Running into the hall, firelight in her hair, bare feet on the stone—and suddenly I couldn’t breathe. A thousand memories surged like a tide: the lilt of her laugh, the sting of her last words, the way her eyes once softened when they found mine. It all collided in a single heartbeat.
She stopped when she saw me.
Her eyes widened—surprise flashing like struck flint. But whether it was relief or dread, joy or anger, I couldn’t tell.
She didn’t speak at first. Neither did I.
I crossed the space between us in long, reckless strides and pulled her into my arms. I didn’t ask. I didn’t think. My hands moved before my mind caught up, gripping her like the world might tear her away again.
She stiffened—shocked—but she didn’t pull back.
Her warmth hit me first. Then the faint, maddening trace of violets clinging to her skin. Her pulse thudded against me and something in my chest answered it—immediate, hungry.
I pulled back just enough to cup her face, to make sure she was whole. My thumbs traced her cheekbones, the curve of her jaw, desperate for proof she wasn’t a dream.
“Did they hurt you?” She said no.
I didn’t believe her.
“I couldn’t stay away,” I admitted, the confession raw—torn from somewhere I’d buried too deep. “I had to know you were safe.”
And when she said she was—when she whispered that she chose to stay in Ymirskald—my world stuttered.
Part of me wanted to believe her, to take her voice as truth and nothing more. But another part—the darker, hungrier part—heard Veyrion’s shadow in every syllable.
Still, I held her. Because letting go felt worse than facing the possibility she didn’t want me here.
And then I saw what she was wearing. Blue.
Not just any blue. Midnight velvet, rich and shimmering like frostbitten starlight. Distinct. Unmistakable. Veyrion’s house colors.
I noticed the silver clasps at her shoulders, shaped like twin wolves.
My stomach twisted. Jealousy surged, hot and unwelcome, burning beneath my ribs. Irrational. Reckless. And I couldn’tstop it. The thought of Veyrion’s hands draping that fabric over her shoulders, of her moving through his hall cloaked in his colors—it tore at me like claws.
“Well,” he drawled, silk coiled tight with venom, “do make yourself comfortable, Alaric. Bleed on the carpet if you must. It was a gift from the Solterra royals—it could use a little color.”
“Your men insisted on a warm welcome,” I said evenly.
A flicker crossed his face. Not surprise.
“Yes,” he replied. “I saw.” He noticed the blood at my boots before meeting my eyes again.
“They drew steel.”
"They saw a vampire pirate crossing into Ymirskald without herald, without banner, without courtesy.” His head tilted slightly. “What, precisely, did you expect?”
“Don’t look so surprised to see me,” I said evenly. “You knew I would come for her.”
“She is not yours to retrieve,” Veyrion said quietly.
“And she is not yours to keep,” I answered.
Silence.
Heavy. Old. Volatile.
“She stays because she wills it,” he said.
