Page 46

EVE

Something cool was wrapped around me.

I sank into it instinctively, the icy calm a balm against the ache in my bones and the memory of flame. It pressed against my back and curled around my ribs, not too tight, but firm—anchoring.

Safe.

My eyes blinked open, lashes sticking together. The world swam in golden sunlight. A tall bookcase. A chair I’d never seen before. I didn’t recognize any of it. Especially not the arm wrapped firmly around my waist.

I tensed.

I tried to shift, to breathe, to think. The blanket slipped off my shoulder as I stirred, exposing overheated skin to the freezing air of the room. I sucked in a breath—and immediately winced as pain bloomed sharp through my ribs.

A low voice cut through the haze.

“Take it easy.”

I knew that voice. Knew it like magic.

Xander.

My breath hitched as I twisted just enough to meet his gaze. His arms were still wrapped around me, his body curved protectively against mine like we’d been molded that way. His blond hair was tousled, his sharp eyes ringed with shadows—like he hadn’t slept at all.

I blinked hard, my throat dry, my heart hammering like it hadn’t gotten the memo that the danger had passed. Had it? I could still smell the smoke clinging to my hair and clothes, like a dark reminder of the scene I’d woken up to last night.

I lurched forward, panic surging like a wave, but Xander’s arms caught me before I got far.

“Hey—no, Eve. You’re okay. I’ve got you.”

His voice cracked a little on the last word.

And God help me… part of me didn’t want to let go.

“You shouldn’t be this close. I could hurt you.”

His jaw tightened. Not enough to alarm, but enough to notice. His gaze swept over me, cataloging something, his fingers just barely tightening on my back.

“You’re not going to hurt me, darling.”

The silence that followed was thick, and I could see the shift in his expression—the brief flicker of something raw before he buried it beneath the cold, unreadable mask he wore so well.

“You were hurting,” he said carefully, his voice quieter now. “Your magic… it was just trying to protect you.”

“But I hurt him.”

Tears welled in my eyes, and I dropped my face into the crook of Xander’s arm. I felt him hold his breath as I pressed closer, like he didn’t trust himself to breathe me in. Not that I could blame him.

I could still see the seared hand prints on Orion’s perfect skin, the smell of his charred flesh like it was right under my nose.

I’d done that. Not the daema. Not some cursed creature in a mask. Me.

I had lost control.

My magic hadn’t flared up in defense—it had exploded. It hadn’t saved me—it had hurt the one person who had tried to help me.

“You didn’t mean to,” he said, stroking my hair. His hands didn’t tremble, but I felt the pause—the way he hesitated before letting go. Like maybe he didn’t want to.

I shouldn’t have noticed the shape of his collarbone under my palm.

I shouldn’t have memorized the rhythm of his heartbeat like it was a lullaby just for me.

I didn’t want to lean into his touch the way I did, but it felt…

right. It felt like his frost was the only thing keeping me from igniting once more.

Everyone said I was safe. Orion said it more times than I could count. I tried to believe it, but it wasn’t until I was in Xander’s arms that it started to feel true.

I cared about Orion—still did—but when the fire rose in me, it wasn’t his arms I ran to. It was Xander’s. And that terrified me almost as much as the fire itself.

Xander didn’t say much. But his silence—his breath, the weight of his arm across me—said everything I couldn’t.

Because he didn’t know what to do with me, either.

I shifted in his arms, trying to sit up. Not because I was uncomfortable—but because I was too comfortable. I shouldn’t be here. Not after what I’d done.

Xander’s arm flexed, not forceful—just enough to hold me still.

“Where are you going?”

He seemed torn between wanting to keep me here and pushing me away. It just made my guilt heavier.

“I just…” My voice faltered. I couldn’t lie to him. Not convincingly. “I need some air.”

Xander slowly loosened his hold, giving me space. Not pushing. Just waiting.

I slumped my head into my hands and took a few deep breaths. They didn’t make me feel any better. But, I could feel Xander hovering at my back, like he was waiting for me to melt down again.

“You’re not alone in this, Eve. No one expects you to figure it out alone.”

“But I am alone,” I turned to face him. “The second I lose control, I hurt people. Good people. People I—”

I cut myself off, jaw clenching. My fists curled around the edges of the blanket.

“You’re not the first one to feel like this,” he paused. “I’ve felt that way, too.”

I glanced at him, but he didn’t look at me. Didn’t explain. He didn’t have to. There was something in the way his shoulders curved inward, like he was holding back more than words. Like he understood.

And suddenly, the room felt smaller.

Not suffocating.

Just… heavy.

“I need a shower,” I said instead, more to fill the space than anything else. “And… I should check on Orion.”

His jaw tensed at the mention, but he only nodded. “He’s doing fine, though he’s worried about you,” he said, which only made the guilt coil tighter in my chest.

I stood to leave, half-draped in guilt and ash, but I paused in the doorway.

“Xander?”

He looked up, guarded. Always guarded. I wasn’t sure who was more afraid of the flames—me, or him. But he hadn’t let go.

“Would it be okay if I… stayed with you? Just for a while. Until I can get this under control.”

His expression didn’t change, not at first. But something in his jaw twitched, and his fingers curled where they rested on his knees.

“If that’s what you want.”

But it didn’t sound like agreement—it sounded like a surrender.

“Just until the flames stop,” I added softly.

He nodded. Once. His silence spoke louder than words.

I left before I could change my mind. Before I did something truly stupid, like ask him to hold me just a moment longer. I stepped into the hallway and drew a slow breath, willing my heart to settle, my thoughts to still.

One breath. That’s all I needed.

Something shifted in the corner of my eye, and I tensed.

Every instinct screamed at me to retreat, to call out—but I didn’t.

I moved toward the living room, barefoot on the hardwood floor, the boards creaking underfoot as I crept forward. The fire had gone out, but the air still felt too warm—like someone had been here long before I arrived.

And then I saw him.

A man stood in front of the fireplace, perfectly still, half-cast in shadow.

I didn’t recognize him. He didn’t move. Didn’t speak. Just stood there, like he belonged—like he’d been waiting.

My breath caught, heart hammering as he slowly began to turn.

And just before I could find my voice—

He looked at me.