Although I can no longer see them, I still feel their heated stare, a weight pressing against my chest, heavy and unyielding. Whoever—orwhatever—those eyes belong to, it’s as if they are still there. Watching. Waiting.
A flush creeps up my neck, and I rise abruptly, murmuring goodnights to the others. No one seems to notice as I retreat toward the safety of my room, the pull of those shadows pressing at my back, insistent and unshakable. I tell myself it’s just the night chill, but the feeling lingers, prickling along my skin long after I’ve stepped away from the firelight.
Away from the fire, the mountain air and darkness conspire against me, whispering secrets of danger into my ear to hurry me along. The uneven stone path forces me to tread carefully, but every scrape of my boots against the rocks seems too loud, too exposed. I quicken my steps, the memory of those luminous eyes haunting me—piercing and inescapable—more unnerving than the risk of a twisted ankle.
What was it someone had said?“Eyes like stars in the dark?”The image gnaws at me, the description matching exactly. Could there really be Yetis in these mountains—Migoi lurking in the forests beyond the river?
A rustle to my right snaps my nerves taut, every instinct screaming at me to move faster. The memory of those fierce eyes flickers in my mind, and I realize how foolish I’d been to think I wanted whatever it was to chase me, to claim me. Out here, alone and vulnerable in the dark, I recognize the absurdity of that reckless fantasy.
Another sharp noise breaks the quiet of the night, but I don’t dare look back. By the time I reach my door, my hands are shaking, the key slipping against the lock. It takes a few fumbled tries before the mechanism clicks, the sound slicing through the stillness like salvation.
I slip inside and press my back into the door, drawing in ragged breaths as my heart pounds. From the safety of the locked room, a nervous giggle escapes me, and I roll my eyes at my own foolishness. I’d let myself be consumed by a fireside tale. But the break in focus was welcome compared to the devastation I now face.
The thick quilt on the bed promises comfort, its weight a soothing barrier against whatever lies outside. Still, my thoughts swirl like the impending snow, refusing to settle. The unease clings to me, my mind replaying the sight of those eyes and the dark promise that danced in them. Could it have been exhaustion playing tricks on me? Or maybe desperation?
Three months of chasing down an elusive plant. Three months away from home and Ben, only to return empty-handed and out of options. No plant means no research, no progress, no doctorate, and little time left to find another solution.
Failure. The word lodges in my throat, thick and viscous. I had failed to save my mom, and now I may very well fail to save myself. But failure isn’t an option.
My hands still shake as I pull the blanket higher, trying to chase away the cold reality of defeat. So much time, so much effort, so many long days. I wonder if Ben will be as upset as I am. Or worse, what if he’s disappointed in me? Or won’t help me after all?
The thought tightens something in my chest, but I reassure myself that he loves me. The unease must be the lingering thought of those damn eyes. Silly really, when they were nothing more than a trick of the firelight, a phantom born of fireside chats and exhaustion. And even if something is out there, it’s not like it can follow me home tomorrow. And I don’t think I’ll ever be back here.
With my heart ticking like the death knell that awaits me without the damnedSilene vitalis, sleep claims me.
Chapter Two
Eryon - Earlier
Despite the pull of my Winter Star—my name for this divine creature—I force myself to stay hidden in the woods. Even at this distance, I can see her moving about the guesthouse. I watch her pull her coat tight against the cold, her fragile human body shivering as she races from the warm fire to her warm sanctuary, her feet slipping on the icy, rocky path.
I pity this female with her clumsy movements and lack of adaptive evolution—she hardly has enough hair to even keep her head warm. Despite the weakness of her flesh, I can sense in her a quiet, determined strength. Tonight, though, the tightness around her eyes betrays her smile, and her heartbreak rides to me on the Northern winds where it wraps around my own heart like an icy vise.
I’ve studied her for months now and can read her face as easily as the clouds that will soon bring the winter snows. So, though she tries to hide her infinite sadness, tries to be strong and independent, I can see her suffering. She hasn’t always been like this.
The change is so drastic compared to when I had first watched her crisscross the mountain paths and surrounding towns like a determined, stubborn little goat. Those stolen glances had provided me with more happiness than I’ve known in many, many years.
I remember the first time I saw her, an unexpected surprise when I had stumbled upon her from behind. One glance at her rounded bottom peeking out from beneath a bright berry purple coat as she bent over, digging in the dirt, demanded my attention. I stood there, admiring the view, while she squatted down and examined something more closely.
When she turned her head to call someone over, the autumn sun bathed her face in golden light as if she were a divine offering birthed from the season itself. My heart pounded like atabladrum, each beat reverberating through my chest like a prayer. Her hair shimmered with all the colors I’ve ever seen the sun kiss the earth—the golden glow of a spring sunrise, the rich red of the ruby flowers that shimmered during the monsoons, and the deep chestnut hues of autumn leaves just before they surrender to the ground.
Each kaleidoscope curl was like a living thing, playfully catching the light as if inviting me to sink my hands into its glorious mass—to wrap them around my fingers and tug just until she gasped in pleasure. Vividly, I could imagine her kneeling before me, the sharp contrast of her small head held between my large palms as I claimed her mouth, plunging my length in and out between those full lips.
I wanted to bury my face in those curls as we lost ourselves in each other, wind them around my fingers in the lazy dawn, feel them cascade over my flesh as she laid in my arms. A thousand visions of the fiery ringlets danced in my mind, each more sinful than the last.
Watching her, I forgot the centuries of solitude that had dulled my frozen heart. All that remained was her, bending overthose flowers, utterly oblivious to the way she had just cracked the thick wall of ice around the poor dead organ that lived in my chest.
I wanted her—no, Ineededher, as surely as I needed my next breath of mountain air. She should have looked out of place, a stranger in this land. But instead, she looked like shelter in the storm, warmth in the frigid cold of winter, a light in the darkness of my lonely existence. Perhaps my heart wasn’t so dead after all.
I was so enthralled by my fantasies of her that an audible groan escaped me, drawing her gaze over her shoulder toward the trees where I was hidden. I froze—not in fear of being discovered, I almost wanted her to see me, but because of her eyes.
Her perfect, round bottom had caught my attention, her hair had my imagination running wild with desire, but those eyes—they pierced my soul and threw my entire world off its axis.
As she started to look back down to the little plant at her feet, I made another small noise, on purpose this time, just to see her eyes once more. I wasn’t done looking my fill. I don’t know if I ever will be.
I had never seen a human with eyes this color, the exact shade of the little star shaped flower that only grew in my caves. We called it winter star, named for its shape and the season of its bloom. Thus, her name was born—my Winter Star.
Humans are nothing new to me. After all, I’ve protected the balance of nature for centuries, and humans are part of that balance—sometimes a source of creation, often a force of destruction, but always part of the harmony. I had seen many of them over the centuries, but I had never cared about what they looked like.
