Chapter Ten

Raith lay atop the blankets, listening to Harrow’s soft breathing, watching her chest rise and fall as her sweet lavender scent filled his head and clouded his thoughts. He waited in perfect stillness until her breaths deepened to the pace of sleep and then rolled over and sat up.

He would not rest while she lay defenseless. He should never have allowed her to free him from that cage, let alone followed her here.

But he had. So he would protect her.

He climbed to his feet and looked around. The room was dark, but his eyesight was good, and he could still see nearly perfectly.

His gaze was drawn back to Harrow as if she were all that existed in the world. She slept on her side still facing where he had lain, her arm stretched over the blankets as if reaching for him. Her nightgown was sleeveless, and he drank in the sight of her bared skin on the white sheets. Her hair was like a midnight storm, all curls and chaos, strewn across the pillow like billowing clouds.

He wanted to go back to the bed and slide beneath the blankets beside her, to hold her against him and breathe her scent until it was the only thing he knew.

Admitting that desire gave way to another. He wanted to kiss her again, to touch her bare skin, taste her—

Not right. He felt unclean, unworthy, and he thought he knew why.

He couldn’t forget the look of horror on Harrow’s face when she’d stopped him from killing Loren. Eliminating the human had felt as natural as instinct, and yet Harrow had been appalled. What did that say about him?

Whoever he was, whatever he was, he feared it was something ugly. He feared his presence in Harrow’s life would taint it in some way. But what could he do? It was too late to return to his cage. Because of his weakness and strange, unquenchable desire to be close to her, he had endangered her.

He couldn’t undo that mistake, nor could he procure for Harrow the life he wished her to have, but he could be her guardian. He could protect her at any cost to his body, mind, or pride until the moment he drew his last breath.

It was a small price to pay for what she’d given him, a nameless creature with no past or purpose.

The void of that forgotten past hung over him like a shadow, and his skin itched with the urge to crawl out of it. He had come from somewhere. He had done things. And the more he looked at himself, at his instincts and urges, the more he started to hope he never had to remember.

Maybe this could be a fresh start. Maybe he could use his new life to be a protector for Harrow and leave the past behind him, where it belonged.

Physical cleanliness was a good place to begin, he decided, so he moved silently away from the bed, lifted the heavy bucket of water, and ducked behind the curtain into the washing area.

There was a small wooden bathtub, a floor-length mirror, and two towels. He found a bar of soap on the shelf beside the towels of such a gritty, rough texture he thought it might be for laundry. He didn’t care. He scrubbed every inch of himself until his skin burned, trying not to think about the inky shadows that skin could become and the fear and hatred he’d inspired in others because of it.

Using the cup provided, he scooped water out of the bucket to rinse off and then climbed out of the tub, wrapping one of the towels around his hips. Reaching for his clothes, he froze when he caught sight of himself in the mirror.

He tensed, turning slowly to face his reflection. Dim moonlight shone through the curtain—enough for him to see by. For the first time in his memory, he saw what he looked like.

And he finally understood why people were afraid of him.

His eyes were…black.

Everywhere, except for the thin rings of his irises, which were swirling orange like fire. No one else he’d seen had eyes like that.

He stared at the mirror, and those eyes stared right back at him. He could change his skin, hide his wings, and sheath his claws, but his eyes would always tell the truth.

He was a monster.

…

Harrow had fallen into a dream as soon as sleep took her. She was swimming through the turquoise waters in peace before the urge to make a decision took over, just like the last time. This time, however, she chose to dive easily, swimming down with defiant confidence like she knew the dangers of the deep and dared them to frighten her.

But once she was fully surrounded by blackness, that confidence seemed miles away. Still, she fought to retain her calm, focusing on understanding what she was seeing. Well, nothing was what she was seeing. Nothing but blackness. Still, she kept swimming downward, believing there had to be some meaning to this, some end approaching.

And then it came. A tiny orange light, flickering like a candle flame.

Excitement coursing through her, she swam harder, desperate to see what it was. As she approached, she realized it wasn’t one light, but two.

Two candle flames burning in the dark.

But they weren’t candles. They were rings. Two rings of fire. They seemed intelligent, aware, and as she drew still closer, she realized they weren’t rings at all, but eyes—

The dream changed.

…

“Do I have to scry tonight?” Ten-year-old Harrow complained as her mother set a copper basin of water on the ground before her.

