She breaks the kiss long enough to breathe close, voice trembling. “I’m not leaving you. Not ever.”
I clasp her close and ground her to me. “I will torch the world to keep you safe.”
She presses her cheek to my chest, heartbeat thudding through fabric and bone. The glow between us surges, floods outward. We stand under the storm, a pair carved from shadow and light, and I want every drop of rain to testify that this fight is worth it.
Later, when the storm thins, we retreat to the villa, soaked and silent. She sits by the window, rain trickles down the glass insilver veins. I join her, wrap one arm around her shoulders. My body still hums. The curse is softened but not vanquished.
She leans into me, voice low. “You can’t keep me safe from this world. But I’ll fight it with you.”
I close my eyes and rest my head against hers. “With you,” I say. Alive in that word. Built around it.
The storm rages outside. Inside, she glows faintly. I hold her close and let the world burn around us, because I already have. And for her—I’d burn the whole damn world again if that’s what it takes.
25
KALEIGH
The night is heavy, brittle, pregnant with tension. I hear it first—a shifting. A snap of wood too close, like something rolled just beyond the walls. I’m in the back corridor, sorting bundles of tattered cloth and ancient seals with Mari, trying to catalog what we saved from the archives. My hands tremble with purpose, nerves frayed. A distant cough echoes. The air tastes like ash already.
Then fire blooms.
Glass shatters in the next room, the wall cracking in a hot, jagged grin. A thunderous boom roars through the villa, and the floor shudders beneath my feet. I throw everything aside and race toward the courtyard, heart pounding so loud I hear it in my ears. Flames burst outward beyond the outer wall, tongues of orange licking the sky. Something heavy smashes—wood, stone—into the courtyard. Sparks fly. Shattered glass showers us.
“Firebombs,” I hiss, nose stinging from smoke. “Roman’s back.”
Rafe is beside me in a heartbeat, eyes dark, muscles coiled. He grabs my arm, pulls me back for a split second, into the edge of the hall. “Stay here.” His voice is sharp but not weak. Hemeans to fight. I shake off his grip. I refuse to be kept safe in some corner. I’m in this.
I step into the courtyard where chaos surges. Fire roars. A guard — I recognize him as Salvador — scrambles beneath a fallen beam, flames creeping up his boots. Another man, Luca, is caught in the volley; his clothes smokeblaze, face twisted in panic.
I lunge forward, arms out in front, trying to push back the heat manually. The glow under my skin flares. But the bombs are multiple, relentless. Fire snakes across stones, walls crack, embers drift like vultures. The roar is deafening.
I reach Salvador first, chest heaving. He’s pinned under charred wood, and the heat at his leg is blistering. I press my hand over the burn, light threading from my fingertips, remembering the falcon’s healing. The skin puckers, flesh knitting, smoke scissoring away. The fire near us recoils, hissing. Salvador groans, lifts his head. I drag him free, summoning strength I didn’t know I had, carrying him toward a side door to shelter.
Rafe bursts across the courtyard, pulling Luca from the flames. He smashes a stone into embers so Luca can stumble away. He tries to help me open the doors to bring them inside. The courtyard tilts between safe and abyss.
A second wave lands. Explosions echo. Rain of fire. The villa’s façade flares. Windows burst outward as heat cracks glass. The air is thick with smoke, thick with fear. I step into the flicker of flame, lights swirling around me, push with all I am. My glow intensifies, luminous arcs of gold pushing against the blaze. The fire stutters. But another bomb crashes down near the fountain, shards of stone and water spray outward. The shockwave knocks me off balance. I fall onto one knee, coughing, taste ash in my mouth. The glow dims briefly. I choke, claws of fear at my throat—but I force myself up.
Rafe is there, steadying me. “You okay?” His voice is strained, urgent.
I nod, though I feel weak. “Help them. Keep pulling them in.” I point to the wounded in the courtyard. The flames are pulling back slightly, like they've met a barrier, but we both know they’ll press forward again the second I pause.
I cradle Salvador’s head, shielding him, pressing healing to broken ribs. His breathing slows. He blinks at me. I taste smoke and adrenaline. The glow in my hands dims, retracting like a tide. I feel my strength drain. Sweat and ash coat my skin, weight heavy in my limbs.
More bombs detonate beyond the outer wall. A roar in the distance, like the sea itself has turned to flame. Beams creak, walls tremble. I glance upward: embers rain. The villa groans. I press my palm over Lara’s leg—she’s down, screaming—heat stitches the dark flesh, closing a jagged tear. She gasps. The glow pulses.
Suddenly the courtyard gate slams inward. Roman’s men—shadows in masks—emerge. Spearheads in hand, fireproof suits or armor. They step through the smoke. The roar of flame fades momentarily against their approach. My heart collapses in my chest. We’ve been baited.
They converge. A masked figure leads them, hooded, steps clear, torch flame in hand. Rafe steps between me and them.
“Back off,” he growls. His posture wide, dangerous. The firemen hesitate. The figure raises a hand. They part.
I drop Lara’s leg gently. Her skin is smooth again. She’s blinking. I stand, knees trembling, walk beside Rafe. The masked figure steps forward, face in shadow, voice low, mechanical:
“You manage to heal fire wounds. That is dangerous. Roman praises your light but fears it more.” He lifts the torch. The flames around him pulse.
I feel rage coil in my veins, but I steady. “We won’t let you burn this place. Not tonight.” My voice trembles but holds.
He laughs, cold. “Tonight is only beginning.” He steps back. The masked soldiers advance with blades glinting. Fire surges again behind them, tents of flame, walls of flame.
