The sound shatters the sky.
The very mountains shudder.
The flames burst higher.
“STOP IT, YOU FUCK!” Alaric bellows from across the camp.
He’s already half-shifted, midnight black wings bursting from his back, jaws stretched wide as he breathes a blue flame across Thorne’s red.
My hands are shaking. My mouth is dry.
He’s doing this because of me.
Because I wasn’t in our tent.
Because I was here.
In Kael’s pool.
Unprotected.
Because someone else saw me before he did.
And gods help me, it shouldn’t be hot—but it is.
My heart slams against my ribs.
My blood sings.
This isn’t just anger or jealousy.
It’s possession—pure, elemental.
Thorne’s soul is howling with the ancient fury of a creature who’s lost sight of logic and is running on instinct.
And that instinct is screaming one word—mine.
I scramble toward the edge of the pool, slick and dripping, adrenaline crashing through me.
“THORNE!” I shout, barefoot and furious. “STOP THAT RIGHT NOW! I AM FINE!”
The skeleton whirls toward me, molten flame pulsing so violently the ground beneath him cracks.
Fire flares, reaching for the stars.
For one breathless moment, I think he’s too far gone.
Then his inferno eyes lock on me.
And the fire stutters.
“Shula,” he growls, voice like boulders grinding beneath lava.
I don’t stop to think.
I run to him, soaked and wild-eyed, feet smacking the stone, ignoring the blistering heat.
“Lady Delia! Stop!” Alaric yells. “You will burn!”
