Page 27 of We Were Meant to Burn (Ashes and Ruin Saga #1)

The next morning, I threw myself into getting ready with more force than was necessary. I pulled on my boots, tightened the straps on my pack, and secured my knives with sharp, precise movements. The sooner I was done, the sooner I could find something—anything—to busy myself with.

Anything to keep my mind off him.

I tied off my pack, but as I adjusted the strap, my gaze lingered on my hand. The same hand Malakai had kissed the night before.

My pulse tripped in my throat. The warmth of his lips had long since faded, but my skin still tingled as if it remembered. I could still see the way he had looked at me, as if I were something worth seeing. As if I were worth more than just a mission, more than the sum of my past.

The thought sent a rush of heat racing up my neck. I clenched my hand into a fist, as if that would erase the memory, as if that would stop the dangerous ache blooming in my chest.

No.

This wasn’t real. It couldn’t be real.

I shook my head, trying to shove the thought aside. Foolish. That’s what this was. I had let myself get swept up in something fleeting, let myself believe—for just a moment—that this could be something more. But Malakai was still taking me to Tiepaz. That hadn’t changed. No matter what he had whispered last night, no matter the tenderness in his touch, I was still a bounty he had to deliver.

That truth snapped me back into focus.

I hoisted my pack onto my shoulders, jaw set, and strode off toward the others, determined to keep myself busy, to drown out these feelings before they had a chance to take root. I’d find someone—anyone—to help. Lian and Elías were always collecting plants, Dom was probably checking traps, and Kerun, if left unchecked, would no doubt get himself into trouble.

As long as I was busy, I wouldn’t have to be alone with Malakai.

I wouldn’t have to feel anything at all.

A sharp nip at my fingers startled me. I glanced down to find Xixi eyeing me with an expression that was far too judgmental for a creature that spent half her time terrorizing Elías.

“What?”

I muttered.

Xixi chuffed, her nose wrinkling in disapproval, and I swore she looked disgusted with me.

“All of this is temporary,”

I told her, lowering my voice so no one else would hear.

"Don’t get too attached.”

Xixi huffed again, flicking her tail in obvious disagreement before darting up a tree, disappearing into the canopy in search of something to hunt.

I exhaled slowly and turned back to camp, hoping that, unlike Xixi, I could actually take my own advice.

The sun was relentless, its heat pressing down on us like an oppressive weight as we trekked through the dry terrain. Sweat clung to the back of my neck, the fabric of my clothes damp against my skin. Every step felt heavier, my breath coming in slow, steady exhales. But as the roar of rushing water reached my ears, a welcome reprieve lay ahead.

We emerged from the trees to find a waterfall cascading down smooth, moss-covered rock, spilling into a crystal-clear lake below. Mist curled through the air, cool droplets clinging to my skin, offering a fleeting but blissful relief from the oppressive heat.

The atmosphere in the group shifted, shoulders loosening, movements lighter as the promise of cold water pulled everyone forward.

“Want to go for a swim? Lian and I are jumping in,”

Elías called, already shrugging off his pack.

I blinked, caught off guard by the sudden shift in priority.

"In all our clothes?”

Elías shot me a playful look as he started unlacing his boots, kicking them off haphazardly.

"No, silly.”

Before I could register what was happening, he reached for the buckles of his gun holster and the twin bandoliers that crisscrossed his chest, dropping them to the ground in a fluid motion. I froze. My eyes unwillingly tracked the movement, catching sight of the dark tattoos that curved along his lean, muscled torso, winding down beneath the waistband of his pants.

Heat crept up my neck.

Dios mío.

Elías grinned, oblivious to my flustered state, and sprinted toward the water. With a graceful dive, he disappeared beneath the surface. A heartbeat later, Xixi followed suit, bounding into the water with a great splash that sent a wave sloshing over my boots.

