Page 20 of We Were Meant to Burn (Ashes and Ruin Saga #1)

The next few weeks were brutal. Though I’d gained much of my old strength back, the heat and humidity had ramped up. A sign that hurricane season was on the horizon.

The morning after a grueling day’s hike, Malakai announced to the group that we’d be staying at camp for another day.

“We need to gather supplies,”

he said, standing at the edge of camp, arms crossed over his chest like he expected someone to argue with him. Behind him, the sun was slipping over the horizon, bleeding pinks and oranges into the sky, streaks of molten gold cutting through the canopy.

"We’re running low on dried meat and fruit. Elías needs to restock his herbs, and we could all use the break.”

I clenched my teeth so hard my jaw ached. A break? I knew exactly what this was.

Lies.

Since our last break to gather supplies, Elías had taken it upon himself to forage every chance he got, stuffing his pack with herbs and roots. Dom had been hunting daily, bringing back more than enough to keep us fed. We weren’t running low on anything.

This wasn’t about supplies. It was about me.

Malakai was giving me time to recover. He didn’t say it outright—he wasn’t that reckless—but I could hear it in the deliberate way he spoke, the calculated patience in his voice, the way he was already looking at me, waiting for me to resist.

I hated that I needed the extra time.

I was getting stronger every day, but the ache in my body was a constant burden. My feet, though wrapped and treated, pulsed with pain, and I was certain there were new blisters forming beneath the leather of my boots. But none of that mattered.

The sooner I got to Tiepaz, the sooner the rest of them would be safe from me.

Without a word, I shoved past Malakai, ignoring the pull of my marca as I brushed against him. His gaze followed me—I felt it—but I didn’t stop. Didn’t acknowledge him. If he wanted herbs, I’d get him some. If he wanted dried fruit, I’d pluck it straight from the vine. If he wanted meat, I’d hunt it myself. Anything to prove I didn’t need this.

“Xixi,”

I called over my shoulder.

Silence.

I turned just in time to see the little backstabber burrow deeper into the blankets of our bedroll, tucking her fluffy tail over her nose. Traitor.

Fine. I didn’t need her either.

With a heavy sigh, I ran a hand through my tangled hair and strode into the jungle alone.

I knelt beside a patch of chamomile, plucking the delicate yellow buds with steady fingers, though my thoughts were anything but calm. The jungle hummed around me—cicadas droning their endless summer dirge, the distant caws of birds cutting through the dense trees. I focused on the scent of the plant—sweet, earthy, a balm against frayed nerves. A distraction.

I didn’t want to be back at camp. Didn’t want to be sitting still.

The bushes behind me rustled.

A warmth flickered through my marca, a quiet pulse beneath my skin. A warning. Someone was near.

I stiffened, my muscles coiling, my hand slipping toward the blade strapped to my thigh before I caught myself.

I knew that warmth.

Dom.

I exhaled sharply through my nose and didn’t turn around, already bracing for whatever this was going to be about. Just because he’d extended an olive branch to me and the last few weeks hadn’t been miserable, didn’t mean I expected us to suddenly be best friends. We weren’t out here braiding each other’s hair, for goddess-sake.

No doubt he was coming to confront me. Deliver another round of sharp-edged remarks about how I was the reason we were stalled.

No doubt he resented me for it.

No doubt he was here to remind me.

But when he spoke, his words weren’t as sharp as I expected.

“I’m going out to hunt.”

I finally turned, squinting against the dappled sunlight filtering through the canopy. Dom stood a few paces away, his bow slung across his chest, one hand resting on the hatchet at his hip. His posture was unreadable, but his hazel eyes stayed steady on mine.

For a second, I thought he was just telling me. Informing me of his plans before walking off and leaving me here. But he didn’t move. He waited.

“Is that your way of inviting me?”

I asked, narrowing my eyes.

Dom let out a short breath, adjusting the strap of his quiver.

"Hunting teaches patience,”

he said, voice flat.

"Respect for wildlife. Most of all, it teaches emotional control.”

