I forced my way inside, flashlight cutting through the dark as I moved fast and quiet. The passage sloped down, walls close and rough, heat buildin’ with every step. The deeper I went, the stronger the smell got. Smoke. Sweat. Fear.
Then the tunnel opened.
And there it was.
The fire circle.
Rocks stood upright around it, blackened and cracked from years of burnin’. Symbols were etched deep into the earth between ’em, filled with ash and blood, the lines glowin’ faint in the firelight like they remembered every sacrifice laid inside ’em.
Flames licked high, fed by oil and belief, throwin’ wild shadows that danced against the trees like they were alive.
This wasn’t a ritual site.
This was an altar.
And there she was.
Lark.
On the ground inside the circle. Wrists bound. Ankles tied. Hair tangled across her face like she’d been dragged through hell itself. Blood marked her temple. Her chest rose and fell, shallow but real.
Thank God. She was still breathin’.
Jasper stood over her.
Calm as Sunday mornin’. Hands dark with soot and blood. Eyes bright with faith, the kind that stripped a man of reason and mercy alike.
“She’s almost ready,” he said softly, like he was speakin’ in church. “Fire doesn’t lie. It doesn’t pretend. It takes what’s false and burns it clean.”
I stepped into the firelight.
“Step away from her,” I snarled.
Jasper smiled slow. “If it isn’t the man who tainted my vessel.”
“She’s not yours,” I growled. “She never was.”
He tilted his head. “You think because you fucked her, she belongs to you?” He pointed a finger at me, the anger flaring in his eyes. “She was given to me by the Flame. Entrusted to me. You’re nothing.”
Somethin’ cold and absolute settled over me. Whatever the hell led me to Lark, did it just in time.
And nobody was takin’ her from me again.
***
I DIDN’T MOVE.
Every instinct in me screamed to rush him, to put my body between hers and that fire, but instinct would get her killed just as fast as Jasper would. She lay too close to the flames, heat licking at her feet, at the hem of the thin gown she wore. One wrong move. One bad angle. If I fired and missed, if he went down the wrong way, he could take her with him.
And I wasn’t losin’ her like that.
Jasper stood easy beside her, calm as a preacher at the pulpit, one hand restin’ near the rope like he had all the time in the world. Firelight danced across his face, turned his eyes into somethin’ bright and fevered.
“Careful now,” he said softly. “That gun’s a loud answer to a quiet problem.”
My grip tightened, forearms burnin’ with the effort not to pull the trigger. “You take one more step toward that fire,” I told him, “and I swear to God there won’t be enough of you left to bury.”
He smiled at that. Not afraid. Not rushed. “You don’t mean that,” he said. “If you shoot me, she falls. Fire’s real impatient. It doesn’t wait on apologies.”