Elías resurfaced with a whoop of laughter, only for his expression to morph into one of wide-eyed panic as Xixi torpedoed toward him, her massive form cutting through the water like a predator closing in on prey.

"Wait, wait, wait— Xixi, no!”

A chorus of laughter erupted around me as I turned, intending to make a sharp exit before someone else convinced me to partake in their reckless water games, only to collide with something solid.

No. Not something. Someone.

A firm, bare chest.

I knew who it was before I even looked up. The scent of fir needles and spearmint gave him away before my gaze traveled higher, past the warm, golden skin, past the faint silvery lines that curled up his neck and down his arms like veins of starlight, until I met those violet eyes gleaming with mischief.

“Scared?”

Malakai purred, his voice rich and teasing.

I swallowed hard.

He stood there, shirtless, mist from the falls glistening against the ridges of his abs, the intricate swirls of his silver markings gleaming under the sun. I hadn’t seen him like this before, hadn’t noticed just how much of his body he kept covered. Did he always look like this? Had he been hiding it beneath layers of armor and fabric? And why did my pulse betray me so mercilessly, hammering in my throat?

I snapped my gaze back to his face, refusing to let my eyes wander lower.

"Me? Scared?”

I forced a scoff, my mouth suddenly very dry. “Hardly.”

Malakai chuckled, slow and knowing, his mouth curling into a devilish smirk.

"You want to give it a go?”

His gaze roved over me, slow and unhurried, as if he were cataloging every detail, every hesitation I failed to mask. The way he was looking at me made my skin burn hotter than the sun overhead.

I allowed myself one moment of indulgence, one moment to drag my eyes over the broadness of his shoulders, the tautness of his chest, the carved muscle that tapered down to his waist. Damn him. I forced myself to step back, breaking the trance.

“I’m not really in the mood,”

I lied, my voice a little too tight, a little too breathless.

I turned on my heel before he could see the flush creeping up my neck, determined to busy myself with anything other than Malakai’s bare chest and the way my stomach flipped under the weight of his gaze.

“Your loss,”

he called after me, that knowing smirk still in his voice.

I didn’t dare look back. But the splash that followed told me he had dived into the water, taking his warmth—and my lingering breathlessness—with him.

I chided myself for getting distracted by Malakai as I made a direct path toward the base of the cliff where the waterfall spilled over. I should’ve just gone with the others, let the cold water drown out the thoughts I had no business entertaining. Instead, I chose solitude—chose to climb, to distract myself from things I couldn’t afford to dwell on.

As I passed Dom, my gaze snagged on something I wasn’t supposed to see. A mark on his chest—an “X”

burned over his heart. Beneath it, something else, half-hidden, like the “X”

was trying to cover it up.

“What happened there?”

The moment I opened my mouth, I knew I’d made a mistake.

Dom’s entire frame went rigid, his expression darkening as his arms crossed over his bare chest, concealing the mark I’d just pointed out. But I’d already seen it—the burned-in “X”

over his heart, the jagged scarring beneath it, hidden like something someone had tried to erase.

It was too late to take back the question.

My stomach twisted.

"I’m sorry,”

I said quickly, tearing my eyes away.

"I didn’t mean—”

Damn it.

"I wasn’t trying to—”

My voice trailed off as I instinctively placed a hand over my own marca, feeling its familiar warmth pulse beneath my palm. Had Dom been created by Quiacatl, too?

The thought sent a slithering unease through my gut. I didn’t believe in coincidences. I wasn’t one to question Las Madres, but this—this—felt deliberate. Like a piece of a puzzle sliding into place, except I couldn’t see the full picture yet. And maybe I didn’t want to.

Dom ripped his shirt over his head with sharp, angry movements, shoving his arms through the sleeves like he wanted to scrub away the conversation entirely.

"It’s just a birthmark,”

he growled, buckling his weapons back into place.

A lie.

A poor one, too.

I knew better than to push, but the space that had just barely begun to close between us yawned wide again, stretching further than before. I mentally kicked myself for prying. Every time we took a step forward, I somehow found a way to drag us several paces back.