His gaze held mine, dark and assessing.

"Something you’re in desperate need of.”

My jaw clenched. There it was. The jab I’d been waiting for.

I knew he wasn’t wrong. That didn’t mean I had to like hearing it. My fingers tightened around the chamomile, the small flowers crumpling between them.

“The Endrina Jungle is a great teaching ground,”

he went on, adjusting his grip on his bow.

"Everything is either already dead or trying to kill you.”

I tilted my head, studying him. Two peace offerings in less than a day? I couldn’t decide if it was a test, a tentative step toward peace—or just another chance for me to prove I wasn’t to be trusted.

But one thing was certain.

I needed to learn control.

“I’d like that,”

I admitted, though the words felt awkward on my tongue, foreign in a way I couldn’t quite place.

Dom gave me a sharp nod, the stiffness in his shoulders betraying his discomfort.

"Drop those off with Elías, then meet me over there.”

He jerked his chin toward a shaded clearing about twenty paces away before turning on his heel and vanishing into the trees.

I exhaled heavily and pushed to my feet, shaking off the strange unease curling in my stomach.

Back at camp, I handed the chamomile to Elías, watching as he took it with greedy fingers and pressed it to his nose, inhaling deeply.

“Ah, this is going to make such a nice tea.”

His voice was light, easy, but I didn’t miss the way his gaze flicked to my face, scanning me the way he always did when he suspected something was off.

It didn’t help that I lingered longer than I meant to.

Elías lifted a brow.

"Something wrong?”

I hesitated.

"Dom invited me to go hunting with him.”

Elías blinked, stunned into silence for a beat. Then—

“Well,”

he said, dragging out the word.

"That’s surprising.”

“Yeah,”

I muttered, shifting on my feet. Then, hesitantly, I asked, “Should I be worried?”

Elías’s smirk faltered, replaced by something more serious.

"Dom gave Mal his word. He won’t harm you.”

That should have eased my nerves. It didn’t.

I turned to leave, but Elías called after me, “But he’s not above ditching you somewhere in the jungle, so just in case. Take this.”

He pulled a reed-like whistle from beneath his shirt collar and pressed it into my palm.

I arched a brow but slid the leather cord over my head anyway, tucking the whistle beneath my shirt before heading off to meet Dom.

Two hours.

Two hours of pure, suffocating silence, crouched in the thick of the jungle with Dom. Two hours of regretting every single decision that had led me here.

My thighs ached from holding a squat for so long, and my feet had gone completely numb. I kept flexing my fingers against the bowstring, trying to shake out the tingling creeping up my hands. A cramp wound tight in my calf, sharp and relentless, but I gritted my teeth and bore it.

The last thing I needed was for Dom to hear me shifting in discomfort.

The last thing I wanted was for him to think I was weak.

Or worse—a whiner.

I was willing to bet Dom had very little patience for complaints, and I wasn’t about to be the first to test that theory. So, I stayed still. Kept my breathing shallow so I wouldn’t spook any passing prey.

Somewhere in the distance, a jaguar’s throaty rumble echoed through the trees, followed by the rustling of branches as it moved through the underbrush. The jungle was alive with sound—chirping insects, croaking frogs, the occasional snap of a twig.

But between Dom and me, there was nothing but silence.

Until he spoke.

“I used to have them too,”

Dom said, his voice low.

I frowned, glancing at him out of the corner of my eye.

"Have what?”

He didn’t look at me. His gaze stayed fixed on the trees ahead, his bow resting loosely across his lap.

"Nightmares.”

I went still, my fingers pausing against the bowstring.

I hadn’t expected that. Not from him.

Dom wasn’t the sharing type. If anything, he was about as open as a locked vault, the kind you had to crack with explosives. I wasn’t sure what had earned me this rare moment of honesty, but if he was willing to lower his walls, even for a breath, I supposed I could do the same.

“What are yours about?”

I asked carefully.

Silence stretched between us, thick and weighted. Then, finally—

“Fire.”

