Straight for Maris, death consumed it’s eyes.
She didn’t scream. Didn’t even move, frozen with terror.
It slashed across her upper arm deep and vicious before Kael drove his blade clean through the creature’s throat. It shrieked like boiling air and fell back, writhing, curling into smoke before it dissolved completely.
The moment her knees gave out, he moved — shadows curling as she fell into his arms.
Blood surged from the wound in thick, rhythmic bursts, soaking through fabric and flesh alike.
“Fuck.” Fear ripped the curse from his chest before he knew he'd spoken.
They were too far from the castle. She wouldn’t survive the ride back. And he wouldn’t risk pulling her there with his shadows.
Kael shifted her into his arms and carried her to a place he knew was safe.
-Maris-
The world returned in pieces. Warm wood. A crackling hearth. The sharp sting of something bitter being poured on her skin.
Her vision slammed back into place in a blur of pain and color.
Kael leaned over her, shirtless, taut muscles shifting beneath his skin as he pressed a cloth soaked in green-glass liquid to her wound.
“What,” she croaked.
“You were poisoned.” His voice was dark, breathless. “From a Veil born spawn. I brought you here.”
She looked around, they were in a tucked-away inn, small but clean, built of old pine and smelling faintly of pine smoke and rose soap.
“It’s… beautiful.”
Kael’s lips twitched. “It’s mine.”
“You own an inn?”
“No. But it's my room. I come here. When the castle’s weight becomes too much.”
He dipped the cloth again and pressed it to her skin. The sting made her gasp.
“Why did that creature come straight to me?” she whispered.
He didn’t answer for a moment.
“I wish I knew, they normally don't target prey. It was a nightmare that slipped through the Veil. It shouldn’t have gotten that close.”
She looked at him. His eyes were shadowed. Drawn. Silence stretched between them, broken only by the snap of the hearth.
“Do you always carry healing potions?” she asked finally.
“I had it made after your first week here,” he admitted quietly. “For your blood. In case . . .”
Something in her chest squeezed painfully.
“Kael —”
He met her gaze. “What?”
She watched him from the edge of the bed, skin still tingling from the bitter sting of whatever potion he’d poured across her wound. The room was dim and quiet, lit by the single hearth whose embers crackled low and gold. Shadows climbed the walls like climbing ivy. It smelled of old cedarwood, clean linen, and something faintly floral that clung to Kael’s skin.
