The wind howled through the boughs like a chorus of forgotten souls. In the deepest stretch of the Lirenwald, where even sunlight dared only to drip through moss-laced limbs, Elira Vane knelt beside the roots of an old oak. Her fingers were stained with iron-rich blood.
He was still breathing.
Barely.
A man no, a brute of a man, taller than any she'd seen in her years lay collapsed in the mud, a black-feathered arrow lodged in his side. His face was half-shadowed by tangled, raven hair slick with rain and blood. He groaned, twitching as if he still fought whatever monster had brought him down.
Elira wiped her palms on the hem of her cloak and exhaled.
Idiot, she whispered to herself. You're going to get yourself killed helping him.
Still, she pressed a hand to his chest, feeling the ragged rise and fall.
It had rained the day before. The forest smelled of wet leaves and rotting bark. A bad omen.
Elira worked quickly. Her hands moved with practiced precision—cutting cloth, gathering moss, grinding root against stone into paste. Her healing skills weren't holy or priestly; the village midwife had once called them witch work. Still, they had saved lives before.
The arrow was barbed. Designed to tear. Designed by someone who wanted this man not just dead, but ruined.
She poured a trickle of liquor from her flask onto the wound. He flinched.
You'll live, she muttered.
His eyes shot open.
They were silver. Not gray silver. Like hammered metal, catching the weak forest light and reflecting it with eerie clarity.
Before she could react, his hand snapped around her wrist.
He didn't speak. But he didn't let go either.
Elira swallowed hard.
You've got poison in you, she said carefully, trying to keep her voice steady. If I don't get that arrow out, you'll be dead by nightfall.
A beat passed. Then he blinked once. Slowly. A nod.
She nodded back. Good.
By the time she dragged him to the hunting cabin, the sun had vanished behind the trees. It was a place she'd used before—an old stone hut left behind by a ranger's widow. Dusty, but dry. Far from roads and far from watchful eyes.
Inside, she laid him out on a cot of furs and rags. She lit the hearth. It was the only sound in the room beyond his pained breathing and the occasional curse as she peeled back the layers of torn leather armor and washed blood from his skin.
There were scars. So many. Some faded, others fresh. One, long and ragged across his ribs, looked like the mark of a wildcat's claw.
What did this to you? she murmured, mostly to herself.
He didn't answer. But his eyes opened again and stayed fixed on her.
Lie still.
The arrow came free with a grunt from him and a hiss from her. She packed the wound with poultice and wrapped his side. Her hands trembled—not from fear, but something more dangerous.
Awareness.
Of how close she was to this stranger. Of how the curve of his torso moved with every breath. Of how he looked at her not with gratitude, but with something sharp and ancient and dangerous.
Drink this, she said, handing him a bitter tea laced with herb.
He took it, his gaze never leaving her. You're not from around here.
His voice was rough. Gravel soaked in smoke.
Elira leaned back on her heels. No.
What are you?
That question had many answers. Some cruel. Some true.
I'm the reason you're still alive.
That night, she dreamed of fire.
Not the hearth's crackling comfort, but flames that roared like beasts, consuming trees, sky, and stars. In the center of it stood a man made of shadow and embers, his hand outstretched. Calling her name.
Elira.
When she woke, the cabin was dark. The man was still sleeping.
But something had changed.
She could feel it beneath her skin, like heat rising. As if something had awakened inside her.
She touched her co
llarbone. It burned faintly. A small red mark shimmered there a brand she'd never had before.
Elira sat at the edge of the cot, arms wrapped around her knees, eyes fixed on the low fire.
Kael he had whispered the name once before sleep took him—lay silent behind her. His breathing was steadier now. Slower. But not weak.
He was recovering. Quickly.
Too quickly.
Her hand drifted again to the mark on her collarbone. A faint red sigil—curved, like flame in motion still glowed faintly beneath her skin.
Magic. It had to be.
Elira hadn't used magic since the day the villagers had nearly drowned her in the river for"stealing a child's fever. She'd kept her gift buried. Smothered.