His voice was hollow. Distant. And I didn’t miss the way his grip tightened around the bow, the tension coiling in his fingers. His eyes were still locked on the jungle, but I knew he wasn’t really seeing it.

He wasn’t here anymore.

He was somewhere else.

Somewhere burning.

I recognized that look. I’d seen it before. Hell, I wore it.

For a moment, I didn’t know what to say.

I knew what fire could do—how it could consume, how it could hollow you out, how it could take everything from you and leave nothing but ashes in its wake. I knew because I’d been the genesis of that kind of destruction.

I didn’t need to ask what haunted him.

I already knew.

The night Mother had attacked the palace, killed his family, his sister, and burned everything he’d ever loved to the ground.

So instead, I just said, “Mine do too.”

It was the truth, in its simplest form.

Dom turned his head slightly, just enough to glance at me. His expression was unreadable, but there was something in his eyes—something quiet, something searching—that made me think, maybe, just maybe, he understood.

I wasn’t sure what to do with it.

Didn’t know how to hold this sudden, unexpected glimpse of vulnerability from the man who had done nothing but glare at me since I joined his group.

Maybe, if I gave him something in return, it would build a bridge between us—something fragile, but real.

“I also dream of my mother,”

I said, my voice quiet, testing. I wasn’t sure why I was saying it. Only that it felt like the right thing to do.

"She sent me away to train with her Malditas when I was eleven. I didn’t want to go. I begged her not to send me away.”

I paused, the memory creeping in like a ghost. The way my fingers had clutched at the hem of her silks, the way I had sobbed into her skirts, young and afraid. The way she had pried my hands off and never once looked back.

“But she didn’t listen.”

I exhaled, pushing past the knot tightening in my throat.

"I cried for her every night for the first year.”

Beside me, Dom shifted.

"Your mother sounds cruel,”

he said, his voice rough.

“She was,”

I admitted without hesitation.

"But I guess I just wanted to make her happy. Earn her approval or something.”

A short, humorless laugh escaped me.

"That sounds stupid when I say it out loud.”

It was stupid.

After everything, after all the pain, I still wanted that distant, impossible thing. Still wondered, in the quiet hours of the night, if there had ever been a version of me that would have been enough for her.

Dom was silent for a long moment before he spoke again.

“My mother died giving birth to my sister.”

His voice was quieter now, almost hesitant.

"My father wasn’t the same after that. Sometimes he couldn’t bear to look at me.”

I turned my gaze to him, watching the way his fingers curled around the bow in his lap. The way his jaw worked, like he was clenching down on something raw and ugly.

“All I wanted,”

he continued, “was to see him smile again.”

Something in his voice made my stomach twist. It was too familiar.

The longing. The desperation. The foolish, painful hope that if you could just be good enough, if you could just do everything right, maybe—just maybe—they would look at you the way they used to.

He had spent his whole life chasing after something that was already gone.

Just like me.

I exhaled, feeling the sharp edges of something inside me shift. Soften.

“Sounds like we both have issues,”

I muttered, unsure how else to respond to something so raw, so deeply personal.

Dom let out a weary breath, and when he finally glanced at me, his hazel eyes held something different. Not hatred. Not resentment. Just . . . something tired. Something lost.

And for the first time since meeting him, I wondered if he saw the same thing in me.

Dom snorted and nudged me with his elbow.

"Keep your bow ready,”

he muttered, shifting his weight onto one knee.

Something had shifted between us. It wasn’t much, barely more than a crack in the walls we’d both built too high. But it was there—a softening at the edges, an understanding that hadn’t been there before.

We weren’t friends. Not yet. But we weren’t just enemies anymore either.

I adjusted my grip on the bow, rolling my shoulders back.

"Are you sure that’s a nest?”

I whispered.

Dom tilted his head toward the clearing ahead, where the underbrush had been flattened, scattered with soft brown and terra-cotta feathers.

"Turkeys nest on the ground. See those feathers?”

His voice was hushed, but there was certainty in it, the kind that came from experience.

"Those are from young hatchlings.”

