A stack of dry wood sat in a wire basket near the fire, and I persuaded the faded embers back to life in a dancing haze of orange and red. The scent of freshly cut pine embraced the air. I didn’t need a fire. It was a warm day, and the bedroom window faced the morning light, filling my room with blissful golden sunshine. Despite the tonic healing my body and the shackles no longer causing constant pain, I hurt. The flames soothed the ache in my bones and distracted me from my own thoughts.
The door smacked against the simple wooden footboard of the twin bed. Rayhan half-stepped into the room. His gaze skirted over my grip on the fire poker and the mattress I had made expecting a quick eviction.
I turned from him. I didn’t want to see his anger at me, even if I deserved it.
“Come on, girl.” Rayhan’s throat sounded dry, cracked. “Let’s go.”
I pushed to my feet, and no arguments bubbled in my mind. He would march me straight to my old cell and then leave, and I wouldn’t see him again. I wouldn’t escape this place or save my father’s life. I could only pray that Penelope was a better student than me and learned to make the tonic faster than I did.
The stones under my feet were softer than the iron knot in my chest. I deserved whatever Rayhan had planned for me. I had lied to him and failed him. I forced my chin up. I wouldn’t go limp-hearted and ashamed. Everything I did was for someone else.
My people would hate me. Reef’s pinched face burned through my mind. He may never forgive me for abandoning them. I may never forgive myself.
I padded behind Rayhan in the light pink dress and knee-high wool socks from his mother, tucked into the fur-lined black shoes Rayhan had given me my first day in the cellblock. I smoothed a hand through my dark tangles, but they didn’t budge. We passed several people in the hall, all neatly pressed and bathed, but nobody turned my way. Probably because of Rayhan’s towering presence rather than their lack of curiosity.
The vampire stepped from the staircase landing that led to the dungeon door. My heart froze. I may be trapped on this floor forever.
He spun right, descending another flight toward the ground floor.
I paused.
Rayhan stopped and turned around. “What, girl?” He pressed his lips into a thin line.
“Where are we going?” Maybe he’d determined I was more trouble to keep alive and he was leading me to the gallows outside.
“Come on.” His tone softened. He lifted his hand, palm up, and reached out to me. His fingers twisted at the tips, inviting me to grab them. “I’ll show you.”
I bit my lip. I ached to take Rayhan’s hand, to know that he wasn’t mad or bitter at me, but I couldn’t convince my arm to lift.
Rayhan dropped his palm, and his brows creased. The sea in his eyes twisted, and he stalked toward me. I backed up, but the edge of the stairwell halted my stride. Rayhan filled the space, and one hand on each side of my head locked me in place.
Anticipation, desire, and an undercurrent of fear spun in my gut, spreading warmth and nausea through me. The smell of sea salt and evergreen swirled between us, and I breathed it in like a dying man’s last breath.
“What did I tell you in the woods that first day?”
“What?” I couldn’t focus with his strong chest pressed against me. Every inhale put him closer to me.
Rayhan settled one finger under my chin and pushed my face up. His gaze poured over me, cold and fresh. “What did I tell you when we first met in the woods? Before the magic, before Kadence showed up. What did I say?”
The memories were crystal clear. Penelope’s frightened expression, the thundering of my heart as I prayed he’d leave her alone.
“You said that you wouldn’t hurt me,” I answered.
His eyes turned from mine, brushed along the edge of my jaw, and settled on my lips. I parted them to draw a breath. Something dark and hungry burned through his gaze, lighting a fire in my core and scaring me at the same time.
“That’s right, girl.” His words were more of a growl. “Now, trust me.”
He took half a step back, and my body cried at the sudden absence. Goosebumps trailed over my skin. Rayhan reached out his hand again.
I could turn from him, reject whatever trust our relationship had left. Maybe he’d let me stay in his little guest room or maybe I’d find myself back in the dungeon cell, but I’d never see him again. Or I could take his hand and find out if the fragile thread between us could ever carry any weight.
His grip was strong and solid and engulfed mine completely.
Rayhan’s lips split into a savage grin, a hint of fang peeking through. My heart skipped a beat, remembering the pain of Zhao’s teeth cutting through my skin, but then it settled. Rayhan wasn’t Zhao. He would never hurt me.
