“Without a Gift. Even living amongst the Earthbound Fae, I was isolated. Alone.”
Quinn’s smile returns, but there’s something behind it now—something knowing. “You are far more than Desolate, Alaya.”
I’m about to ask what he means when he stands, holding his hand out to me.
“The Gathering awaits. I won’t be able to come right in with you—I’m not allowed. But I’ll make sure you get there safely, or Domanikk will have my balls.”
I reach up and take his hand.
Static arcs between our palms the instant we touch—sharp and bright, crackling up my arm like lightning trapped beneath skin. We both jerk back slightly, but our hands remain locked together, neither of us able—or willing—to let go.
Quinn’s eyes meet mine, wide with surprise and something else I can’t name. His lips part as if to speak, but no words come out.
Whatwasthat?
His thumb brushes across my knuckles, tentative, testing. The spark doesn’t return, but I can still feel the echo of it singing through my veins, a warmth that shouldn’t be there.
“Did you—” I start.
“Yes,” he breathes.
Neither of us knows what to say after that. The moment stretches, fragile and strange, filled with unspoken questions neither of us can answer.
After a long pause, he helps me to my feet, his grip careful now, almost reverent. We make our way through Heartwood in silence, but I’m acutely aware of every place our skin still touches, wondering if it will happen again—what it means that it happened at all.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Alaya
We are approaching the Gathering, the orange glow of the fire and raised voices telling me it has already started.
Quinn stops, and I turn back to him, smiling.
“Thank you for talking to me. Could we perhaps meet up again sometime? I’d love to learn more about your Gift and your life here.”
“I’d love that—assuming Domanikk ever lets you out of his sight.” He grins, open and easy, that unguarded warmth that reminds me so much of Heller.
I reach out and squeeze his arm gently. “I’ll find you. Promise.” I turn and head towards the clearing.
When I enter, my feet slow of their own accord, as if some deep instinct is warning me to turn back. Reth is already seated, leaning close to Domanikk, their heads bent in hushed conversation. The intensity in their postures tells me this is no casual exchange.
I force myself forwards, one reluctant step at a time, my boots scraping against the dirt. I stop in front of Reth, my heart hammering against my ribs. My body remembers the last time I stood here in this exact spot—the sudden movement, the crack of his fist connecting with my jaw, the explosion of pain, and then the darkness that followed, swallowing me whole.
He looks up.
I inhale sharply and hold my breath. For one moment—so fleeting I could have imagined it, so brief it might have been a trick of the flickering firelight—his eyes are unguarded. The brutally controlled Alpha persona he must maintain to command respect and obedience, cracks and falls away. And I see into the very depth of him, past the ruthless authority and calculated dominance, to something raw and vulnerable sleeping there—a yearning borne of obsession, dark, dangerous, and deadly. It’s a hunger that could consume us both, a need so intense it makes my skin prickle with equal parts fear and something I don’t dare name.
Does he know I’ve seen it? Or is this another of his twisted punishments, showing me just enough to keep me trapped in his grasp?
Then his face goes blank. Empty.
“Not tonight, Alaya.” His hand flicks dismissively towards the empty chair beside Domanikk.
I don’t move. Every instinct in my body is screaming at me that something is wrong.
His jaw clenches. “For fuck’s sake, sit down.”
I slide into the seat beside Domanikk. When I glance at him, questioning silently, he just shrugs.