I narrowed my eyes, trying to see what he saw. I had spent my life reading people, assessing threats, anticipating movements before they happened. But tracking? Hunting? That was an entirely different skill set—one I didn’t have.

I was about to ask another question when a cluster of fat, bronze-feathered birds strutted into the clearing, pecking at the ground with curved beaks, their heads bobbing with each step.

Dom lifted a single finger to his lips, silencing me. He moved slowly, fluidly, notching an arrow in one smooth motion. The bowstring creaked as he drew back, muscles taut, breath steady.

Then, with the precision of a seasoned hunter, he released.

The arrow sliced through the air and struck its target squarely in the neck. The turkey let out a strangled squawk before crumpling. The others scattered in a flurry of wings and startled cries, vanishing into the brush.

Dom lowered his bow and strode forward to retrieve his kill. He tied a rope around its feet before slinging it over his shoulder and turning back to me.

"Your turn.”

My stomach twisted. I rolled my shoulders, trying to shake off the weight of his expectation. It was just a bird. Nothing more. I’d killed before—more times than I could count—but there was something different about this. The way Dom had spoken about patience, control. The way he looked at me like this was some kind of test.

We tracked the startled flock to another clearing, and Dom signaled for me to get into position.

I squared my stance and lifted the bow, feeling the weight of it settle against my palm.

“Pull back,”

Dom instructed quietly, his voice just behind me.

"Don’t loose until I tell you to.”

I exhaled, drawing the string back, my arms straining against the tension. The muscles in my shoulders trembled slightly. I hadn’t practiced with a bow in ages—close combat had always been my forte, not this.

Dom’s gaze flicked over my form, assessing.

"Relax your grip. You’re holding too tight.”

I adjusted, loosening my fingers just slightly.

“Good,”

he murmured.

"Now aim for the throat. On my mark.”

I slowed my breathing.

Dom leaned in. “Loose.”

I let the arrow fly.

It soared straight, but instead of hitting its mark, it struck the thick trunk of a tree just to the left of my intended target. The turkeys let out a cacophony of alarmed cries and darted into the brush.

I gaped.

I missed.

How had I missed?

Dom doubled over, laughter bursting from his chest.

"You couldn’t even hit a turkey,”

he wheezed.

I scowled.

"This bow is too big for me,”

I argued, slinging it over my shoulder.

"I haven’t practiced in months. I’m just a little rusty. I demand a retry.”

Dom wiped a tear from the corner of his eye, still grinning.

"Are you sure you’re the Nightshade of Rojas?”

I narrowed my eyes.

"I’ll have you know that archery was never my strong suit.”

Dom smirked. “Clearly.”

He slung the bird over his shoulder and turned back toward camp, shaking his head.

"Come on, princesa. Maybe next time you’ll actually hit something.”

I let out a slow breath and followed, biting back a smile of my own.

I’d heard Dom laugh when he was with the others. But never when I was close enough to see it for myself. And certainly not because of something I had done.

It felt groundbreaking to share this moment with him, even if it was at the expense of my own pride.

The hike back to camp was slow, but for once, I didn’t mind the silence. The jungle pressed in around us, thick with the scent of damp earth and blooming orchids. Dom walked ahead, his pace steady, his gaze sharp. We hadn’t spoken much since my regrettable embarrassment, but that was fine with me. There wasn’t much to say.

Then, a sharp cry split the air.

I froze. The sound sent a ripple of unease down my spine. It was distant but urgent, a high-pitched wail that echoed through the trees.

A howler monkey, I told myself. That’s all it was. But even as I thought it, doubt curled in my gut.

Dom stopped, his back straightening as his fingers brushed the handle of his hatchet. The hard set of his jaw told me he wasn’t convinced either.

The cry came again, louder this time.

“Let’s keep going,”

Dom muttered, his voice low, his eyes narrowed as he scanned the trees.

But I didn’t move. Something about the sound snared me, wrapping around my ribs like a rope, tugging me toward it. It didn’t sound like an animal. It sounded like a child.

“Shouldn’t we at least see what it is?”