Taking a seat and crossing her legs beneath her skirts, Mellora stroked her daughter’s hair, tucking an unruly curl behind the tip of her pointed ear.

“A Seer should practice scrying every day,” Mellora explained. “That way, her connection to the Water stays strong, and the element can work through her. It’s important, Harrow, especially now.”

The women of their clan were gathered around a crackling fire, their caravans a short distance away, their horses tethered to the trees nearby. The sky was black, the stars hidden by the light of the full moon. Across the flames, Luthera studied her casting stones upon the forest floor with deep concentration. The others shared cups of soothing lemon-ginger tea.

No one spoke, and the air was thick with sorrow and tension. Harrow knew her clan was worried. Her mother had tried to shield her from the worst, but she was old enough to put things together.

Something was hunting them.

Across the Territories, the Seer clans were dying…and it was only a matter of time before theirs was next.

“Now, where do we begin?” Mellora nudged Harrow, forcing a smile.

“Focusing on the water in the bowl,” Harrow replied, no longer wishing to complain about the lesson.

“That’s correct. Let your eyes be still, listen to your breath, and when you feel the Water rise inside you, surrender to it.”

Forcing her tired eyes to focus, Harrow watched the ripples in the bowl reflect the colors of the fire until it appeared she was looking directly at the flames themselves. It seemed strange that water could appear so like its opposing force.

After a time, Mellora declared her effort satisfactory for the night. “You’re falling asleep sitting up,” she said with a chuckle. “Let’s get you to bed.” Climbing to her feet, she smoothed her dress and held out a palm.

Just as Harrow placed her hand in her mother’s, Luthera let out a small cry from the other side of the fire. She looked up, her expression stark. A sense of dread overtook Harrow, and she stood quickly and pressed against her mother’s side.

“It has found us,” Luthera whispered. “It’s too late.”

Gasps sounded around the fire. Someone murmured fervent prayers to the Goddess.

Harrow tugged on her mother’s hand. “Mama?”

Mellora looked down at her with wide, frightened eyes. “My love, I want you to run into the forest. Don’t look back, no matter what happens.”

“Mama, no—”

“It’s already here.” Luthera extended a shaking hand to point at the sky.

Above, the full belly of the moon cast her light over their forest clearing. The sky around it was pitch-black.

A shadow streaked across the moon’s face.

Collectively, the Seers’ magic rose in response to the threat until it crackled in the air like a lightning storm.

“Harrow, go!” Mellora pushed her daughter toward the trees.

“Death descends upon us,” Luthera breathed. “The last Seer clan falls prey to the shadows.”

“Now, Harrow!”

But in the end, she couldn’t run.

Cowering beneath the wreckage of an upturned caravan, Harrow hid with her palms pressed against her ears, trying to drown out the screams.

Eventually, an eerie silence fell, and she slowly lowered her hands. Something was still out there; she could sense it. She held her breath, knowing better than to make a sound, though the urge to scream was overwhelming.

And then…it found her.

The monster floated down, directly in front of the broken beam of wood sheltering her from view. Her hands shook. Though she had never seen death before, she knew her mother and the rest of her clan were gone.

And she knew the monster would kill her, too.

Trembling, she forced herself to meet its gaze. It stared back at her.

It was completely black, like a void. Like a bottomless pit that sucked all color and shade into itself. Could such a being exist at all in daylight?

There was no defined edge to its form, but she could discern the outline of a powerful body, great wings arcing high above, long claws reaching forward to grab her. Its face was equally shadowy except for gleaming white fangs. And its eyes…

She stared into those fiery eyes and waited for death.

But it never came.

The creature stared back at her, its shadowy head tilting to one side and then the other. And then, without warning, it dissolved, its incorporeal form dissipating like smoke from an extinguished candle.

Scrambling to the edge of her shelter, she peeked out into the night. She caught a glimpse of a wisp of black shooting across the full moon before it whisked away and was gone.

…

Harrow awoke with a start and stared at the dark ceiling. The grief and pain threatened to choke her. Her heart was pounding, her eyes wide and unseeing.

The memories… She had relived them all. Her mother, her clan sisters… At last, she had remembered the night of their deaths.

And what had killed them.

She’d always known what came after—she’d been found the next morning, cowering beside her mother’s body, and then brought to the last remaining Temple of the Goddess in the region. There, a kindly priestess had instructed her to cover her ears and never tell a soul what she was.

