“Now I’m terrified.” A shaky laugh escapes. “But the good kind.”
He presses his lips to my hair. I sense fire building beneath his skin—held back, restrained. The claiming he mentioned, waiting for permission I haven’t given yet.
But I will.
The realization settles into my bones with surprising certainty. I will let him claim me. Will belong to him in the permanent, irreversible way that claiming allows. Not because I’m afraid, or desperate, or backed into a corner.
Because I’m deciding. Because he makes me ache for things I’d given up on.
Not yet. Not quite yet.
But soon.
“Rurik?”
“Mmm?”
“Stay with me.”
His arms tighten. His warmth envelops me. And for the first time in weeks, the brand on my wrist goes quiet.
Valdris’s presence retreats to the edges of my consciousness—not gone, but distant. Drowned out by a force stronger than ancient malice.
This,I think, drowsing in his embrace. This is worth fighting for.
This is worth staying for.
I fall asleep with his heartbeat beneath my ear and fire singing in my blood, already planning how to tell him yes.
Soon.
When I’m ready.
When we both are.
SIXTEEN
AISLING
The vision rips through me like a blade.
Stone walls. Torchlight. The copper stench of blood so thick, I can taste it.
And Niamh.
My cousin hangs from chains bolted to volcanic rock, her dark hair matted with blood, her face—that face I’ve known since we were children sharing secrets in her mother’s garden—bruised beyond recognition. She’s conscious. That’s the worst part. Her eyes are open, fixed on something I can’t see, and her lips are moving in what might be prayer or might be my name.
“Aisling.”
The voice comes from everywhere. From the shadows pooling in corners. From the fire that burns without heat. From inside my own skull.
“She came looking for you, little flame. After you disappeared. Asked questions. Searched. Such loyalty.”
Valdris steps from the darkness, and even in a vision, even knowing this isn’t real, my body locks with terror. She’s beautiful the way a blade is beautiful—cold and perfect and designed for one purpose.
“I thought you might need... motivation.” Her hand trails across Niamh’s cheek, almost tender. My cousin flinches. “She’s not a Fire-Bringer. Just human. Fragile. But blood calls to blood, doesn’t it? You’ll come for her.”
“Don’t—“
