Andrik’s headsnaps toward me. “You were born on the morning of the frost-blood moon?”
“No,Andrik. I was born at 4:44 a.m... exactly thirty-two years ago.”
The firearound us flares silver. Andrik stares at me, and I see the math clicking behind his eyes—the realization that my first breath in this world was the same moment the Thirteenth’s cage shattered.
“The first of twelve,”he whispers, a look of awe crossing his face.
“The scholarsnever understood why the seal broke after three thousand years of holding firm. When they found his chamber empty, the stone wasn’t just broken—it was melted from the inside out. The heavy plates of armor—the very cage that was supposed to hold his soul—had simply vanished. The only thing left behind was a strange, lingering heat and the faint, ghostly sound of a whistle in the dark.”
“A whistle?”I frown, goosebumps spreading over my body. “Why would he be whistling?”
“That’sthe part that kept them awake at night. It wasn’t a scream of rage. It wasn’t a plea for mercy. It was just a jaunty,lighthearted tune. Some say he was glad to be free... but others think he was finally ready to hunt. That he wasn’t whistling because he was at peace, but because he finally had a scent to follow.”
I shiver,pulling the furs tighter around my neck. “So he’s just... out there? Wandering?”
“There’s a prophecy,”he continues, his fingers trailing through my hair. “When the twelve bonds are sealed, and love is carved in bone, the Thirteenth shall rise. Bound by silence. Fed by memory. Woken by her name.”
“Do you think it’s true?”I ask, looking into his eyes, hoping to find something hopeful.
He studiesmy face for a moment, his thumb brushing my cheek.
“I thinklove like that doesn’t just disappear. It waits. It bides its time in the dark. And when the world finally grows quiet enough you just might hear it whistling back,” he trails off. “It comes back, Lumi. It always comes back.”
Somewhere out there,someone is waiting.
Someone is bound, someone is loved.
And someone isabout to wake up.
54
Lumi POV-
Day 9 of heat
Sunlight filters through the trees in long, slanted beams. It’s not the harsh glare of morning, but the soft, amber glow of late afternoon. I blink against the light, feeling a strange sense of displacement. How long have we been asleep? Days? Lifetimes?
Andrik is wrapped around me, his chest pressed to my back, one massive arm draped protectively over my waist. His breath is slow and even, a cool puff of air tickling the nape of my neck with every exhale.
The heat is still there, humming beneath my skin, but it’s different today. The clawing, desperate edge has dulled, cooling like embers after a long fire.
I try to wiggle from his grip, but his arm only tightens.
“Saelûn?” His voice is a low rumble, thick with sleep.
“I’m here.”
He doesn’t open his eyes. Instead, his nose traces a path along my neck, inhaling as if he’s memorizing my scent one more time. “Your heat?—”
“It’s fading,” I whisper, a strange mix of relief and sadness blooming in my chest. “I can feel it. I think today is the last of it.”
He presses his face into my hair, snuggling me closer. We made it. Nine days of relentless, burning need—of intimacy so intense, I thought my soul might actually shatter. But we survived. Together.
“How do you feel?” Andrik murmurs. His hand slides up, resting over my heart. I can hear him counting every beat under his breath.
“Exhausted,” I admit. “Sore in places I didn’t know I had. But good. Really good, actually. ”
“You’re incredible.” He trails a line of agonizingly slow kisses down my spine. “You endured nine days of something your body wasn't designed to survive for a minute.”
