His shoulders tense, and when he finally looks at me, his eyes are distant and guarded. “There is nothing to discuss at present,” he says in that maddeningly formal tone.
And just like that, I feel the last thread of my patience snap. The shop suddenly feels too small, too haunted by all these careful silences.
I need air. I need space. I need him to stop looking at me like I’m a customer instead of someone he’s woken up beside every morning for the past two weeks.
“I’m going to grab lunch,” I announce abruptly, heading for the back door. “Want anything?”
Sundar barely looks up from his ledger. “No, thank you.”
His tail doesn’t reach for me as I pass. He doesn’t try to pull me close for a quick kiss like usual. The absence of his touch feels wrong, like missing a step going downstairs.
The alley behind the shop feels different today. I’ve walked this path dozens of times, dodging the resident alley cat and waving to Mrs. Chen as she takes out boxes behind her restaurant. But today there’s no cat. No Mrs. Chen. No rattling air conditioners or honking horns from the main street.
Just an odd silence.
My footsteps echo against the brick walls, like the sound is being swallowed up by something thick and heavy. I shake my head, trying to clear it. Maybe I’m just tired. Maybe all this tension with Sundar is finally getting to me. Maybe—
A sweet scent drifts past my nose, stopping that train of thought cold. It’s floral, but not like any flower I know. More like honey left out in the heat, cloying and strange. My steps falter as the smell grows stronger, wrapping around me like a physical thing.The edges of my vision start to blur, and walking in a straight line becomes way more complicated than it should be.
“What…” I try to turn around, to head back to the shop, but my legs aren’t cooperating. The world tilts sideways, then rights itself, then tilts again. Through the haze, I catch a glimpse of something moving—scales glinting in the weak sunlight, but not the familiar black and gold I’ve grown to love.
These scales are silver, elegant, and deadly. Like moonlight on a knife’s edge.
My knees buckle. The last thing I hear is a soft, feminine laugh, before I sink into darkness.
Chapter 18
The Price of Secrets
Sundar
The text before me—partof Marcus Blackhorn’s collection from the estate we appraised weeks ago—swims with accusations disguised as facts. When I first recognized the sketches of Aubrey’s bracelet in the minotaur scholar’s notes, I thought perhaps I was mistaken. But three sleepless nights ofresearch have only confirmed my fears. Each carefully penned word feels like another judgment:
“The Bracelet of the Devoted activates only in the presence of true love, creating an unbreakable shield of protection around its bearer and their mate. When genuine soul-deep connection exists, the enchantment manifests as a visible golden aura, binding the lovers in both magic and devotion…”
Marcus’s research is meticulous, spanning centuries of documented cases. The bracelet has never failed to activate when true love exists. Never.
Yet here it sits on my desk, as dormant as the day Aubrey first brought it to me, despite weeks of passion and tenderness between us. Despite the way my heart races when she smiles. Despite how my very soul seems to recognize hers.
I slam the book shut. The office feels suffocating. Books and scrolls litter every surface, each one offering the same damning evidence: if our love was true enough, the bracelet would have activated by now.
“Blessed gods,” I mutter, pressing my palms against my eyes. When did I become this creature, obsessing over magical validation like some lovesick adolescent? I am centuries old. I have guarded temples, fought wars, survived the fall of empires. Yet here I sit, letting an enchanted piece of jewelry make me question the most real thing I’ve ever felt.
Worse, I’ve let my fears poison what Aubrey and I have built. The hurt in her eyes this morning when I dismissed her concerns… I’ve been so focused on protecting myself from potential rejection that I’ve created exactly the distance I feared finding.
Speaking of Aubrey…
I check my phone. Her lunch break ended forty-five minutes ago. She always sends a quick text if she’s running late. Today: nothing.
Something primal stirs in my gut—the same instinct that kept me alive through centuries of temple raids and betrayals. I try to dismiss it as overprotective paranoia. She’s probably just upset with me—rightfully so—and taking extra time to clear her head.
But the silence feels wrong. Everything about today feels wrong.
I move through the shop with predatory grace, my muscles coiled tight as I approach the back door. The alley beyond is eerily quiet. No traffic sounds from the main street. No bustling from the nearby restaurants. Just… silence.
Then I catch it—a scent that makes every scale on my body rise in alarm. Sweet and cloying, like rotted honey, with an undertone that speaks of ancient venom and malice. A scent I would know anywhere.
Nalini’s knockout mist.