I asked, my voice softer than I intended.

Dom shook his head. His hazel eyes darkened.

"Haven’t you seen enough of Endrina to know that there are creatures in this jungle that will gut you and eat you before you can scream?”

Another wail shredded the air, raw and desperate, and a shiver rolled down my spine.

Dom’s fingers curled around the handle of his weapon.

"We’re better off leaving whatever that is alone.”

But I couldn’t.

I didn’t care if Dom was right. Something about that sound—about the sheer pain in it—called to me.

Before I could talk myself out of it, my feet moved on their own.

“Nix!”

Dom snapped, but I was already plunging into the trees, shoving aside strangler figs, trampling clusters of sundews. Thorns snagged my sleeves, branches clawed at my skin, but I didn’t stop.

The cries pulled me deeper, deeper—until I broke into a clearing.

And there, huddled in the center of a nest of leaves, was a child.

I skidded to a stop.

She couldn’t have been older than three. Her tiny knees were drawn to her chest, her head resting against the curving bole of a tree like it was a pillow.

Her sarape was red—at least, I thought it was. It was stained with dirt, torn in places. The dried filth on her legs looked too dark to be mud.

My breath hitched when I saw the deep, bloody scratches lining her arms.

A branch lay snapped beside her, its edges jagged. Had she fought something?

Her cries grew louder as I stepped closer. But they weren’t cries of anguish. They were cries of rage. Of defiance.

She lifted her head then, and my heart cracked.

Her long black hair hung in tangled sheets, heavy with leaves and sticks. Her face was streaked with dirt and blood, her cheeks sunken from hunger.

And her eyes—

They locked onto mine, brown and mournful, and something in me lurched.

“Hey,”

I murmured, lowering myself onto my knees.

"You’re safe now.”

The girl trembled. She leaned toward me, just slightly, as if seeking warmth.

Instinct took over. I draped my arm over her thin shoulders, trying to offer some comfort. Her skin was ice-cold beneath my touch. Too cold. If she didn’t get care soon, she wouldn’t survive the night.

Behind me, leaves rustled, and Dom burst into the clearing.

He skidded to a halt, his chest heaving.

His eyes locked onto the child.

And something changed.

His face drained of color, his pupils dilated. His lips moved, but no sound came out.

I frowned.

"You’re scaring her,”

I said, shifting to block the girl from his view.

But it was like he didn’t hear me.

His entire body was taut, his fingers twitching at his side, his breath coming in uneven bursts.

Then, he took a step forward.

A slow, mechanical step.

The way he moved sent unease skittering up my spine.

“What’s wrong with you?”

I asked, rising to my feet, my body instinctively shifting into a defensive stance.

Dom’s eyes flicked to mine, but they were unfocused, distant. He was looking at me, but he wasn’t seeing me.

His jaw clenched so tight I thought his teeth might crack. He took another step. Then another.

“Run,”

he rasped.

I didn’t move.

He sucked in a sharp breath, his neck muscles straining. His fingers curled around his ax.

“Not. A. Child,”

he ground out. Every word sounded like it cost him something.

I sucked in a breath. My eyes snapped back to the girl.

She still looked the same—fragile, freezing, helpless.

But my marca burned hotter.

I swallowed hard, my instincts screaming at me now. Warning me. Telling me to do something. Anything. To run. To fight.

I wanted to believe Dom was wrong. I wanted to believe the girl was just a lost child, that this wasn’t another one of Endrina’s horrors waiting to unfurl its true shape.

But I had seen enough monsters to know that the most dangerous ones never looked like monsters at all.

The girl keened softly, reaching for me again.

My heart slammed against my ribs.

My hand hovered over my dagger.

And then, like a mirage over the red sands of Rojas, the girl blurred out of view and in her place was a creature that had the shape of a woman, but there was nothing human about her anymore.

Thick, tangled ropes of black hair draped over her body like a veil, brushing the tops of her feet and curling around her ankles like living things. Her skin, stretched taut over jutting bones, was the color of old parchment, and her feet—goddess, her feet. Tiny, desiccated things, but her nails, long and backward-facing, curled like talons ready to hook into flesh.

