Nicolae says something that makes her laugh harder, head tipping back. Her throat exposed. I imagine pressing my mouth there. Feeling her pulse jump under my lips.
She catches me staring. Her smile falters slightly, something darker replacing the humor in her eyes. Awareness. Memory of this morning.
Of how close we came.
The air between us shifts. Charges.
Then Nicolae says something else, and she tears her attention away, but color floods her cheeks.
She felt it too.
Whatever this is between us—this impossible pull that makes no sense given we’ve known each other for days—it’s not one-sided.
The thought should satisfy me.
Instead, it makes the wanting worse.
Because I still don’t know who I am. Don’t know what I might be. And if Dragana’s cryptic hints mean anything, the truth might change everything.
What if Mara can’t accept what I am once I remember?
What if I’m something she should fear?
The questions have no answers. Not yet.
So I watch her laugh and drink wine and let herself be happy for one night.
And I tell myself that tomorrow—whenever the truth comes—will be soon enough to lose this.
The fire pit crackles suddenly, flames leaping higher without wind to stir them. Several villagers glance at it. Then at me.
Dragana meets my eyes across the square. Her expression unreadable.
Then she looks past me. Toward the mountains. Toward the darkness gathering beyond the firelight.
And I know—bone-deep and certain—that whatever’s coming won’t wait for tomorrow.
It’s already here.
Chapter 13
Mara
We head back to our little cabin as the feast winds down, the world spinning slightly from too muchvin fiertand not enough common sense.
K’s hand is warm and steady on my elbow, guiding me through the darkened village. Always protective. Always watching out for me, even when I’ve had enough spiced wine to make the cobblestones look like they’re moving.
“I’m fine,” I tell him for the third time. “Totally steady.”
“You are listing to the left.”
“That’s just my natural charm.”
He makes a sound that might be a laugh. Might be exasperation. With K, it’s hard to tell.
The door closes behind us with a solid thunk. The fire still burns low in the hearth, flickering flames turning the walls golden. Someone tended it while we were gone—added wood,banked it properly. The villagers’ hospitality is both touching and slightly unnerving.
I collapse onto one of the sleeping pallets with less grace than I’d like. The room spins pleasantly. “Okay, so maybe I had a little too much wine.”