My fingers curled into a fist, frustration biting at my insides. I wanted to understand—him, myself, all of this. But Dom had built his walls high, and I wasn’t sure he’d ever let me see over them.

With my mind still churning, I turned away, letting him disappear with the group. I wasn’t in the mood to swim anyway. Malakai’s pity over the scars on my back had been enough to remind me that there were parts of myself I was better off keeping hidden.

Instead, I opted for something else. Something to quiet the thoughts running rampant in my head.

I lifted my chin and eyed the cliffside where the waterfall spilled over, its sheer rock face slick with mist. If I couldn’t control the past, I could at least control this. I could climb. I could focus on every handhold, every movement, and let the world—and all the questions I didn’t have answers to—fall away.

The view from the top had to be breathtaking.

And for a while, at least, I wanted to see something beautiful.

I dug my fingers into the rough surface of the rock, the spray of the waterfall misting my skin, cooling the heat building in my veins. Each movement sent a rush of adrenaline through me, a delicious burn in my muscles. This was something I could control. This was something that didn’t demand blood or violence or obedience. It was just me, the stone, and the sky above.

“What are you doing?”

Malakai’s voice carried up from below.

I glanced down and immediately wished I hadn’t. He was standing at the water’s edge, dripping wet, silver hair slicked back, dark skin glistening in the sunlight. He might as well have been carved from obsidian, the way the muscles in his chest caught the light, the way his violet eyes fixed on me with something between amusement and exasperation.

I forced my gaze away, heat crawling up the back of my neck.

"What’s it look like I’m doing?”

“It looks like you’re climbing to your death, that’s what it looks like,”

he purred.

I didn’t have to see his face to know the expression he wore. I could hear the smirk in his voice, could picture the wry tilt of his lips, the knowing glint in his eyes. I shook my head, trying to rid myself of the image. Focus, Nix.

“Hardly,”

I said, clearing my throat and tightening my grip on the ledge.

Malakai sighed through his nose, the sound full of long-suffering patience.

"If you’re so determined to get yourself killed every time I take my eyes off you, then I’m coming with you. You’re no good to me dead.”

I rolled my eyes.

"Is that your favorite phrase or something?”

I glanced back at him—mistake. The humor in his eyes made my stomach dip, like a free-fall with no ground beneath me. I ripped my gaze away and focused on the next handhold.

"Don’t forget, it was my decision to come along. I could have ditched you.”

Malakai’s voice was all lazy confidence.

"Maybe. If you had, then you would’ve missed out on all the fun.”

“Fun?”

I snorted.

“Yeah, or, you know, been eaten.”

I huffed a laugh and kept climbing.

"I’ll take my chances.”

“How far up do you plan to go?”

he called after a few more feet.

“All the way, of course.”

“Ay, Las Madres, woman, are you crazy?”

“Probably,”

I said, grinning to myself. There was something freeing about using my body like this, for something that wasn’t killing or training. Just movement. Just existing.

“Will you slow down? You’re going to fall,”

Malakai grumbled, irritation clear in his tone.

I glanced down at him, several lengths below, and couldn’t help the devilish idea that took root in my mind. I let go of the rock with one hand and waved at him.

"So I shouldn’t do this?”

His eyes widened in horror.

"Put that hand back or I swear I will melt it to this cliff.”

I giggled. I’d like to see him try.

"You worry too much.”

“I swear, you’re going to be the reason I go gray.”

I shot him a wicked grin.

"Aren’t you already?”

Malakai’s face twisted into a glare, and I climbed another length, smirking when I heard his low growl of frustration. When I reached a solid hold, I let go with my other hand just to taunt him.

That was apparently the final straw.

With a flick of his wrist, a jet of liquid silver shot from his palm, aiming straight for my hand.

I yelped and scrambled higher, laughing as I narrowly avoided it.