Until him.
Your power responded to mine.
The voice came low and rough from behind her. Not startled, she turned.
Kael was awake again, propped up on one elbow. The firelight painted golden streaks across his bare chest, emphasizing lean muscle and the elegant, deadly lines of a fighter. But his silver eyes stayed on her face.
Not her body. Her soul.
What did you say? she asked, heart quickening.
He didn't answer immediately. Instead, he reached out and drew his finger along the edge of the blanket she had wrapped around herself. Not touching her. Not yet.
When you pulled the arrow, he said, I felt something. A surge. Like a tether pulling tight.
Elira frowned. "Magic doesn't tether strangers."
No, he said. It binds... old things. Broken oaths. Forgotten blood.
A silence passed between them.
Elira rose. Her feet barely made a sound as she crossed to a table and poured water from a clay pitcher. Her hands shook.
You should rest, she said.
You should leave, he replied.
That made her turn.
What?
Kael sat fully now, wincing only slightly. You helped me. That earns you a clean goodbye.
A goodbye? I saved your cursed ass, dragged you through the mud, dressed your wounds, and you're kicking me out?
I'm not staying, he said flatly. They'll come. The men who shot that arrow. And worse.
Elira folded her arms. "I'm not afraid of worse."
You should be.
He stood. A mistake.
His legs gave out. Before he hit the floor, Elira caught him barely. He was heavy, built like an iron statue carved from old grudges. He collapsed into her arms, and for one heart-hammering moment, their faces were inches apart.
Her breath caught.
Kael's eyes darkened as he looked at her truly looked. The firelight flickered between them. Her hair fell across his chest. One of his hands rose instinctively, brushing the strands back behind her ear.
The touch was gentle.
gentle for a man like him.
Elira, he said, voice low.
That's your name, isn't it?
She nodded, lips slightly parted.
Don't let me stay here," he whispered. "I bring ruin.
She didn't answer. Instead, she helped him back into bed and pulled the furs up over his body.
As she leaned over him, Kael's hand moved againthis time to her hip. Just a brush, a silent thank you, or maybe something more primal.
Elira, he said again.
She turned her face slightly toward his.
Don't look at me like that, she said.
Like what?
Like you know how I taste.
A muscle flexed in his jaw.
I don't, he said.
Her gaze dropped to his lips. Good.
A heartbeat passed.
Then another.
You shouldn't, he whispered again. But his fingers pressed lightly at her waist.
I should, she said. But she didn't move.
The space between them tightened. Thickened. Her breath was shallow. She felt the pulse in her throat, in her wrists, in the space just beneath her stomach.
Kael's hand slid up from her hip to the side of her ribs, slow, unsure, testing."I didn't she began, but the words trembled.
Then don't, he said.
The kiss wasn't soft.
It was heat. Friction. Raw tension breaking loose.
His mouth claimed hers with sudden hunger his hand moving behind her head, tilting her to him. Her own fingers found the curve of his chest, and she pressed against him. They fit too well his fire to her skin, her softness to his roughness.
He kissed like a starving man, but still with care pausing when her breath caught, easing when her fingers curled against his shoulder.
Their lips parted just slightly, but neither moved back.
She whispered, This is a mistake.
He nodded, brushing his mouth against hers again.
I know.
Her thighs straddled his lap without conscious thought. The fur blanket fell to the side, exposing her skin. His hands rough and warm slide under her tunic, dragging up along her sides.
She arched.
Elira, he murmured into her neck, you u smell like ash and rain.
And you taste like war, she said, before claiming his lips again.
They didn't go further than that not yet.
But the tension remained long after she pulled away, cheeks flushed, lips swollen.
Kael lay staring at the ceiling, jaw tight.
Elira stood in the doorway to the sleeping loft, her fingers curled against the doorframe.
You'll sleep now, she said.
I won't forget this.
I know.
She closed the door behind her.
But neither of them slept.
Not for a long time.