He pulled me, and we descended the stairs together.
The winding staircase spit us out at the edges of a green field. Half a mile or so away sat a petite wooden stable. These weren’t the cavalry horses bred for war and fighting. This would be the royal escort’s personal herd.
“Aren’t you worried that I know a way out of the castle now?” I settled into Rayhan’s hurried rhythm, our feet tapping in unison.
He shrugged. “Doesn’t seem to matter anymore, does it.” The words weren’t a question. I stared at the ground, my shoes, anything except his face.
The stableboy rushed to stand at our approach, knocking over the wooden bucket he’d perched on.
“S-sir,” he stammered. “I’ve got the horses ready and packed the way you wanted. It’s all in the bags, and I tied the easels on how you showed me.”
Rayhan rested a hand on the kid’s shoulder.. “Great job, boy. You can head home now. I’ll get the horses settled when we return.”
“Are you sure?” the stableboy asked, and a rosy glow softened his cheeks under Rayhan’s praise.
“Yeah, kid. Get out of here before I change my mind.” He shook the boy a little. The teen smothered a smile, then darted through the field and disappeared at the subtle edge of a hidden trail.
The two horses neighed at us and pulled against the rope securing them to the bar beside the stable. They each carried twin packs and one wooden easel. The delicate frames were tied outside of the leather bags, leaving space for a rider to slip their feet through.
Foresti hoofed the ground, his white-socked hooves drawing deep gouges in the dirt. He snorted at Rayhan and darted away from his reach, then paused to beckon the man again.
“You stupid creature,” Rayhan growled. He held the worn lead in place and ran a hand across Foresti’s ginger body. He lingered here and there, scratching a sensitive spot. The horse whined and complained but remained still when Rayhan’s fingers brushed through his hair.
The second horse was a small chestnut mare. Her mane was long and clean, and the rich brown of her hide blended into white near her feet. She greeted me with warm eyes and buried her nose into my palm, searching for treats.
“I don’t have anything.” I showed her my empty hands, and she snorted and lowered her head to the grass to search for food.
“This is Juniper.” Rayhan patted the mare’s back as Foresti bickered in jealousy. “She’s a good, dependable ride. This is Kadence’s horse.”
My hand froze against her velvet hide, and a tremor struck my fingers. “I don’t want to ride Kadence’s horse.”
“That’s too bad. She’s the best for an inexperienced rider.” Rayhan wrapped his arms around my waist and heaved me from the ground. A traitorous cry escaped my throat, and my feet buckled, looking for a place to stand. They found a solid ledge in the leather stirrup, and Rayhan flung my other foot across the saddle. He pressed the warm reins in my hands, and the animal did a happy sidestep under me. I rocked side to side, completely at her mercy.
“See? Riding Kadence’s horse isn’t that bad.” Rayhan jumped into his saddle in a clean, easy motion and took an extra moment to settle into place.
My legs reached farther than felt physically possible. The horse’s sides stretched with every breath, and she angled her head for a better look. My reflection lingered in her eyes.
Rayhan urged Foresti forward, and the two animals fell into step near each other. Juniper seemed content to trek behind the much larger steed.
Rugged forest extended around us. The sun was only a quarter through the sky, but it already stirred warm air over my skin. Branches bounced as birds and squirrels and smaller creatures scurried here and there through the green canopy. It certainly wasn’t the dry desert landscape that juniper trees loved.
“Do junipers grow here?” I couldn’t contain my curiosity.
“Huh?” Rayhan twisted in the saddle, and his blue eyes cut across the sweeping tree line. “Ah. No, they don’t, but Kadence’s mother tried to make them grow. It was always too wet, too much rain, and too cold in the winter. They died.”
“But?”
Rayhan shrugged. “Queen Cameron had a stubborn heart. She was convinced she could make those trees grow. I remember running through the dying garden with Kadence, and the queen would be bickering with the staff gardeners, persuading them to try a new tactic.” Rayhan shook his head, but a hint of a smile curled his lips.
“What happened to her?” I asked. Everyone knew the queen had died when Kadence was a child. I also knew the witches hadn’t succeeded in her death, despite years of attempts.