"You’re going to have to try harder than that!”

I called down.

Malakai’s voice dropped, smooth and dark.

"Believe me. I will.”

Something about the way he said it, low in his throat, sent a shiver up my spine. Heat rushed to my face, burning across the bridge of my nose, and I tucked my chin against my shoulder, suddenly grateful he couldn’t see me from below.

Not that he needed to. I had the sinking suspicion he already knew exactly what he was doing to me.

The climb had been worth it.

At the top of the waterfall, the whole of Endrina sprawled before me, endless and wild. The jungle stretched in every direction, an untamed sea of emerald canopies and tangled vines, their edges dissolving into golden plains that shimmered under the sun. To the south, mountains loomed, their jagged peaks dusted in white, cutting against the sky like the teeth of some great beast. Clouds clung to their slopes, casting shadows that danced across the land below.

A gust of wind carried the scent of damp earth and the rich perfume of jungle blooms. Mist from the falls wrapped around my skin in a cold embrace, sending a shiver down my spine.

“That was both stupid and oddly fun,”

Malakai said, hauling himself up beside me. He swung a leg over the ridge and stood, shaking the water from his silver hair. Droplets caught the sunlight, sending a spray of tiny rainbows into the air.

I refused to look at him. Absolutely refused.

It was bad enough that my heart still hadn’t settled from the climb—or from the way he had spoken to me back there, all dark promises and infuriating confidence. Looking at him now, with the sun gilding his skin and that easy smirk tugging at his lips, would be dangerous. Instead, I kept my gaze trained on the horizon.

“It’s beautiful up here,”

I said, my gaze fixed on the view, clinging to it like a lifeline.

“Breathtaking,”

he murmured.

Something in his voice made me glance over—and instantly regret it.

He wasn’t looking at the view.

He was looking at me.

Violet eyes, locked and unyielding, studied me with a kind of intensity that stole the air from my lungs. Like he was memorizing me. Like he already had.

He didn’t mean to say it. I saw it in the way his jaw tightened, the way his throat bobbed like he was trying to swallow the words back down.

“You are beautiful.”

Barely a whisper. Like it cost him something to say it out loud.

His eyes fluttered shut, and when he spoke again, his voice was even quieter.

“It’s not just how you look.”

A pause, as if the rest might undo him.

"It’s the way you exist. The way you make everything else seem . . . dull by comparison.”

His hand curled into a fist at his side. A physical restraint.

"I wasn’t supposed to feel this.”

When he opened his eyes, the look he gave me cut through every wall I’d built to keep him out—raw, aching, a war between wanting and regret.

“But I do,”

he said, voice barely a breath.

"Goddess help me, I do.”

I swallowed hard, my heart pounding like it was trying to punch its way out of my ribs.

The sun caught his features—the sharp line of his jaw, the curve of his lips, the warmth in his gaze that made me want things I shouldn’t.

Why does he have to look at me like that?

Why did he have to say that like it was a secret he hadn’t even meant to share?

And why—why—did I want to believe him?

I rubbed the back of my neck, pretending the heat in my cheeks was from the climb, not from the burn of his words sinking into my skin.

I didn’t know what to say.

Worse—I didn’t trust myself to say anything.

So, like the coward I was, I reached for distraction. For distance. For the nearest lifeline that wasn’t him.

I said the first meaningless thing that came to mind. Anything to pull us away from the edge of whatever that moment was becoming.

Because if I didn’t, I might fall.

“How much longer until we get to Tiepaz?”

I asked, needing any distraction from the way he was looking at me.

Malakai didn’t answer immediately. I felt his gaze linger a second too long before he turned his attention back to the jungle.

"It’ll take us another month to trek to El Puerto de Xica. From there, my contact will find us passage on a ship that’ll take us the rest of the way.”

A month.

That wasn’t long at all.

I reached for the collar around my neck, running my fingers along the cool metal. It had become instinct, touching it. A constant reminder of what I was. Of what I wasn’t.