Shortly after, the circus had passed through. She’d met Malaikah and formed an instant bond, and when Salizar had offered her a place among his people, she’d accepted easily. She’d always wondered if Salizar had come for her on purpose or if their meeting had been coincidence, but she’d never dared to ask him and wasn’t sure he’d tell her anyway.

As for the night of the murders, well, everyone had heard the rumors of the Fire Queen’s deadly assassins, but most doubted they were real. After fifty years, the mysterious extinction of the Seers and the monsters responsible had become the stuff of legends. And with her fragmented memories of that traumatic night, even Harrow had begun to doubt their existence.

But now, she knew.

She hadn’t been able to remember what a wraith looked like. Now, she did.

She started to tremble. She heard Salizar’s voice in her head saying, I’m telling you he is exactly what he appears to be.

But then she heard herself saying firmly, I trust my instincts. He isn’t what you think he is. I would bet my life on it.

Raith was a physical being. She had touched his skin, kissed his soft lips. He may have had some of the characteristics of a wraith, but he was missing the most essential one—incorporeality.

She racked her brain, trying to remember what else she knew of them. Where had they come from? How were they created? Could it be possible that there were other wraiths—wraiths that hadn’t assisted Furie in her brutal war? All she knew of wraiths was that they were mindless, soulless killers. She knew her Raith wasn’t one of them.

Had what she’d seen him do tonight changed her opinion? Did her instincts tell her anything different now?

No, she realized. They didn’t. He may have been a little more prone to violence than she’d anticipated—okay, a lot—but he wasn’t evil, and he hadn’t taken life before. The Water would have told her. The Water had never failed her, and she had to believe in it. To doubt her instincts about this was to doubt everything she’d ever believed, everything her beloved mother had taught her, and she wasn’t ready to go there.

The sudden splashing of water jerked her back to the present, and it was only then she realized she was alone in the bed.

“Raith?” After her distressing dreams, she craved the comfort his presence brought her.

There was no response. She heard water splashing again and figured he must be in the washroom. It seemed a strange time to take a bath, but she could understand.

She waited for more sounds but heard nothing for a long time. So much time passed that she began to wonder whether he was even in there at all. But if he wasn’t, then where was he? And what had been making the noise?

All sorts of scenarios flashed through her anxious mind until she couldn’t stand the tension any longer. Throwing back the covers, she slipped out of bed, her toes landing on the cold floorboards. The noise of the bar was vastly subdued from earlier, but amazingly, it was still going. Did they ever shut for the night?

The low hum covered her footsteps as she crept across the room with a pounding heart. Outside the curtain, she hesitated, listening for any sounds within. She didn’t want to disturb Raith if he was actually in there, but it sounded empty.

Finally, she summoned up the courage to lift the edge of the curtain and peek in.

He was there, standing in front of the mirror with a towel around his hips, leaning in and staring at himself. Specifically, at his face. The blue glow of moonlight cast shadows across the ridges of muscle in his broad back. He didn’t seem to notice her at all.

She pulled the curtain back a little more.

At the sound of the fabric shifting, he spun around with a growl, flashing fangs and claws. She recoiled instinctively.

Seeing her, he quickly retracted his claws and turned away. But he didn’t face the mirror again, either, as if he couldn’t bear to see what was reflected in it.

“Raith?”

His gaze flicked to her, and she couldn’t help it—her heart skipped a beat in fear.

His eyes… They were the very same eyes from her dream. First, the eyes that had come to her in the silent depths, and second, in the gruesome memory that followed.

But she forgot all about that when she saw the tortured look in them.

“Are you okay?” She stepped closer. Any fear she had of what he might be was quickly overridden by the strange protectiveness he drew out of her.

He met her gaze again briefly before glancing away. “My eyes.”

“What about them?” He’d probably never looked into a mirror until now, she realized. She chanced another step. A few more and she’d be close enough to touch him.

“How do you know I’m not what Salizar thinks I am?”

“I just do. I know it to the bottom of my soul.”

“But I look…” His mouth twisted.

“You look like a wraith.” She couldn’t deny it any longer.

“What does it mean?”

“I don’t know, but we’re going to find out.”

“What if Salizar is right?”

She took another step. “The fact that you’re asking that question proves he isn’t. Don’t you understand? Furie’s wraiths were mindless, soulless creatures. You’re not like that. You’ve been kind and sweet to me. You wanted to protect me from Salizar.” By killing him. But it was the thought that counted, right? “I trust you to keep me safe.”