“She died.” Rayhan’s face darkened, and I knew he wouldn’t say anything more.
The silence stretched between us, but it soon melted away under the beautiful summer day. The horses talked to each other as we walked, and twice Rayhan jerked the reins hard to keep Foresti from snacking on an undesirable plant. I swore the horse turned to me with laughing eyes after the second time and sidestepped, making the redhead on his back sway and swear.
Almost an hour into the ride, Rayhan curved left and Juniper followed. The trees ended, and we popped into an open field.
The meadow stretched long and thin, covered in ankle-high grass and peppered with wildflowers. A small stream meandered through the middle, creating a pleasant background sound to accompany the pitter-patter of tiny creatures singing their songs. Something swirled through the space, something ethereal and special. If my mother was here, she’d say the ground was alive and this would be the best place to collect herbs. It sure felt that way. The earth almost rolled around us, full of joy and glee for our visit.
“Here’s good.” Rayhan pulled the reins, and Foresti trotted several more steps before stopping. Sputtering under his breath, Rayhan dropped from the saddle and began to unload the heavy bags.
The leather had warmed during our ride, and the sun-kissed material brushed pleasantly against my skin. I eyed Rayhan’s quick, confident motions as he untied the latches. My hands were slower, less agile, but the cargo fell anyway.
“I’ll get that.” The vampire freed the wooden easel from the horse and settled it on the grass. He loosened the strap around Juniper’s belly and pulled the brindle from her mouth. “We’ll let the horses graze. We’ll be here a while.”
While Rayhan rummaged through the bags, I spun in a slow circle. The white tips and yellow centers of chamomile peeked between long strands of common reed. I could picture Penelope walking through the field, plucking a strand to suck the sugar sweetness from the end while we went. I had seen our mother do the same thing while I followed behind as we harvested for our tonics.
A swell of homesickness knotted my chest. My eyes burned with tears I refused to let fall. My mother would have loved it here, but she would have wanted to be home with my father and Penelope much more.
“Alright, it’s all set up.” Rayhan’s voice drew me back. While I’d been lost in thought, he’d constructed two easels, each holding a blank white canvas. They faced the dancing river and half-risen sun. He shook a glass jar of paint and scooped a generous helping of a rich orange color onto a flat plate. The dish was already full of thick rainbow colors, a spectrum of vividness painted onto transparent glass.
“What’s this?” I angled closer to the easels, and the heavy smell of pigments wafted over me, strong yet oddly pleasant.
Rayhan capped the jar and dug two brushes from a bag. He pressed a brush into my palm, folded my fingers over the top, and cradled my hand softly in his.
“You’re the only one who can help me find my father’s killer.” His voice was softer than his grip. “I need your magic.”
“I don’t—”
“Hush, girl. Let me finish.”
I closed my mouth, impatience tapping at me.
“You said you can’t use your magic. Spellwork’s supposed to die when the witch dies—at least that’s what they teach us on the battlefield. Beat the witch’s head in before they can cast a spell, that’s training day number one.” He grimaced at the harshness of his words. “Sorry about that, but it’s true. If your mother’s dead, her spell should be too. Maybe if we can help you to control your magic, you’ll be able to use it. And I need you to use it.”
I held up the brush. “What’s painting got to do with it?”
Rayhan shrugged. “I’ve been on the battlefield my whole life. I don’t go anywhere without a weapon.” He gestured to the axe settled head-down on the ground near his easel. “But painting takes a different type of discipline and endurance. It’s more than color on paper. You have to see the vision, see the heart underneath it. Then you have to make others see it too.”
His eyes went far and glassy, and for a moment, the ocean was calm. Then, an undercurrent rippled and spread, and he came back to me. “Painting has freed me from more than one nightmare. It might not free your magic, but it doesn’t hurt to try.”
My messed-up magic would need much more than an art tutorial, but I pressed my lips shut. There was a sparkle in his eyes that said this meant something to him.
“Alright.” I heard my own voice. “I’ll give it a try.”
Rayhan’s grin spread ear to ear and forced a smile to my own face. His smile made him look years younger and like he’d shrunk to a normal size. If painting let me see that look again, I would paint the vampire a hundred pictures.
