Page 26 of Sworn to the Shadow Throne

So this is how I die—courtesy of my own bleeding heart and a beautiful stranger.

A tendril reached up toward the whiskey-soaked towel still pressed to his wound. The magic moved slowly, but my pulse began to gallop. I nearly knocked over the bottle when I pulled away.

I hadn’t heard of any noble bloodlines with powers like this. But I was too isolated to know for sure. I didn’t even know what my king’s powers were.

My terrified panting filled my ears. Gods, he wasn’t just any old mage. He was a deadly powerful one. And I’d dragged him into my home, stripped him, healed him, touched him…

The same tendril of living shadow found my wrist and slipped around it like a lover tying a ribbon in place. It didn’t strike, only rested there. Goosebumps broke out over my arm, and I barely—just barely—stopped myself from slapping it away.

Only to find that it was…warm and comforting? Which was, frankly, the last thing I’d expected from sentient darkness.

My breath hitched as the magic inside me suddenly surged toward the shadow, as if yanked by some unseen force. With the speed of a lightning bolt finding its target, recognition slammed through me. That same impossible feeling, the same bright pulse that had brushed my magic while I was strengthening the wards on the forest ridge.

It had been him.

“You,” I breathed. He’d been the force calling to me that day.

Then I did yank my hand back. My heart hammered as my magic stretched to tangle with his—without my permission. They rushed toward each other like old friends, driven by a deep need to reconnect.

He held my gaze…well, at least I thought he did—I couldn’t tell because the blackness had completely eclipsed his eyes. He didn’t move, only looked back at me like he was also confused.

Muffin, still locked outside, let out a low warning growl. My little champion scratched at the door incessantly, as if he tried hard enough, he could dig through the wood and save me.

A shiver, born of something far too close to thrill, ran through me as my gaze drifted down his muscled torso and across my shade-filled home. I should’ve pulled away, should’ve run out the door or ripped a hole in his heart. But I stayed because my magic clung to his, searching, weaving itself around and between the dark spaces it found in him, like it had always known how to navigate them.

Whatever our magics were doing felt incredibly intimate, like when one breathed out, the other breathed it in. Something about the easy familiarity gave me a bit of courage. “Dread Reaver,” I whispered past the awe and undercurrent of fear clogging my throat, hoping the title would stir him. “I’m only trying to help.”

But not a single flicker of recognition crossed his face. Still, the way he fought to stay motionless, to compose himself, decided my forgiveness before it was even asked for. His lips twitched down, a grimace of shame replacing the expression of concentration.

“Moonlight,” he rasped, the sound a dry whisper that seemed to evaporate before it reached me.

Moonlight? The fever must have him raving.

He breathed out steadily, ribs flaring as he fought to still the tremors racking his body and control his magic. The room brightened along the edges first, shadows dissipating slowly. Then, like a door had slammed, they pulled suddenly back into him, creating a rush of air as they vanished.

He gasped then went limp, eyes closed, with sweat beading on his temples.

Nocthel. I had no doubts about what he was now.

Again, I experimentally pressed the whiskey-soaked towel to his side, the powerful smell of peat and roasted barley filling the air, and waited anxiously for a reaction.

Nothing. He’d passed out again, but not before protecting me from his out of control magic.

Exactly what a Nocthel would do. And exactly why I wouldn’t abandon him now. Hope was rarely sensible, but it had kept me alive just as long as caution had.

I had a kinship with this man I hadn’t had with anyone else since my parents died. My foolish heart fluttered, already knowing what I’d do next, even if it wasn’t wise.

I finished cleaning his wound then prepared a simple meal of leftover bread, apples, cheese, and a mountain of salted butter. I’d need the energy to heal him until I passed out again. Tomorrow, I decided, I would ask him his name.

And I prayed to the gods that knowing it wouldn’t make everything worse.

Chapter 10

Owain

I remembered my magic climbing her walls before I remembered my own name.

The guilt and shame of my loss of control weighed so heavily on my conscience that I knew it would haunt me long after any physical wounds had healed. Now, I woke to the warm weight resting against my side shifting. There was no sharp sting promising my death with the smallest movement. A miracle—and proof of everything she’d done after I passed out.