For the first time, though, the weight of it didn’t make me flinch.

I had spent the entirety of my captivity hating it—this cage around my throat, this thing that kept me shackled, kept me less. But now, another thought crept in, one that unsettled me more than I wanted to admit.

The collar kept me from my magic.

And maybe . . . just maybe . . . a part of me was grateful for that.

Because the last time I had felt true, unbridled power, I had nearly burned the jungle to the ground.

And I wasn’t sure if I had hated it—or if I had loved it.

“I’m sorry I haven’t been able to take that thing off you.”

Malakai’s voice was soft, but there was an edge to it, like the thought of the collar around my throat cut at him more than he wanted to admit.

I dropped my hand from where I’d been absentmindedly tracing the metal. “I’m not,”

I muttered, barely realizing I’d said it aloud.

Malakai caught it anyway. “Why not?”

I swallowed against the sudden tightness in my throat. I hadn’t meant to say that. Hadn’t meant to give voice to the thought that had been clawing at the back of my mind for months. My hands curled into fists at my sides. I wished he hadn’t asked, because I wasn’t sure I wanted to say the answer out loud.

Malakai tilted his head, trying to meet my eyes.

"You can always be honest with me.”

I squeezed my eyes shut. If I couldn’t see his face, I wouldn’t have to see the pity I feared was lurking in his expression. I couldn’t bear it. Not from him.

“I’m scared,”

I admitted, voice barely above a whisper.

"I know what you said. I know I have a choice. But I’m still scared.”

My breath hitched.

"I’ve done horrible things with my magic. I don’t think I should be allowed free rein to use it again.”

Malakai exhaled through his nose, a patient sound, the kind that made something in my chest ache.

"Nix, open your eyes. I want to show you something.”

Reluctantly, I cracked them open, my gaze landing on Malakai’s outstretched hand. A pool of liquid silver was gathering in his palm, shifting and rippling like living mercury.

“Magic is neither good nor bad,”

he said as the silver pooled and thickened.

"It listens to the command of whoever wields it.”

With a slow, practiced motion, he twirled the fingers of his free hand. The silver twisted, rising from his palm like it was alive, reshaping itself into the wicked curve of a blade. It gleamed under the sun, sharp and menacing.

“It can be used to kill,”

he murmured, letting the light glint off the metal.

Then, with another flick of his fingers, the knife melted away, shifting and folding in on itself. A heartbeat later, a small silver comb rested in his palm, its fine teeth delicate and ornate.

“It can also be used for practical things,”

he continued, holding it out to me. The craftsmanship was exquisite, the design so intricate I could see tiny flourishes etched into the metal.

I stared at it, hesitant, but then the silver rippled again, shifting. I let out a sharp breath as the comb shrank, folding inward, reshaping itself into something small—delicate.

A butterfly.

Tiny, wafer-thin wings spread out, shimmering in the light. Its fragile feelers twitched, its legs shifting as if testing the sensation of movement for the first time.

I looked up at Malakai, wide-eyed, only to find that we weren’t alone.

An entire swarm of silver butterflies had taken shape around us, their wings moving in a slow, hypnotic rhythm. The sight stole my breath. They drifted through the air, catching the sunlight in ways that made them shimmer like tiny stars.

Malakai lifted a hand and beckoned with a slow, careful motion. One butterfly flitted toward me, landing gently on my shoulder, its wings flexing in a slow, patient movement.

His voice was soft, reverent, as if he was telling me something important—something more than just the words he was saying.

“There’s nothing wrong with you, or your magic, love,”

he said. His eyes locked onto mine, unflinching.

"Just like you control your own destiny, you control your own magic.”

Something inside me cracked, raw and aching.

I wanted to believe him. I wanted it so badly it hurt.

