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They flicker past like lightning in a roiling storm. Glaring faces. A sickle flashing. Blood splattering. And then—there’s Luka.

We’re back on the boat, in bed. It’s dim, patches of light dancing across the sheets. An eerie hush surrounds us, broken only by fervent scrapes of the sea below.

A molten ache stirs inside me. In a lustful haze, I straddle him. Below me, his eyes go inky black, drinking me in.

I lean down. We kiss deeply, our lips meeting and parting in a languid rhythm. His arms drag down my back. My hands tangle in his hair. Our breaths mingle in hot and ragged gasps.

And then my hand glides to his neck, clutching the chain coiled around it. As I drown his lips with mine, I raise the necklace, then with one violent tug, tear it free.

I wake to the balcony doors clattering open.

A strong gust bursts into the room, whipping the curtains. I snap upright, fear pumping through my veins. Panting, I push away the strands of hair blocking my vision and peer out into the night.

A figure stands on the balcony, their back to me. Moonlight spills like water over their glistening dark hair, illuminating the intricate crown atop their head.

Slowly, the figure turns.

An ethereal woman faces me, her skin pale, lips bruised a deep red. A bloody gash streaks across her stomach, stark against her white blouse. Her silhouette is fully solid against the night sky. No longer an amorphous shadow, but a tangible person—if one can call her that with her piercing black eyes.

The mora. Magdalena.

“Come,” she commands.

The word slams into me, hooking deep and tugging me upward. I have no control of my body as I lift, floating toward her. When I land by her side, she gives me a devilish grin, pleased. Then she loops her arm around mine.

“Hold on.”

Before I can process what’s happening, we rise into the air.

Wind whips past my face as the landscape rushes by in a dark whirl. I don’t know what’s happening, if I’m still dreaming. I shut my eyes as my stomach flips. And then as quickly as it began, we still.

We’re standing outside the cemetery. In the distance, the sea churns, frothing against the shore.

Magdalena opens the gate, leading me inside. Again, my body follows like a lure.

Her skin is frigid against mine as we weave through the tombstones, her long skirt whispering across the tall grass. Silently, she takes me to the tombs where my family lies. Marko and Ana, Nikola and his nameless bride—Dobrila, as I now know. My dad.

We slow beside a new grave. The soil is freshly turned, the air pungent with the scent of earthy mulch and decay.

As I read the name engraved on the stone, my heart stops:

LUKA ANDRIN

A gasp escapes me as I yank my arm away. “What did you do?”

Her lips curl into a smile. “Nothing . . . yet.”

My mind reels at her implication. “Is this a dream?” I ask desperately. It has to be.

“I prefer the term nightmare.” Her gaze dips down, to my hands.

Blood coats my fingers, dripping slowly down to my palms. Everyone knows not to love a Klarin. The next moment, the blood vanishes, my hands wiped clean. I look up, horrified and repulsed by her antics. “But Luka and I— I don’t—” I falter, frightened both by the tomb beside me and the swell of feelings rising in my gut.

She cocks her head slowly. “Love him?”

I swallow, forcing the feelings down. “We only just met. I’m leaving in a week. It’s nothing.”

At this, her eyebrows slant angrily over her black eyes. When she speaks, her voice is quiet, brimming with disgust. “You are just like him. Too scared to own up to your feelings if they’re inconvenient to you in any way.” Her gaze turns, landing on the large grave belonging to the Klarins.