But it was her face that made my blood run cold.

Or rather—the absence of one.

Where there should have been eyes, there was only smooth, featureless skin. Her mouth was nothing but a yawning void, lipless and gaping. And yet, from the cavern of her throat, the sound of a child’s wailing still poured, shrill and piercing, as if some tortured soul was trapped within her and trying to claw its way out.

I stumbled back.

But she moved as quick as lightning.

One moment she was standing, and the next she was crashing past me, her skeletal limbs bending at unnatural angles as she launched herself toward Dom.

He barely had time to react before she was on him, clawed fingers seeking his throat.

I didn’t think—I acted.

My dagger was in my palm before I registered pulling it, my fingers moving on instinct as I flicked my wrist and sent the blade flying.

It struck true, sinking deep into the space between her shoulder blades, right where her heart should have been.

And yet—

She didn’t falter.

Didn’t stumble.

Didn’t even flinch.

I had seen plenty of monsters in my life. I had fought beasts that most people whispered about in the dark and dismissed as folklore. But this—this thing—felt different.

Dom roared as he fought beneath her, twisting his body, trying to roll away. But she clung to him, her clawed hands digging deep into his chest, raking across his skin. Blood welled from the wounds, staining the earth beneath him.

I lunged.

Grabbing the creature by the hair, I ripped her off Dom and slammed my fist into her face with every ounce of strength I had.

Her head snapped to the side.

And then—she laughed.

A hollow, rattling sound scraped from her throat, like wind howling through a dead tree.

A chill curled up my spine.

I staggered back, heart hammering as my mind scrambled for a new plan. My dagger had failed. My fists had failed. I needed something else.

With shaking fingers, I fumbled for the reed whistle around my neck and blew into it hard.

The piercing shriek split the night, a sound sharp enough to send birds scattering from the trees. I blew again, and again, willing the others to hear us and come running.

The woman’s head jerked toward me.

And then she lashed out.

Her claws sliced through the air, severing the leather thong of my whistle. The string snapped, and the whistle tumbled into the dirt.

Damn it.

I stole a glance at Dom.

He was still on the ground, his face twisted in agony. He wasn’t terribly wounded—at least, not fatally. But he wasn’t moving either. His fingers curled against the earth, his body rigid as if he were fighting against some invisible force pressing down on him.

The woman wailed.

Dom’s face scrunched, his jaw clenched so tightly I thought his teeth might shatter. But he didn’t—couldn’t—move.

The sound.

Realization hit me like a slap.

I had been drawn in by the cries, but they hadn’t frozen me in place. Dom, however—he was locked inside his own body, unable to fight back.

I had to block his ears.

With a snarl, I pivoted and slammed a roundhouse kick into the woman’s neck, driving her to the ground.

She hit the earth with a sickening crunch, but I didn’t stop to see if she’d get back up. I dove for Dom, skidding to my knees beside him.

I grabbed a fistful of dirt and shoved it into his ears, packing it in tight.

His chest heaved.

His fingers twitched.

The spell shattered.

Dom gasped as if he’d been drowning. He rolled to his side, coughing, shoving himself upright with trembling arms.

I barely had time to feel relief before the weight of something crashed into me from behind.

Pain exploded in my ribs as the woman slammed me into the ground, her talons sinking into my shoulders.

I thrashed beneath her, struggling against her skeletal grip, but she was stronger than she looked. The wailing grew louder, pressing against my skull like an iron vice.

Then—

The sound of steel splitting flesh.

The woman jerked.

Dom had driven his ax straight into her back.

But still, she didn’t fall.

Slowly, deliberately, she turned.

Ignoring me completely, she reached over her shoulder, fingers curling around the dagger still embedded in her spine.

And she began to pull.

“She’s a ciguapa. Only fire will kill her!”

Dom’s voice rang sharp through the jungle, raw with urgency as he swung his axe at the woman.

