

The mirror shattered, fracturing her image into a hundred shards.

I twisted back to the child—

Only, it was no longer a child.

A leviathan viper coiled where she had been, its scales gleaming like molten silver. It reared up, its fangs bared.

And then—

It struck.

Pain exploded in my chest, sharp and all-consuming, as its fangs sank into my heart.

I woke with a gasp, my breath ragged, my skin slick with sweat.

A dream. Just a dream.

My fingers dug into the damp fabric of my bedroll as I forced myself to take a steadying breath. The scent of smoke and charred flesh still lingered in my nose, the image of my mother’s face reflected back at me burned behind my eyelids. My heart slammed against my ribs, as if it might tear through my chest entirely, as if it were still being pierced by fangs.

The fire at the cavern’s center had burned low, the embers glowing like the last dying hearts of stars. Shadows flickered along the stone walls, distorting their shapes into something twisted, something wrong. The low symphony of breathing filled the space.

I counted the bodies.

Dom’s snores were quieter tonight, almost peaceful. Lian twitched in his sleep, his face scrunched, his brow creased as if he, too, were caught in some nightmare he couldn’t escape. Elías sprawled out like he’d been thrown from the heavens, mouth open, limbs at odd angles. Malakai was the only one who looked untouched by dreams, his body still and at peace in sleep.

So much for all his talk about keeping watch.

I scoffed under my breath, but the sound felt too sharp in the hush of the cave.

The chill of the night air clung to my skin, yet my body burned, my stomach tight with the echoes of fear, the phantom pain of venom in my veins. I wiped my slick forehead and swallowed the nausea clawing its way up my throat.

I couldn’t stay here.

The thought settled into my bones, final and absolute.

I had to leave.

It didn’t matter that I wasn’t strong enough yet. I hadn’t been strong enough when the Malditas had dumped me in the desert and left me there for three months. I’d managed. I’d survived.

I could do that again. I would. I had to.

Dom’s story, the whispers of my dream—they were poison. A toxin slipping into my bloodstream, making me question things that had no right to be questioned. Mother was waiting. Mother would make things right. She would explain. She would take me back. She would fix whatever this ugly, rotting thing was growing inside me.

My hands moved before I fully registered it, rolling my bedroll, tucking it into my pack. I slipped through the cave like a wraith, careful and methodical. One wrong step and it would all be over.

Kerun had left dried mangos out from earlier—a small, thoughtless act of carelessness. I took them. The jungle would be unforgiving, and I needed every advantage.

As I passed Lian’s sleeping form, the faint gleam of metal caught my eye. His new whittling knife, nestled just within reach.

Guilt flickered through me like the dying fire.

I snuffed it out.

I had already stolen one of his knives. What was one more?

My fingers closed around the hilt, steady, practiced. I slid it into my hand without a sound and tucked it into the waistband of my pants. Another knife for my collection—the ebony blade in my boot, Malakai’s paring knife against my ribs. It still wasn’t enough.

It would never be enough.

With one last glance at the sleeping mercenaries, I turned and slipped into the night.

The crisp air hit me like a wave of ice, shocking the lingering heat from my skin. The sky stretched wide above me, a sea of stars bleeding across an inky blue expanse. For a moment, I stood there, breathing it in—the coolness, the stillness, the illusion of freedom.

The scent of wax palm and pentas flowers curled through the air, soft and sweet. A reminder of home.

But home felt far away—in more ways than just distance. And I had no choice but to return.

Before I could take a step, something rustled in the underbrush.

I froze, my pulse hammering against my ribs as I turned toward the sound.

And then my breath stopped entirely.

Fifteen feet away, standing still as death, was the unmistakable form of Jaax Farach.

Captain of my Bloodguard.

A powerful Mentedor.

And the man who had spent years trailing my every step, his fascination with me going beyond mere devotion to his role.

He stood cloaked in shadow, the hood of his cowl shrouding his face, making it impossible to see his expression. But I didn’t need to see it to know what lurked beneath—cold precision, sadistic pleasure, unwavering loyalty.

Goddess, how I loathed the man.

Jaax raised a gloved hand and beckoned me forward before turning and vanishing into the darkness beyond.