“This is your canvas, and I put out some paints already.”
“So what do I do?”
He swept a massive hand toward the peaceful landscape in front of us. “You paint.”
“I paint this?” The sprawling meadow suddenly looked intense and daunting. I would never be able to replicate the reaching grasses and dainty flowers.
“Yep.” Rayhan stepped to his canvas, positioned behind my right shoulder. The thick scratching of his brush pressed confident strokes into the material.
I swirled the handle between my fingers and studied the terrain. Green. There was a lot of green. Hmm, not the deep color spattered on the glass plate. I peeked into the box of capped paints, but no other shades of green were visible. Dark green, then. I sank the bristles into the bubble of pigment, and it covered the utensil in a thick goop.
“Your mother died.” Rayhan’s words caught me off guard. I paused the brush above the canvas.
“She did.”
“How long ago?” More soft strokes settled beside me, just out of view of my peripheral vision.
“Seven years ago.” But it felt like yesterday. I still remembered the blood cooling on my hands. Heard the useless chanting as my numb lips moved over and over again, even when she was too far gone for the strongest magic to bring back.
I streaked the green across the canvas, and it resembled an angry smear of dying grass. My chest tightened, and a wisp of regret ran through me. I shouldn’t have tried this.
“How’d she pass?”
The question settled over me like a cold, winter night. It was different than when Ella asked, by the cozy fireside in her room. Rayhan’s own pain was raw and on display. He wasn’t gouging for information.
“I don’t want to talk about it,” I said.
“Come on, girl. You saw the cup that poisoned my dad. Surely, you can spare me a few words about your mother.”
I dipped the brush in a light blue hue. The green paint blended into the new pigment, creating a crazed sky the color of decay.
“She was the only witch with a healing affinity outside the city walls. The rest worked in battlefield infirmaries.” My words moved slower than my brushstrokes. “She got called out to the neighboring village late one night. A woman was sick after having a baby, and only magic could heal her at that point.” I could hear the panting horses and the man’s begging as my mother buttoned her heavy coat over her shoulders and hurried out the door. Penelope had turned her little body closer to me, searching for Mother’s missing heat.
“There was a raid.” My voice shrunk.
“Vampires?” Rayhan asked.
“Yes,” I said. The weight of war was familiar between us. It touched everyone and everything, leaving only death and destruction behind. “They thought she was a soldier because she could heal. They stabbed her and fled. She’d been training me, so the village brought her to our house. Except…” Her blood seeped through my clothes, too cold to be so fresh. Her mouth moved, trying to stretch into a smile even as darker fluid slipped between her lips. I chanted and strained against my trapped magic, but it didn’t help. “My magic was bound. She hadn’t taught me real healing yet, only theory and history. It was probably too late before she even got to me, but I’ll never know.”
Rayhan remained silent.
Anger twisted around the guilt consuming me. The buzzing insects that previously contributed to the ambience of the field turned to a ruthless timer—sand through an hourglass. Their frantic sounds urged me to paint faster, better, but I didn’t have the skills. I beat the brush into the canvas. The fabric stretched, but I didn’t grant it a reprieve. Pain that had been trapped inside for so long demanded an escape, and the brush became my only weapon. The fabric turned into a blend of color until it resembled something dark and angry, and certainly not the peaceful meadow and rolling river.
Failure churned in my gut. I couldn’t save my mother. I’d abandoned Penelope alone in a forest. My father only had days left of his medication. It was all my fault. I didn’t deserve the sunshine in my hair or the serene nature tunes. A loyal daughter would have asked to return to the cell she belonged in.
My fist tightened, and the brush snapped in my hand. Wood shards dug into my flesh, and I dropped the remains to the grass at my feet.
“Hey now.” Rayhan’s steps crunched, and his strong arms wrapped me in a hug. My eyes remained dry. I’d cried so many tears for my mother that only the flushing anger lingered in my soul. His strength pressed around me, and for a moment, I was in the eye of the hurricane instead of being beaten by the winds.
“You have as much fault for your mother’s death as I do for my dad’s murder.” His muscular chest heaved against me. “I wasn’t even home when he died. I was on the field with Kadence. He tried to tell me something was wrong, but I brushed it off. I should have listened. I should have been there.”
