Ashton lies near me, his steady breathing, and that of the others, the only sound in the otherwise silent night. It should bring me comfort, the soothing rhythm, but instead, it only heightens my unease. I can’t shake the unsettling sensation that something is nearby, lurking just beyond the edge of the firelight, and that I’m the only one awake and aware of the coming danger.
I creep over to Ashton, my body tense as I scan the darkness. I don’t want to wake him if it’s nothing, but the feeling gnaws at me, impossible to ignore. The truth is, I’ll feel silly if it’s nothing, but I can’t just pretend I’m not feeling anything.
"Ashton," I whisper softly, gently shaking his shoulder, my voice barely louder than a breath, heavy with anxiety.
He stirs, blinking against the darkness. "Alette?" he murmurs, his voice low and thick with sleep. It’s pleasant in a strange way.
The warmth of his gaze makes my heart race faster, but I try to ignore my reaction to him. “I think something–”
Before I can explain further, he pulls me closer into the blankets with him. A soft yelp escapes my lips and then, he’s all around me. His warmth envelops me like a safety net. His much larger body presses against mine, every hard muscle seeming to strain beneath his clothes in a way that has my thoughts going wild.
Ashton is a big man. A powerful man. If there’s danger, he’ll be able to handle it.
"Ashton—" I start, but he interrupts, pulling me in for a kiss.
His lips crash against mine with a sudden urgency that takes my breath away. The world disappears, and I find myself lost in the connection, the warmth of his skin against mine, the pressure of his lips. The way my body seems to heat up in response to his own, and the unexpected need that shoots through me. I’ve never felt a need like this before.
Is this what it’s like to kiss a man?
But just as I’m about to lose myself in his touch, something shifts at the edge of my awareness, a stirring in the shadows that makes my heart drop.Wait.I internally shake myself.This isn’t why I woke Ashton up.
I pull back abruptly, panic creeping in. "Wait," I whisper, as I struggle to regain my focus. "There’s something out there. Something’s wrong."
His body goes stiff as his eyes scan the dark, his playful warmth gone, replaced by a warrior’s spirit. I sit up, my hand instinctively reaching for my dagger, the warm bone reassuring against my palm. We both climb to our feet slowly. Ashton grabs his sword and pulls it free of its sheath, and the sharp blade gleams in the dim light as he prepares for whatever may come.
A flicker of movement catches my eye again, a shape just beyond the fire’s reach.
"Did you see that?" I ask, my voice barely a whisper.
"Stay behind me," Ashton murmurs, his eyes scanning the shadows, his voice low and commanding.
There’s a tension in the way he holds himself, a protectiveness that I haven’t seen before in the flirtatious fae.Maybe these kings aren’t all just men who surround themselves with pretty things. Maybe something in life has taught them how to fight too.
I try to follow his gaze, straining to see what lurks beyond the firelight. For a second there’s nothing, and then, a figure seems to materialize out of thin air.
He doesn’t step forward. Doesn’t breathe. Doesn’t move at all.
As I study him, my stomach turns. He’s… wrong. His form is translucent, his body flickering faintly, as if he exists only partially in this world. Ancient armor clings to his frame, dented and split, etched with symbols I don’t recognize. The metal glints faintly in the dying firelight, but it looks dulled by time. By decay. By something far worse than either.
His skin is pale. Too pale. The color of old bone. And his eyes are empty—not blind, empty. They’re just hollow voids where something once lived.
Cold floods my veins. I blink hard, my breath catching as I struggle to make sense of what I’m seeing.He shouldn’t be here. He shouldn’t exist at all.
“Is he—?” I whisper, my voice trembling.
Ashton wordlessly nods.
The warrior moves. Not with the smooth motion of the living, but in a jerking, unnatural shift, as if he’s being pulled forward by invisible strings. His head tilts slowly. Too slowly. The motion is wrong, delayed, like something remembering how bodies are supposed to move but failing to do it properly.
His gaze locks onto mine. And I know that he sees me, even without eyes. Not my body, butme.
The air grows colder. Heavy. Oppressive. The fire behind us dims further, its weak flames shrinking, as though even it fears him. Then he raises his hand, and the movement is stiff. Stuttering.
His arm flickers as it lifts, parts of it fading in and out of existence, the edges of his form unraveling like smoke caught in wind. When he speaks, the sound doesn’t come from his mouth. It comes from everywhere. From the walls. From the ground. From inside my skull.
“Turn back,” he warns.
His voice is not one voice, but many layered together. Some deep. Some broken. Some screaming beneath the surface. It echoes endlessly, overlapping itself in a way that makes my stomach twist.