The creature screeched—a piercing, ear-splitting sound that sent a shudder through my bones. Her clawed fingers raked across her own face, as if furious that Dom had revealed her weakness. Then, without warning, she lunged.

Dom barely had time to react before she was on him, her body nothing more than a blur of tangled hair and clawed limbs. Her teeth, jagged and yellow, clamped down on his wrist, the one still gripping his axe.

He roared in pain, his body twisting, struggling. His axe tumbled from his grip, landing uselessly in the undergrowth.

“Fire!”

Dom bellowed, his voice laced with agony. He wrestled against her, trying to keep her snapping jaws from sinking into his throat.

My stomach twisted violently.

“I can’t!”

My breath hitched, my hands trembling.

"The collar—”

“You can!”

Dom’s voice was sharp, desperate. “Focus!”

The ciguapa’s claws plunged into his chest.

A strangled cry tore from his lips as blood welled up, dripping down her talons in thick, crimson rivulets. Her tongue slithered out—long, unnaturally forked—lapping up the blood with a slow, deliberate swipe.

A sickening thrill danced in her eyeless face.

“Leave him alone!”

I snarled, my voice shaking, but she only laughed—a hollow, skin-crawling sound that sent ice through my veins.

I was failing.

I could feel it.

The weight of it pressed down on me, crushing.

Dom was going to die, and it would be my fault.

Something inside me twisted violently at the thought—something deeper than guilt.

I had to save him.

Even if it meant tearing myself apart to do it.

The fury came first. Hot, all-consuming, a roaring wildfire inside my rib cage. I clenched my fists, nails biting into my palms, sharp enough to draw blood. My marca burned, surging to life against my skin.

I squeezed my eyes shut, focused everything on the power buried within me, locked away behind that damn collar.

I pictured the woman burning.

I saw her engulfed in blue flames, writhing, screaming.

Nothing happened.

Damn it, damn it, damn it—

The collar choked the magic down before it could rise. It kept me caged, kept me weak.

I slammed my hands over my ears, trying to block out the creature’s keening wails, trying to block out Dom’s strangled gasps. I had to force it out, had to make my magic obey.

My marca flared hotter, pulsing, demanding.

I clenched my teeth against the pain, against the desperate need to make something happen, anything—

Then—

Like a spear to the heart, the fire inside me exploded.

My body arched as searing heat shot through my core, white-hot and unbearable. My vision blurred, the world around me nothing but a haze of blue light and blistering heat.

A pillar of fire slammed into the ciguapa, catapulting her off Dom and launching her into a tree with bone-crunching force.

Dom gasped, his body going limp as the pressure lifted. He scuttled away from her, pressing a hand to the wound at his chest, his breath ragged.

The woman shrieked.

A raw, inhuman sound of pain and rage.

Blue flames devoured her, licking up her hair, crawling up her limbs like hungry serpents. She convulsed, her body twisting into impossible, grotesque shapes. A long-limbed shadow, then a shriveled husk, then something monstrous and jagged with gaping jaws.

The fire didn’t care what form she took.

It burned through each one.

The tree behind her caught fire, flames racing up its trunk, turning bark to charcoal in seconds. The scent of burning flesh mixed with the thick, acrid smoke, choking the air.

Still, she screamed.

Her body writhed and contorted, her mouth stretching impossibly wide, releasing one final, earsplitting wail—

Then she crumbled.

Her body disintegrated into blackened ash, scattering into the wind like dust.

“Put it out!”

Dom’s voice cut through the thick air, raw with urgency as he sprinted toward me.

But the fire . . . it felt good.

Power coursed through my veins like liquid sunlight, filling every crevice of my body with warmth, with life.

I didn’t want it to end. Not yet.

“Stop it!”

Dom grabbed my shoulder, yanking me back. The second his hand met my skin, he hissed and recoiled. His palm was raw, blistering red. The acrid scent of burned flesh stung my nostrils.

I barely had a moment to register what I had done before a geyser of water slammed into me like a battering ram. A gasp ripped from my throat as the fire in my body was snuffed out in an instant, leaving nothing but damp clothes and a bone-deep chill in its wake.