And she did. She fully believed he would never hurt her. That was how she knew he wasn’t a wraith.

Without really being aware of it, she took that final step. She could see him better from this close. Water droplets clung to his bare chest, dripping from his hair and trailing over smooth skin. His cheekbones were so defined, tiny hollows formed beneath them. His mouth… Her mind blanked, unable to do anything except think of how kissing it had felt.

He lifted a hand and brushed a lock of her hair. Tingles erupted down her spine. She swayed into him.

“Raith, I—”

His fingers traveled to her jaw, featherlight touch tracing bone. Her face tipped up, exposing her throat, welcoming more of his caress. She didn’t know what he was or why he so closely resembled an evil being, but none of that mattered now. The connection between them was undeniable, and right now, it demanded acknowledgment.

She was powerless against it. She had no desire to fight it anyway.

He reached the edge of her jawbone and then trailed his fingers up the outside of her ear, pausing at the pointed tip. She couldn’t suppress the shiver that ran through her.

His hand slid into her hair, long fingers sifting through the tangled strands until he was cupping the back of her neck in his big palm. The breath gusted out of her. He was so close. So close she couldn’t think.

“Raith…”

The word was whispered against his lips. She couldn’t remember straining up to reach them, nor could she remember curling her fingers around his forearms. The hard muscle had no give beneath her grip.

He leaned a little farther down, and their mouths brushed.

Again, her breath caught in her throat. He pulled back infinitesimally, but she chased him. They brushed again. They were frozen. Time was frozen.

And then he leaned the rest of the way down and fused them together.

His mouth was hard and soft at the same time. His body poured out heat like a furnace. His heady male scent swamped her senses. She wanted more.

Their lips parted, tiny gaps for air to escape forming between them before they pressed back together. One hand still tangled in her hair, his other landed on the curve of her waist, fingers clenching the silk of her nightgown.

Her palms slid up to the moist skin of his shoulders, droplets from his wet hair slicking the backs of her hands. He kissed her firmly but didn’t try to take it further, and she suddenly wondered if he had ever done this before. If not, it was up to her to show him.

Gathering her courage, she flicked her tongue against the seam of his lips, encouraging them to open. He stiffened for a second before parting them. She stroked her tongue inside his mouth, brushing it against his, careful to avoid his fangs.

His fingers tightened in her hair, tugging at the roots. Encouraged, she did it again, and this time, he mimicked her. They met in the middle, tangling together, and she was lost.

Apparently, so was he. Unraveling from her hair, both his palms spanned her waist. They slid down to her hips, pulling her firmly against him. His arousal, long and thick, pressed against her soft belly.

She moaned, rubbing against him, longing to feel more of that tantalizing friction. His fingers tightened almost painfully as they slid down to grip her ass.

He dragged his mouth away. “Harrow…”

She was too far gone to care about anything except having more. “Raith.”

“We shouldn’t…” His lips brushed hers again, not quite a kiss, and she tried to chase his mouth as he pulled back, but he held her firmly in place.

“Why not?” Still, she strained to reach him. Another time, she might be embarrassed at her boldness, but not now. Not with him.

“I want…” Another brush of his lips. Was he trying to drive her mad? “Things.”

“What things?”

“Things.”

“I want things too.” She wanted a lot of “things.” He had no idea how badly.

“I shouldn’t.”

“Why not?”

“You’re— I’m—”

His hesitation only stoked her passion higher. “There’s nothing wrong. I want the same things as you.” Maybe. If he was as inexperienced as she guessed he might be, he probably wasn’t thinking half the salacious thoughts she was.

Then again, maybe he was.

That firm grip on her ass scooped her up as if she weighed nothing. Her legs wrapped around his hips, and their mouths melded together as he crossed the room and ducked under the curtain.

He dropped her on her back on the bed.

She stared at him, looming over her, braced by powerful arms, and she couldn’t believe she was about to do this. She shouldn’t have been surprised—if she was honest with herself, she’d wanted it from the first moment she laid eyes on him. And yet there was a part of her that still couldn’t believe she was here, with this man. This quiet, intense, powerful, beautiful man. Her gaze followed the ribbed strength of his abdomen down, down…

“Take the towel off.” Though the words were bold, her voice came out a whisper.

He stood, eyes never leaving hers. He tugged the towel off.