For the first time in weeks, I felt something like relief coil in my chest. Not because I was glad to see Jaax. I would have preferred anyone else over him. But the sheer fact of his presence meant only one thing.

Mother had finally come for me.

I hesitated only a breath before darting after him, pushing through the thick jungle brush, my legs burning from the effort. Jaax was ruthless. Jaax was cruel. But Jaax was loyal—to Mother, and by extension, to me.

Even if I had no love for his lingering touches or the way he watched me like a spider waiting to wrap its prey in silk, I had never been so grateful to see him.

Because Jaax meant home.

Mother must have decided my imprisonment had been enough.

Hadn’t she?

Or was this something else? An unsanctioned rescue? A test? A trap?

I shoved the thoughts down, swallowing the bile rising in my throat.

“Jaax,”

I whispered, struggling to match his long strides. He moved through the jungle like a phantom, a shadow slipping between trees, while I stumbled after him, too loud, too slow.

"Did Mother send you? How did you know where to find me?”

Jaax pressed a gloved finger to his lips and flicked his wrist—a silent ‘be quiet.’

I clamped my mouth shut. Now wasn’t the time for questions.

Later.

The jungle thickened around us, vines curling like skeletal fingers, wet leaves brushing against my arms and face. The air was dense, humid, thick with something more than heat. I focused on putting one foot in front of the other, ignoring the sting of thorns biting into my ankles and calves.

Then I smelled it.

Beneath the damp earth and rotting foliage, beneath the scent of moss and jungle flowers, something sharp and metallic laced the air.

Blood.

“Captain?”

My voice was barely above a whisper, but it still felt too loud. My throat went dry, my marca burning like an ember against my chest.

"What is this place?”

Jaax didn’t answer.

He just kept walking.

And suddenly, a branch snapped behind me.

Pain lanced through my marca like fire.

I spun.

Pulled the knife from my waistband.

And sent it flying toward the sound.

A cry of shock died in my throat as Malakai caught the blade between his palms.

His fingers clamped over the hilt like a steel trap, his Hada reflexes inhumanly fast. Too fast. Too precise. A growl curled at the back of his throat as he straightened, his violet eyes flashing in the moonlight.

“A little late for a stroll, don’t you think?”

His voice was a low, dangerous snarl.

I could feel the anger rolling off him in waves, like the suffocating heat of an open furnace. His gaze flicked to where Jaax had been standing, where the captain of my Bloodguard had beckoned me toward the jungle’s embrace.

Jaax was still there—wasn’t he?

I turned to follow his retreating form, to run after him. But Malakai’s hand clamped onto my elbow, his grip like iron biting into my skin.

“Let me go!”

I snapped, twisting against him.

I didn’t think. Didn’t hesitate.

I drove my knee into his stomach, putting as much force behind it as I could, then stomped on his foot for good measure.

Malakai let out a guttural roar, his body folding slightly, his arms clutching his abdomen. I used the moment to spin and bolt, my pulse hammering, but he recovered too quickly.

Damn his unnatural speed.

Before I could take another step, he tackled me to the ground.

We rolled through the dirt and moss, limbs tangling, rocks and roots jabbing into my back. I thrashed against him, gnashing my teeth, twisting, clawing for freedom. But I had lost the element of surprise. Malakai was too strong, too solid, and his body had not withered from six months of imprisonment like mine had.

With a grunt of effort, he pinned me down, his knees straddling my hips, his weight pressing me into the earth.

“Cut it out,”

he snarled, wrenching my wrists together in one hand, his grip unrelenting.

"Listen to me!”

“No!”

I howled, desperation clinging to the word.

"I’m your prisoner. You’re my enemy!”

I bucked against him, kicking, jerking, struggling, but his hold didn’t loosen.

“And yet, I’m the one standing between you and death.”

Malakai’s voice was sharp, laced with frustration and something darker—something closer to fear.

"Look up. See what you were so blindly following.”

His free hand shot toward the trees.

My breath stilled.

Jaax was gone.

In his place stood something else.

A skeletal, humanoid figure draped in a decayed black robe.

My stomach dropped into a pit.

Its skin sagged, thin and withered, as though time itself had drained it dry. Its teeth jutted in jagged points, bared in something not quite a snarl, not quite a grin.

And its eyes—

No. It had no eyes.

