I cut him off with a raised hand.
“No. It is exactly what I think.” My jaw tightens. “And it worked.”
They don’t deny it.
“So I will do the same,” I continue. “I will hide the crown. I will guard it until my turn is up. But first, I will go to Earth to find a human female of my own.”
The words taste like iron and flame.
“Thorne, finding a human isn’t what worked. Phoebe is my viyella, as Jules is to Alaric,” Kael says.
“Do not lecture me. You are not the only ones capable of gaining a female’s favor,” I growl.
Anger coils in my chest. Jealousy, perhaps, but I will not name it.
Not here. Not now.
Too much rides on this choice.
Nightfall hangs in the balance.
And if the Fates will not give me what I need—then I will take it.
I turn from the crown, from my brothers, from the shattered remains of the old order.
Earth awaits.
And somewhere there, a woman strong enough to stand in my fire is about to learn what it means to be chosen.
Chapter 1
Thorne
Present Day, Ashfell, The Broken Plains
My Shula does not wake.
She lies sprawled across my bed as if the stone itself shaped her a place to rest—breath slow, steady, lashes dark against bronze skin.
The journey from Earth to Nightfall taxes mortals.
Even the strong ones.
Especially the strong ones who fight against the pull.
It irritates me that she sleeps while I remain wide awake.
Impatience coils hot and tight beneath my ribs, a living thing. Lust follows close behind—unapologetic, uninvited, fueled by nothing more than the sight of her.
The curve of her mouth.
The spill of dark hair after I freed it from its binding.
The swell of her breasts, the dip of her waist, the rise of her hips.
The exact way her body sinks into my bed as if it already knows it belongs here.
I tell myself this is necessity.