I had a thousand comforting words on the tip of my tongue, but I swallowed them away. This level of grief, of true and complete internal blame, didn’t listen to logic. It only obeyed the dark, twisting seed of doubt and destruction, and every day was spent pressing that seed to be a little bit smaller.
Rayhan’s head turned. He went still in my arms. “What’s that?”
I followed his gaze to my messy canvas and grimaced. “It’s a painting.”
“It’s a curse.”
“It’s art.”
“It needs to be burnt.” An edge of laughter tightened his throat and pulled us both away from the cliff of regret. “I don’t know how you made it look so bad. Are we seeing the same meadow?”
“Well, let me see yours.”
I wrestled from his grip and peeked at his canvas. The early smears of light green grasses and a thick layer of sky blue streaked across the fabric. The river was just a suggestion, blocky and rough, nestled between the beginning edge of foliage. It wasn’t the shape of the field that caught my eye. Underneath the natural hues, something alive and wild moved through the image. Rayhan had captured the mood and soul, this place’s essence, into the soft colors.
I pointed to a woman’s shape off to the left. “Hey, there’s nobody else in this meadow.”
His brows arched and a tilted smile unfolded. “There is from where I’m standing.”
I leaned in to study the figure. Her hair was honey-toned and rolled in gentle coils down her back. Her waist pinched slightly and flared over large hips. A harsh dash of bright pink clothes settled around her.
The same blinding pink of my borrowed dress.
A hot blush covered my cheeks. “Oh” was the only word my mouth would form.
“Come here.” Rayhan plucked his brush, not broken into a thousand shards, and wiped the paint off on a used rag. Settling in front of my painting, he fixed the tool in my palm and wrapped his hands around mine. He raised his arm, and my hand followed.
“You have to mix the paint.” He dipped our brush into the mixture, grabbed a bit of forest green, and dropped it into the white blob. He spun my fingers, and they swirled the pigment into a rich, bright green. He ran the bristles across the plate until a heavy layer clung to the tips.
“Try small, thick strokes.” He lifted my hand to the canvas and set the brush to the cloth. The ugly mess turned to new promise under his touch. The forest green hid beneath the fresh color.
“It doesn’t look like the same meadow though,” I said.
Rayhan shrugged, his big shoulders moving around me. “It’s not always about painting what you see,” he said. “It’s about capturing how it feels.”
Rayhan dipped the brush again, and we settled into a rhythm. He was so warm and solid, and his chest pressed against me with each breath. Sea salt and evergreen wrapped in the hurricane winds whipping over us. I breathed it in, gasping for air, until lightheadedness made me feel drunk on Rayhan’s scent. His grip on my fingers turned softer, a caress instead of a grasp, and I knew we were both drowning in each other.
Underneath the whirlwind of our bodies, desire stoked a smoldering flame in my core.
I pulled out of his palm, dropped the brush, and grabbed his wrist. His empty hand froze above the canvas, and he stilled.
Taking both of his hands, I led his grip around my waist. His arms shook, from fear or anticipation. I turned to face him and blindly searched for the hem of his tunic in his breeches. The fabric tugged free. His skin against my palms stoked the fire inside me, and the rest of my body ached for him.
“What are you doing, woman?” His voice sounded raw.
I stood on my tiptoes and pressed my lips against his. He was soft and firm at the same time. He froze, eyes wide, and a groan slipped from his mouth and into me. His hand found the back of my head and he kissed me, hard and raging and demanding. His tongue brushed against me, asking for more. I parted my lips, and the taste of spice and cinnamon flowed into me.
Rough, calloused hands skimmed the tender place on my back, igniting a thousand tingles down my spine. My dress bunched at my waist, exposing my bare skin to the empty field, and I didn’t care. Rayhan against me was everything right in the world.
I broke the kiss, thirsty for air, and reached for the buttons on Rayhan’s shirt. My shaking fingers couldn’t persuade them from the tiny holes. The vampire growled and pulled the garment over his head.
