“You make me out to be such an awful human,” he commented, avoiding eye contact. He didn’t want to see her eyes locked on him, filled with disgust. The burning ire in her stare at his back as they continued through the jungle was enough. It was going to be a lot more difficult to get her to love him than he originally thought.
“That’s because you are. I don’t even know if youarehuman. You’re an evil that plagues this world, which I vowed to destroy.”
At that last part, Dominic’s head turned to her, wondering whatexactlyshe had vowed to destroy.
“That’s why I’ll win this war,” she said, arms crossed, a cocky grin on her face.
“If you’re so confident you’ll win this war no matter what, then letting me get to know you shouldn’t be a problem,” Dominic challenged. At her scowl, triumph swelled in his chest. It was so easy to back her into a corner with her pride.
“Fine,” she spat.
“You’re a Searling?” he asked, unable to resist the question. His eyes darted to the tattoo on her chest, displayed by the low cut of the tunic and vest she wore—a black marking in the shape of a flame.
Adara scoffed, offended. “Of course not. Searlings—mostPherra—can only manipulate.” As if needing to remind him, she held up a hand, embers sparking at her fingertips. “I can summon from nothing.”
“Then what are you?”
“A Flamecarrier.”
As if he knew what that meant. Dominic’s brows furrowed.
“Ever heard of it?”
He shook his head, and her lips pressed into a thin line. She looked . . . disappointed.
“Where are you from?” he inquired.
“Blemythia,” she said, then paused, as if pondering saying more. “Ignatius, specifically.” Those blue eyes didn’t dare tear their gaze from him. She assessed him from every angle, not even bothering to hide it. Perhaps she was afraid she’d miss something in his reaction if she so much as blinked.
Dominic’s features scrunched in confusion. “Never heard of it,” he said.
Adara’s expression fell flat, like she’d been hoping for something else.
It was strange. She spoke with the same accent as him, yet he was from Malryn, and she was from wherever the Hel Blemythia was. Dominic had pored over maps, traveling to every continent in search of information on the Realm Fracturer and the relicsneeded to forge it. There was no Blemythia. He was certain she was lying.
“Fine,” he said impassively. “Keep your secrets. They’ll spill with your blood one of these days.”
She ignored his threat, merely ducking beneath a large leaf shadowing the path they walked. He wanted to pull his knife on her, threaten her again, watch fear grow in her eyes as she realized who exactly she had challenged.
“And where are you from?” she mused. Her indifferent composure toward him was beginning to get on his nerves.
“Malryn,” he said curtly. A half-truth.
She eyed him skeptically. “Which kingdom?”
“Lykrios.”
“You’re lying.” She smirked. It unsettled him. Could she truly see that he lied or was she merely saying so because he accused her of the same?
Dominic only shrugged as they stepped onto the beach. Sand slipped beneath his boots as he strolled to the ocean. Careful to avoid the water lapping at his feet, he picked up a conch shell. Adara shot him another one of those scrutinizing glares. A whispered summons into it, and a moment later, a figure emerged from the water. A woman’s head popped up from the sea. Bright blue hair flowed from her head like a waterfall into the ocean. A matching tail that replaced her legs swished back and forth beneath the waves.
“What do you want, Nite?” the mermaid asked, clearly irked.
“I need another portal orb,” he responded impatiently.
She rolled her eyes, crossing her arms over the lavender shells that covered her breasts. “Didn’t someone bring you one not too long ago?”
Dominic pressed his lips together, holding back a string of threats. “Yes. I used it. I need another.”