Only pits of darkness, empty as the void.

The thing tilted its head, as though considering me, as though it saw straight through my flesh, through my bones, down to the marrow of what I was.

I couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe.

Then, without a sound, it dissolved into mist.

I shuddered violently, my pulse thundering in my ears. My marca burned hot against my chest, as if it, too, sensed the thing’s lingering presence.

Malakai’s gaze burned into me.

“I told you not to stray too far,”

he bit out, his voice low and furious.

"I told you there were things in Endrina that would love nothing more than to eat you, or kill you for the pleasure of it.”

His fingers tightened around my wrists.

"I thought you were smarter than this.”

“Let me go,”

I wailed, thrashing against him once more. I twisted my hips, trying to knock him off balance, but Malakai was unmovable.

I gasped, my voice rising in desperation.

"I have to get back. Mother is waiting for me.”

The moment the words left my mouth, Malakai recoiled.

Like I’d struck him.

His grip loosened instantly, his expression twisting into something unreadable.

“You’d really go back?”

His voice was quieter now, but it was no less dangerous.

"After your mother let you rot in that dungeon? How are you still loyal to her?”

His violet eyes searched mine, demanding something I didn’t know how to give.

"How can you blindly run back? Especially after hearing Dom’s story?”

I scrambled to my feet, my limbs trembling, my skin crawling with cold sweat. Dirt and leaves clung to my clothes, my hair a tangled mess.

I dropped into a defensive crouch, muscles tensing for a fight. My fingers brushed the hilt of the other knife tucked in my boot.

“Mother didn’t leave me there on purpose,”

I snapped, forcing the words through clenched teeth.

"She doesn’t know I’m alive. If she did, she would have sent the Bloodguard after me.”

Wouldn’t she?

The lie burned as I spoke it, the weight of it pressing against my chest.

Failure. Disgrace. Unworthy.

Mother’s voice curled through my skull, slithering into the cracks, filling every vulnerable space.

Malakai watched me too closely, as if he saw something I wasn’t ready to admit. His jaw ticked, his lips pressing into a firm, unreadable line.

And for the first time since this journey began, I wasn’t sure which terrified me more—

The monsters in the jungle . . .

Or the truths Malakai was forcing me to face.

“You really think your mother didn’t know where you were all this time?”

Malakai’s voice was a blade dipped in honey, sharp but coated in something that almost sounded like pity. Almost.

"Is that the lie you’re telling yourself?”

I flinched before I could stop myself.

I clenched my jaw so hard it ached, forcing my spine straight, my shoulders back, every muscle locked into place. He was wrong. He had to be. Mother wouldn’t just abandon me. Not after everything I’d done for her. Never questioning. Never disobeying.

“You’re lying!”

I snapped, hating the rawness in my voice, the way it cracked like old glass.

Malakai didn’t even blink. His brows lifted slightly before he shook his head, slow and deliberate.

"Why would I lie?”

He let the words settle between us, heavy as stone.

“My sources in the palace said she didn’t even blink when she found out you’d been taken,”

he continued, his voice deceptively soft.

"She didn’t care.”

A knife sank deep into my chest.

I felt the truth before I could deny it.

Like a splinter buried beneath the skin, an old festering fear broke open.

Mother had sent no one. Not a single Maldita, not a single Bloodguard. Not for six months.

And now, after all this time, a crew had finally come. But it wasn’t Mother’s crew.

It was Malakai’s.

I refused to believe him. Refused to believe that everything I had bled for, fought for, killed for—

Had meant nothing.

I squared my shoulders, grasping at whatever control I could still wield, and pointed an accusing finger at him.

"You have every reason to lie to me,”

I hissed.

"In fact, you’ve already lied to me.”

Malakai quirked a brow, amused. Damn him. “Have I?”

I took a step closer, my heart pounding, my blood a storm raging under my skin.

“Why did you set up your bedroll like you were sleeping in it?”

I demanded.

"Why pretend?”

My voice dropped, teeth clenched.

"That’s not exactly how you build trust.”

Malakai shrugged, like this was some idle conversation.

"I don’t trust you.”

“Good. It’ll hurt less when I leave,”

I snapped.

“Why would you leave, though?”