Rayhan’s skin gleamed in the afternoon sun. His muscles stretched taut and sculpted. A hint of freckles grazed the tops of his shoulders, probably from training in the sunshine. His arms were particularly impressive, lined with thick indents that developed only after years of physical combat. His nose was long and flat, his cheeks wide and high, and laugh lines cut through his forehead. The expanse of the ocean roared in his blue eyes, and all that wild energy focused on me.
I was washed aglow in the light of his gaze.
I pulled the dress over my head, exposing the nude underwear and chest wrap underneath. They weren’t pretty or special, but Rayhan’s hungry stare rolled over me like a touch against my skin. He pressed one hand to his jaw, but no words escaped his gaping mouth.
His belt buckle was cold as I wrapped my fingers around the metal and tugged the leather from the clasp.
Two strong hands stilled mine. “Hold on.” Rayhan’s voice shook.
I pulled against the belt again, and a tremor caught the man’s body.
“Natalie, stop for a minute.”
I didn’t want to stop. Fire twisted into a tornado through my soul, and it longed for chaos. It longed for Rayhan.
“Stop, girl, listen to me. I have something to tell you.” His tone turned stern. I abandoned the clasp, disappointment painted across my face, but his eyes were shut.
“What?” The word broke through the longing in my heart, a fist through a canvas picture.
“We need to stop. It’s not right.” He grabbed my forearms, pressing them against my side.
My throat closed as my mind processed his words. The sharp stab of rejection buried into my chest and snuffed out the fire more completely than a bucket of water. The tears I couldn’t find earlier filled my eyes, sudden and cold.
“Hey.” Rayhan bent to look at my face, but I turned away. “What’s this?”
He didn’t want me. Embarrassment warmed my cheeks. Why would the vampire want to be with a witch, his sworn enemy? He’d be more comfortable killing me. The thought looped a thick knot in my throat.
“Stop whatever nonsense is going on in that brain of yours, girl.” His eyes roamed my body once more, then he pressed them shut. “Of course I want you. You’ve got me wound tighter than weaver’s yarn. But it wouldn’t be right, to be with you now.”
“What do you mean?” I pulled from his grasp, and he let me go with a pained expression. I plucked my dress from the ground and tugged it over my head. The cloth hugged me like a layer of body armor.
“I mean, you’re a prisoner and I dragged you here with selfish intentions, but not those kinds of intentions.” He scratched his naked back, pulling his stomach nice and tight, and I tried not to follow the movements. “It wouldn’t be right for me to take advantage of you while you’re technically my captive.”
My heart dropped.
“That’s all I’ll ever be,” I whispered. I knew our original deal was done. I had lied and cheated my way into the agreement, and it was never valid. It would be impossible for me to discover Manveer’s killer before my father’s tonic ran out.
“Well, I’ve been thinking about that, and if you’d listen to me, I’ve made a decision.” He snatched my hand and pressed my palm to his chest. His heart beat a rhythm against me. “How much medicine does your father have left?”
“A week, probably.”
“It’s a three-day journey to your village, but we can do it in two if we ride fast. That gives you four more days.”
“I don’t understand.”
“If you don’t find my father’s killer in four days, I’m taking you home anyway. I shouldn’t have brought you here, and I need to make it right.”
A shimmer of hope bubbled in my chest and expanded through me.
“You’d let me go home?” I couldn’t hide the shred of disbelief from my tone.
Rayhan nodded. “I’d take you there myself.”
I clutched at his hands, dragging them to my lips. I pressed kisses against his fingers, too lost in joy to remember his earlier statement. He groaned and closed his eyes, but I caught a flash of silver first.
“Look, girl, stop that.” He untangled his grip from mine and took a step away. “Once you’re home, maybe if you still want to see me again, we can figure something out. In secret.”
“You’d come back? To visit?” I tried to picture the giant in my cabin, perched on the couch between Father and Penelope, and I smothered a laugh.
“If you’d want, and it’d have to be a secret. I don’t need one of your people to try to kill me. Murdering your village would probably put a damper on the mood.”
I laughed again, and a weight I’d buried in my gut started to lighten. My father would be okay. I would be home before his medicine ran out. I flung myself into Rayhan’s arms, and the vampire nestled his head into my neck and took a deep breath.
“Alright.” His words faded into my hair and tickled my skin. “Now, let’s finish this painting before it summons the devil himself.”