Page 62 of Unveiled

Connor walked slowly, boots resounding over damp cobblestone. Adrian walked silently beside him, but Connor felt him like a second heartbeat.

The village lanterns flickered with an odd rhythm, as though reacting to some invisible pulse.

“Feel that?” Adrian murmured.

Connor nodded. “Aye. Still feels weird. Like there’s pressure under the ground.”

“Utharian magic,” Adrian said softly. “Residual energy from the storm, perhaps, or something else.” He shrugged. “Don’t ask me how I know this. I don’t know myself.”

Connor caught the hesitation. “Something worse.”

Adrian didn’t confirm, but he didn’t deny either.

They reached The Dry Pig. The windows glowed warmly. The scent of bread and broth wafted into the cold night. Sooty chimneys exhaled tired puffs. The door opened, emitting a dim light, and Xiathen walked out, his face pale with concern.

“Thank you for coming,” he said, his voice catching. “Were it not for your marvellous mobiles, it would have taken us a long time to get the news to you.” Connor nodded. “Her home is beyond that corner.” Xiathen pointed.

As they approached, Connor noticed something half-buried in the mud near the front garden. It appeared to be a scrap of fabric. Adrian crouched, his hand gentle as he lifted it. Irial’s shawl.

Connor felt his stomach twist. “This is no dropped garment. Look at the edges.”

Adrian held it up, letting the lamplight illuminate the rips and tears. Not ragged like claws, not straight like a blade, but uneven, melted. Burned. But not by fire.

“Shadow-fire,” Xiathen whispered. “A flame that leaves no ash. Only absence.”

Connor’s wolf bristled beneath his skin. “Those things were here.”

Adrian hitched a breath. “Connor, if they took her—”

“We’ll find her,” Connor said too quickly, too sharply. But he meant every word.

Adrian looked Connor in the eyes. Something softened in him. A flicker of relief, or hope. Connor wasn’t sure which one hurt more to see.

“Then we keep searching,” Adrian said.

Connor couldn’t help the smallest smile. “Aye. Together.”

Adrian’s lips parted, and for a fraction of a second, Connor was tempted to kiss him, to pull him close and ravage that beautiful mouth.

Then a shout tore across the night.

Connor and Adrian sprinted toward the sound. The sound had come from the west side, near the old well. Adrian reached it first, skidding to a halt beside a small cluster of terrified villagers. A man pointed a shaking hand toward the tree line.

“I saw something,” he stammered. “Not a person. Tall. Thin. Like smoke. It moved toward the woods.”

Connor felt his pulse spike. “The Nightwrought.”

Adrian swallowed. “We should follow it.”

Connor hesitated. Chasing shadows into the woods at night was suicidal. Adrian was watching him, his breath misting in trembling puffs into the cold air. Connor knew exactly what Adrian was thinking because he was thinking the same damned thing. If Irial was taken, she was in there.

“We’re Valours,” Adrian said quietly. “This is what we’re meant to do.”

Connor growled under his breath. “Valour or not, I’m not letting you run blindly into whatever’s waiting in there.”

Adrian’s jaw tightened, stubborn and beautiful. “And I’m not letting you go without me.”

Connor cursed in Gaelic under his breath. Then he said, “Fine. But we stay together.”