Malakai asked, stepping closer.

I narrowed my eyes.

"Why wouldn’t I?”

His lips twitched. His shoulders were relaxed, his posture effortless, as if I were nothing more than a mild inconvenience.

“Have you done anything to make me feel safe?”

I spat, my voice laced with venom, with rage.

"You keep me under constant watch, you have your men tracking my every move—hell, you even tried to get Lian to spy on me.”

Malakai tilted his head, unbothered.

“What did you think he’d tell you?”

I sneered.

"That I talk in my sleep? That I dream of escaping? That I count the seconds until I can slip away from all of you?”

The bastard laughed.

A low, rich sound. Like I was some foolish child throwing a tantrum.

“You can’t blame me for keeping tabs on you.”

He smirked.

"Besides, we’re the ones who rescued you. We’re not here to hurt you. If we wanted to—”

He flicked his fingers, dismissive.

"We already would have.”

A pit hollowed in my stomach.

“You expect me to believe that?”

I said, voice raw.

"You expect me to trust you?”

He didn’t answer.

So I did it for him.

“It’s not called a rescue if you’re getting paid for it.”

I took a step toward the tree line, my body taut like a bowstring.

"It’s called kidnapping.”

Malakai’s smirk faltered.

His eyes darkened, sharp as cut amethyst, tracking my every move.

“You’re going to sell me, aren’t you?”

I pressed, my voice daring him to deny it.

"Isn’t that why you won’t hurt me? Because you can’t? Because I’m not worth as much if I’m damaged?”

I exhaled a bitter laugh, shaking my head.

"You didn’t save me from a prison—you just put me in another one.”

Malakai’s jaw ticked.

Something dangerous flashed in his expression, something raw and unyielding.

He stepped forward, slow and deliberate, muscles coiled with tension.

There.

There he was.

The legendary immortal, the infamous Hada warrior, the killer beneath the charming smirk.

I swallowed hard as he prowled toward me, as his presence alone made the air too thick to breathe.

Malakai bent down, bringing his face level with mine.

Too close. Too much.

“Listen to me, little princess,”

he murmured, his voice a blade pressing against my throat.

"I know you think we’re lying to you. I know you think your mother is waiting with open arms.”

His lips curved into something cruel, something sharpened by truth.

“Danixtl. Left. You.”

A blade sank straight through my ribs.

The marca on my chest burned searing hot. My hands curled into fists, my nails biting into my palms.

I shook my head. “No.”

Malakai didn’t move, didn’t blink, didn’t breathe. “Yes.”

I couldn’t listen to this.

I turned away, gutted, my pulse a wild thing in my throat.

“She’s waiting for me,”

I whispered.

"She wouldn’t—”

Malakai sighed, like I was some child refusing to believe the sky was blue.

“I don’t know what’s worse,”

he said, voice quieter now.

"The fact that she abandoned you—”

He exhaled, his breath heavy and full of something that sounded a lot like pity.

"Or the fact that you’re so desperate to go back to her anyway.”

My entire body went rigid.

My vision blurred at the edges. White-hot fury, sharp and blinding.

I turned on him, my breath coming hard and fast, my hand darting toward my knife—

Malakai caught my wrist.

I sucked in a breath, my whole body locked in place.

His fingers were warm and unyielding, the press of his palm against my skin infuriatingly steady.

For a single, horrible moment, I could feel his pulse against mine.

I should have stabbed him. Should have bitten, clawed, and torn at his flesh.

But I didn’t.

Because part of me feared he was right.

And that was the worst betrayal of all.

Like a scab being ripped off too soon, Dom’s story tore its way back into my mind.

Fire, howling and hungry, licking up golden walls.

The screams of his family.

The echo of his three-year-old sister’s cry.

He had said it so plainly, so certain, that Mother had been the one to destroy everything. That she had burned his name from history, reduced the Mondragón line to nothing but ash and memory.

That she had killed his sister.

I pressed my fingers to my throat, gripping tightly, as if to hold something inside—a sob, a gasp, a plea. Anything that might betray the cracks spreading inside me.

Malakai caught hold of my chin and tilted my face up, his movements careful, as if I were something fragile. Something on the verge of shattering.

I should hate him. I wanted to hate him. But when he touched me, I forgot how to breathe.