Kerun stood at the edge of the clearing, his face slick with sweat, his entire body trembling. His usually snarling lips were pinched in tight concentration. His hands, still outstretched, dripped with the remnants of his Aguador magic.

Praise to Las Madres, Kerun was an Aguador!

The realization barely had time to settle before the sound of crashing footsteps filled the air. Lian and Elías burst through the undergrowth, weapons drawn, eyes darting wildly. Then they saw Dom.

Dom, covered in blood.

I barely had time to think before I was at his side, hands hovering over his chest, over the deep gouges the ciguapa had left. His breathing was ragged, shallow. His hands—goddess, his hands—were burned raw from the brief moment he had touched me while I was still aflame.

“Elías, please,”

I gasped, my voice shaking.

"Help him!”

Elías was already there, pressing his hands against Dom’s chest. Green Curador magic bloomed between his fingers, seeping into Dom’s skin, but even as the wounds began to close, Dom clenched his jaw so tightly I could see the tendons straining in his neck. His entire body locked up, trembling with the effort to hold back a scream.

Kerun staggered toward us, still drained from the magic he’d just unleashed. He raised his hands once more, sending another stream of water to the remaining embers licking at the trees. The last of the blue flames hissed into nothingness. Smoke curled into the air, thick and suffocating.

With the last of his strength, Kerun collapsed. Lian barely caught him before he hit the ground.

My stomach churned with guilt.

This is my fault.

Lian cast a worried glance toward Kerun, adjusting his grip as he hefted him into his arms. I could tell from the tension in his jaw that he was barely holding it together.

I turned away from the sight, unable to meet his eyes.

My gaze fell on the remains of the clearing—the scorched devastation.

The jungle around us was blackened, nothing but charred remains of what had once been alive. The trees stood like skeletons, the ground beneath them cracked and crumbling. What little grass had survived crunched beneath my boots, reduced to brittle ash. Twice now, I had let my power loose, and twice I had nearly set the whole jungle ablaze.

In his desperation to stop my fire from burning rampant, Kerun’s latent magic had blossomed. A reaction to my own. To my lack of control.

Magic was often triggered during moments of intense fear, and I had clawed that out of him.

The shame of it fell on me like an avalanche of boulders.

Because what would happen next time? What if there wasn’t someone to stop me?

Lian carried Kerun toward camp, Elías slipping an arm under Dom’s shoulders to help him walk. I stepped forward to help, but the moment my fingers so much as brushed against Dom, he jerked away as if burned all over again.

“Are you okay?”

My voice was tight, the guilt curling deeper into my gut.

Dom didn’t answer at first. He simply looked at me. Not with rage. Not with hatred. But with something far worse.

Disappointment.

“You should have listened to me,”

he said, his voice like a blade, cutting through bone.

Shame burned my cheeks.

"I’m sorry,”

I whispered.

"I didn’t know—”

I swallowed against the lump in my throat, desperate to change the subject.

"What did you say that thing was?”

“A ciguapa,”

Dom said flatly, his tone devoid of anything.

I frowned, forcing myself to keep pace with him.

"Why did it affect me that way? Why did it look like a little girl at first?”

Dom’s jaw clenched.

Silence stretched between us, so thick I could choke on it.

I didn’t think he was going to answer, not until he exhaled sharply through his nose and muttered, “Because ciguapas can assume the form of a loved one. It’s how they lure their prey before they suck the soul from their body.”

I swallowed hard.

"So, who was the girl?”

Dom’s entire body went rigid. He didn’t answer at first. His fingers curled into fists at his sides, knuckles white.

Then, barely above a whisper— “My sister.”

My breath hitched.

“The last time I ever saw her.”

I stopped in my tracks. My stomach twisted into knots.

Dom let go of Elías and stormed ahead without another word, his shoulders squared, his movements sharp, as if walking away fast enough could erase the conversation altogether.

I let him go.

Some things weren’t meant to be pried open.

And some wounds never truly healed.