Deep beneath my sternum, I felt a slight draw to turn left. My eyes popped open, and I rubbed at the tingling sensation. Was that my gut speaking to me? If so, it had never been so loud.
With nothing else to guide me, it would have to do. Left it was.
I trudged along the darkened passage, some sixth sense urging me to keep going. To follow the dull spark that flickered in my chest.
At the next split, the tingling grew stronger, insisting that I head to the right, and I obeyed its command.
Trepidation slowed my steps. What if this tunnel led me into the bowels of the mountain? A shiver chased up my spine. Maybe I should turn around. Return with a weapon. Or breadcrumbs. Orsanity.Yaga always did say I was far too impulsive, my curiosity often getting the better of me.
I needed to go back. Just as I prepared to retreat, a dull light illuminated the end of the corridor. My pulse skipped. Please let it be a way out. If not out of the mountain, then at least out of this coffin-like tunnel. I softened my footsteps, drawing closer until I could make out another door similar to the secret passage in my bedroom. This one, however, was broken. I reached for it, then froze.
A voice rumbled from the other side.
Low. Resonant.
Heart thundering, I pressed my back to the wall. I wasn’t alone. Could the dragon have imprisoned someone else in this crumbling ruin?
I set the lamp with its glowing crystal on the floor and crept forward.
Rough muttering drifted through the broken doorway, laced with curses and something else— Pain? I edged closer and leaned in, careful to remain silent.
Closer still, and the mumbling became words. “Thousand years I devoted to the bastard, and yet he thinkssheis the answer.”
I peered through the opening. A shredded tapestry hung limp across the entrance, barely concealing what lay beyond. Flickering firelight licked the walls of another bedroom. But this one wasn’t merely abandoned—it was wrecked.
A wardrobe lay gutted, its ribs jutting like bones. Shredded linens littered the floors, feathers spilling from eviscerated bedding. This destruction was intentional and fresh, free of dust. Possibly the result of a violent temper.
Shadows danced along the walls as I sucked in a sharp breath, my gaze snapping to the fireplace.
There he was.
Thorne.
Sprawled on a fur rug before the crackling flames, he looked like some fallen deity. One arm propped him up while the other hung loose over his bent knee, a bottle suspended in his crooked finger.
Firelight kissed his bare chest in shades of gold and crimson, each ripple of muscle thrown into sharp relief. Fine clothes spilled across the floor, tossed aside without a care. And yet he continued to wear but a single pair of pants. Boorish oaf. Why dress when the attractive devil could tempt fate—and me—putting every line of his body on display.
His sky-blue eyes stayed locked on the fire, their arrogant gleam hardened by something darker. Shadows coiled, thick and insidious, seeping into every crack and crevice of the room. They threaded through the air, wrapping tight around my lungs, making it hard to breathe.
The pull I’d followed down the tunnels had turned icy. It dragged through my center, bruising from the inside out. The ache spread through my limbs, prickling my skin like frostbite. This feeling. This pain. It didn’t feel like me, but someone else.
Thorne.
He was the source.
How he managed to affect me so, I didn’t know.
He lifted the bottle to his lips, muscles flexing in his biceps, and drank deep. Burgundy liquid slipped from his mouth, trailing down his chin to splatter against his chest. A singular droplet caught on the swell of his pectoral and rolled, slow and tantalizing, over his nipple before carving a path along his abs. My mouth went dry, the urge to chase that drop with my tongue sending heat coiling low in my belly.
Firelight played over him, casting molten light across skin that gleamed with sweat. While part of me recognized this was wrong, I couldn’t look away. Not from the elegant line of his throat or the way his Adam’s apple flexed with a slow, aching swallow.
He groaned—a rough, throaty sound—and set the empty bottle down with a dull thud. His hand dragged over his chest, smearing the dark liquid, and his brows drew together. Tension rippled through his body as his jaw clenched.
Something raw and restless flickered behind those eyes, and I couldn’t decide whether to flee or throw myself into the fire right alongside him.
“Have you looked your fill, Princess?” He trailed a hand over his rigid abs, toying with the button on his pants. “Would you like me to show you something even more dangerous than fire?
The spell shattered, and I flinched, heart jamming against my ribs as reality crashed in. What the hell was I doing?