His gaze dragged over my face, lips slightly parted—like he was trying to etch me into memory.

“You really want to go back, don’t you? After everything.”

He shook his head slowly.

"I should do it, shouldn’t I? I should let you go.”

I ground my teeth as I snarled, still allowing him to hold me in place.

"Then do it.”

His eyes trailed across my face once more, his gaze lingering on my scowl.

". . . I can’t.”

As if waking from a trance, he released me and took a step back. Then another.

His words felt like a knife to my gut.

“You heard Dom’s side of things,”

he murmured.

"Now, I’d like to tell you what I remember.”

I didn’t want to hear his side of things. I had heard enough for one day.

Malakai’s eyes softened, not with pity, but with knowing.

He didn’t wait for permission. Just spoke, his voice hushed, the edges rough like something pulled from the depths of memory.

“I was on watch that night. The night Danixtl raided the palace.”

His lips pressed together for a moment, his violet gaze growing distant.

"It started with the screaming first. The kind that doesn’t stop. Then the fires. The walls shook with the sheer amount of magic being released. I ran for the royal suite first, but—”

He exhaled, rubbing a hand down his face.

“But the Malditas found me first.”

A chill slithered down my spine.

“I managed to escape,”

he went on, voice tight.

"But I was being hunted. And I only made it as far as Dom’s room.”

I squeezed my eyes shut.

I didn’t want this. I didn’t want to hear it.

Didn’t want the truth to exist.

Didn’t want to be forced to see my mother for what she truly was.

But the moment Malakai’s words fell into place, something inside me snapped.

Like a sword returning to its sheath.

Like a puzzle clicking together.

I believed him.

A part of me had believed Dom, too, even when I’d refused to admit it.

The weight of it hit me all at once. My legs gave out. The world tilted, and I barely felt the cold ground biting at my knees.

“What happened next?”

I rasped, my voice splintering. I hated how I sounded. Raw. Unsteady. Like something on the edge of breaking.

“Tell me!”

I growled, needing something to hold onto.

Malakai closed his eyes for a long beat. When he opened them, they were full of ghosts.

“I got Dom out,”

he said, barely above a whisper.

"And once I knew he was safe . . . I went back.”

His throat worked, as if the memory itself was a weight too heavy to carry.

“But the palace—”

He inhaled sharply, shaking his head.

"It was already gone. Everything was in flames. The air was too thick to breathe. No one could have survived.”

I clenched my hands into fists, my nails biting into my palms as I fought the sickness rising in my chest.

“You left his sister behind,”

I whispered, and I felt the weight of those words settle over us both.

Malakai’s face twisted with something unreadable.

But he nodded.

I sucked in a breath, sharp as a blade. It was true.

It was all true.

The air around me warped and swayed like a heat mirage, like the world itself couldn’t decide what was real anymore.

I had bled for her. Killed for her. Never questioned. Never doubted.

And yet—

Mother had lied.

Mother had always lied.

My fingers curled into the dirt, small stones digging into my skin until blood seeped into the soil.

How many executions had I carried out in her name?

How many people had I murdered, thinking I was serving justice?

What a fool I had been.

I couldn’t go back.

Ever.

If I did—she’d use me again. She’d mold me into what she wanted, carve out the parts of me that were still whole. She’d make me into something unrecognizable.

Malakai dropped to a knee in front of me, his fingers gentle as they tipped my chin up.

“Now you know the truth.”

His eyes.

For the first time, I looked at them and saw the man behind the mask.

Not the mercenary. Not the Hada warrior.

Just Malakai.

And that terrified me.

“You’re not a prisoner anymore, Nix,”

he murmured.

"So please, don’t make me treat you like one.”

I swallowed hard, the cold metal of my collar pressing against my palm as I wrapped a hand around my throat.

Not a prisoner.

But not free, either.

Not yet.

Not until I figured out who I was, outside of her shadow.

Somewhere in the jungle, a quetzal let loose a mournful cry, its song carrying into the night.

The weight of everything pressed down on me, but I forced myself to stand, even as my legs threatened to buckle.

Even as something inside me felt hollowed out and raw.

Without another word, I turned and trudged back toward the cave.

Because for the first time in my life, I had no home to return to.