“I am not asking you to forgive me,” he continues. “What I did was unforgivable. Speaking another woman’s name while—” His jaw tightens. “There is no excuse. But I need you to know you are not a second choice. You are—”
The door bursts open.
Nicolae stands in the entrance, breathing hard. “The elder wishes to speak with you. Both of you. Now.”
K and I exchange glances.
“Can it wait?” I ask. “We’re kind of in the middle of—”
“No.” Nicolae’s expression is serious in a way I haven’t seen before. “Grandmother says there are things you must know. About the men who hunt you.”
My blood runs cold.
“The fire-blood’s transformation drew attention,” Nicolae continues, looking at K. “From those who would see you as threat. Or weapon. Or both.”
K rises smoothly to his feet. “Then we go.”
He offers me his hand. I take it, letting him pull me upright.
The room spins slightly. He steadies me, arm around my waist.
“Are you well enough to walk?” he asks quietly.
“I’m fine.” I’m not. I’m still recovering from the crash, and being snatched up by hired killers didn’t help any. But I’ll bedamned if I show weakness now. “Let’s go hear what the cryptic old woman has to say.”
We follow Nicolae out into gray morning light.
The village is quiet. Too quiet. I see curtains twitch as we pass. Faces in windows. People watching with expressions I can’t read.
Fear, maybe. Or awe.
They saw what K did last night.
They know what he is.
And they’re not sure if that makes him savior or threat.
Nicolae leads us to Dragana’s dwelling—larger than ours, with intricate carvings around the doorframe. Symbols I don’t recognize but that make my skin prickle.
Protection wards, maybe. Or warnings. Elena would know more. My best friend’s a witch. Go figure.
Inside: one large room dominated by a central hearth. Herbs hanging from rafters. Shelves lined with jars and bundles. A metallic tang hangs in the air.
Magic.
The word arrives with certainty. This place hums with it.
Dragana sits in a high-backed chair near the fire. She looks older in daylight—lines deeper, eyes sharper. But her spine is straight. Her gaze piercing.
“Sit,” she says. Not a request.
We sit.
Nicolae hovers near the door, uncertain.
“You may go,” Dragana tells him. “This conversation is not for young ears.”
He leaves without argument.