Heat bloomed over my heart at Malakai’s words, an unsettling warmth that spread through my chest. Instinctively, my fingers pressed against the spot, feeling the thrum of my pulse beneath my skin. My mind drifted to what I’d seen earlier—the mark burned into Dom’s chest, an “X”

meant to conceal something beneath.

“Can I ask you something?”

My voice came out quieter than I intended.

Malakai tilted his head, his violet eyes soft as they studied my face.

"Anything.”

I hesitated. It felt ridiculous now, but I needed to know.

"It’s probably a stupid question, so you have to promise not to laugh.”

“I wouldn’t dare,”

he said, lips quirking.

I exhaled slowly, then pointed at my chest.

"I noticed Dom has something here. A mark of some kind?”

Malakai’s expression darkened, his playful ease vanishing like a snuffed-out flame.

"Yes . . .”

I swallowed, my throat suddenly dry.

"Is it connected to anything? To the Bruja or something?”

My voice trailed off as my gaze flickered downward, toward Malakai’s bare chest, the silver swirls of runes etched across his golden-brown skin.

“It’s not a marker of who is Bruja and who isn’t,”

Malakai said, his voice careful, measured.

"If that’s what you were thinking.”

I lifted my chin.

"Then what is it?”

“A gift,”

he said simply.

A strange weight pressed into my chest. “A gift?”

I repeated.

“From Las Madres.”

Malakai’s fingers brushed against his own chest, almost absentmindedly.

"A blessing. It’s called la marca.”

The world tilted beneath me.

La marca.

Like my own marca. But it couldn’t be true . . . Mother had said— Mother had said a lot of things. But that didn’t make any of it true.

My breathing shallowed as heat throbbed above my heart.

“Every member of the royal family bore a mark over their heart from the goddess who granted it,”

Malakai continued, unaware of the storm rising inside me.

"Each symbol represents the animal from which they inherit their power—and the magic tied to it.”

My pulse roared in my ears.

“Dom hated his,”

Malakai went on, his tone unreadable.

"It reminded him of his family, so he tried to get rid of it. But it’s not something you can just carve or burn away. It’s a part of him. An inheritance that can’t be erased.”

My fingers curled into fists.

"You said it was a mark of the royal family.”

Malakai nodded, his brows knitting at my reaction. “Yes.”

“And you’re sure that only those from the royal family have these marks?”

I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.

"From Las Madres?”

He cocked his head, blinking at me, as if wondering why I was being so insistent.

"Yes. Only those who can trace their heritage through the House of Mondragón bear the marks.”

A sick, twisting feeling coiled in my gut.

“Why?”

I asked, my voice uneven.

A million ‘whys’ were running rampant in my mind, so my simple question would have to do.

Malakai exhaled sharply, a note of resentment creeping into his tone.

"Guess your mother tore that from the history books too,”

he muttered.

A pit opened inside me.

"What does it mean?”

I demanded, the urgency in my voice startling even myself.

"What does la marca mean?”

Malakai turned to me fully now, his expression unreadable.

"The Mondragón family were the first Bruja,”

he said, his voice a quiet, steady weight.

"The first to receive the gift of magic from Las Madres.”

The world splintered around me.

I barely felt the ground beneath my feet. My ears filled with blood, with the ragged sound of my own breathing. This whole time—

Mother had lied to me.

She had told me I was special. That my magic was unique. That Quiacatl had chosen me alone, had gifted me alone with power.

But the truth was far worse.

If only those in the Mondragón bloodline bore the marca . . .

Then Danixtl was not my mother. Danixtl was of the House Zaldanna. If I too bore a marca. A singular mark that only those in the Mondragón family bore . . . then—

I was not hers.

Which meant—

Dom—

I was—

I sucked in a breath that barely reached my lungs, the weight of it pressing against my ribs. My hands trembled as I clutched my chest, as if I could feel the truth burning into my skin.

I wasn’t who I thought I was.

I wasn’t who she had told me I was.

I wasn’t Danixtl’s daughter.

But I was someone else.

I was Dom’s kin.