The Darkness Between Us (The Starcrossed Saga #2)

Chapter One

I’ve been keeping my distance from him. My body still aches for him, still craves his touch—an ache so deep it saws at my bones and holds my breath hostage.

But I remember the damage his hands can do when they’re not entirely his own, when that violent violet streak flares in his eyes and twists his mind. And still, I can’t help loving him.

It’s a love so deep it can’t be mapped, a place no light can reach—buried metres down beneath sand and sediment.

A tragic tug-of-war that plucks at my heartstrings, a bittersweet memory that brings tears to my eyes whenever my thoughts wander too far.

But the past always snaps me back. The memory of my lungs straining for air beneath the weight of his palms silences every tender feeling.

So I try not to make my distance obvious.

I pretend I’m simply busy, orchestrating our days so our paths cross less and less.

I don’t want him to know that I fear the fire still rages inside him, or how little it might take to wake it.

Instead, I’m throwing myself into the search for a cure—because until then, I don’t think I can ever feel truly safe beside him.

I feel it every time he hugs me, every time his lips touch mine.

A brush of warmth that should quicken my pulse with longing, yet it doesn’t thrum with desire.

It beats with fear and anticipation, waiting helplessly, for the moment the ticking time bomb inside him might erupt into a purple fury and drag me under with it.

“Did you manage to find any more?” I ask River as he enters my dorm room, a pile of books balanced in each hand.

He nods.

“This is it.” He plonks them onto my desk with a heavy thud, sending up a thick cloud of dust. “You now have every book on elixirs and serums in this school. If there’s a cure, it’ll be in one of these.” He gestures to the pile while waving the dust away from his face.

The books are stacked haphazardly, piled high and daunting, each one thick enough to make my shoulders ache just looking at them.

I stand and drag a finger through the dust, revealing the title of the top book.

It’s blue and velvety—The Art of Elixirs.

The lettering is sparkly silver, raised just enough that my fingertips bump over each letter.

I lift it clumsily, surprised by its weight, and rest it in my lap as I flip through the pages.

“It’s going to take me ages to get through all of these,” I sigh, the stack looming over me.

“Got any better ideas?” River picks up the next book and flips it open as he drops into the chair tucked beneath my desk.

“I wish I did,” I mutter. This is the third pile of books River has brought me. I’ve been combing through them for weeks with no luck. I fear these will be no different, but I can’t give up. Not when Ryder depends on it.

My gaze drifts to the window, where Moon Castle looms in the distance.

“I still don’t understand why we can’t tell him,” River says. “They might have better books over at Moon.” He glances at me briefly before returning his attention to the off-white pages.

“I told you why,” I reply, fixing him with a pointed look. “If he finds out, he’ll worry.” We’ve already had this conversation.

“But don’t you think he should be worrying?” River shoots back, meeting my glare. “He could kill you, Asha.”

“And what if he kills himself again?” I snap, my voice rising before I force it back down. “What if we’re not there to save him? What then?” I steady myself, keeping my tone level. “I’ll tell him when we know how to save him. But first, we need to find a cure.”

The silence that follows is thick and uncomfortable. I know River is only trying to protect me—but when it comes to Ryder, the lines have always been blurred.

“Well,” a voice glees, “this is a nice surprise.”

The door swings open, and Nala slips inside, a pink lollipop hooked between her lips. She pauses just long enough to assess the room—the books, the dust, our hunched postures—before popping the lollipop out and gesturing toward River and me.

“Hi, Nala,” River says, glancing up with a quick smile before dropping his eyes back to the page.

“Any luck yet?” She drifts closer and rests a hand on his shoulder, fingers drumming lightly.

“Nothing,” I say before River can answer. He backs me up with a small shake of his head.

Nala sinks beside me, her knee brushing mine.

“How do you even know the serum’s still affecting him?” she asks. “You only saw his eyes glow purple that one time, right?”

I swallow.

“Yeah. Just once,” I say. “But, I just want to be sure.”

The lie tastes bitter.

I don’t tell them I’ve seen the purple embers flare three more times since then—each brighter than the last, or that it only happens when Ryder loses control.

“And you’re forgetting about the Moon still infected in my portal.”

A chill creeps down my spine. The memory claws its way forward: the creature from the mountain, corrupted and feral, reaching for Ryder’s soul. I imagine it roaming the hollow expanse of Astra Nova, endless and empty. Ryder and I tried to hunt it once, but we found nothing.

I’ve been throwing food into the void since then. Beyond that, I’m powerless.

Nala exhales slowly. “Okay. Pass me a book.”

River doesn’t hesitate. He Influences one from the pile, but the moment it lifts, the air fills with dust. It blooms around us, thick and choking, and we cough as it settles back into our lungs. I wave my hand, dispersing it, though the grit lingers.

“Gods,” Nala mutters with a laugh. “Where the fuck did you find these?”

“Where do you think?” I say, nudging her playfully.

She snorts. “The archives. River’s favourite spot.”

River presses a hand to his chest, wounded. “It is not my favourite place. And they’re not all from the archives. Some are from the library.”

Nala and I laugh, the sound brief but needed.

“Only joking,” she says, then catches my eye and mouths I’m not.

River groans. “I can’t believe I’m skipping studying for this.”

“You hate studying,” I say.

“I know,” he replies. “Still feels like a personal attack. What is this—gang up on River day?”

“Seems accurate.” I grin, sharing a look with Nala.

River responds by Influencing a pillow off Nala’s bed and hurling it at me. I freeze it mid-air, heart jumping, then send it straight back. He catches it easily, laughing.

“You’re getting good at that.” River remarks, smirking.

“Thanks,” I say lightly, batting my lashes at River jokingly until Nala snatches the pillow from his hands.

“Absolutely not,” she says, marching it back to the bed. “My pillows are not battlefield casualties.”

“Keep my pillows out of this,” Nala warns, smoothing it back into place with care that borders on reverence.

River and I exchange a look, both biting back smiles.

“Sorry,” he says, unapologetic.

“Apology accepted,” Nala replies, already sitting again, already focused. “Now concentrate. We’re not finding a cure if you two keep acting like children.” She pauses. “What did the Soldark say again?”

The question settles heavily.

I cross the room and slide the rug aside. My pulse ticks louder as I pry up the loose floorboard and reach into the dark space beneath. The book comes free with a faint scrape—older than the others, heavier somehow, as if it resists being moved.

After the ransacking, I needed somewhere safer to keep it.

I replace the board, straighten the rug, and turn back to them. Nala steps closer. River goes quiet.

The book hums faintly in my hands.

It recognises me now, so I don’t have to bleed for it anymore. All I have to do is ask.

“Soldark,” I whisper into its pages, my voice barely steady. “How do we cure Ryder?”

Hope clings to my lips as I speak, fragile and desperate, begging this to be the time it gives me a straight answer—a simple cure. The book stirs at the sound of my request. Its pages shudder, then flip rapidly, stopping with deliberate finality.

The words appear.

The same ones.

I release a sharp breath, frustration burning hot in my chest. Once again, the pages bloom with the riddle that’s had me tearing my hair out since the last time I asked.

River leans in and reads it aloud, his fingers trailing slowly beneath each word, as if touch alone might force the meaning to reveal itself.

“Within the dark where silence grows,

A crescent sleeps where no light shows.

To hearts unspoiled, I give the skies,

The strength of Gods behind their eyes.

But grasp me wrong, with soul unclean,

And feel your breath turn still, unseen.

What you seek will heal his pain,

but greater still, it breaks the chain.

For what you search no book contains,

an object waits for you to claim.”

“What does it mean?” Nala asks, squinting so hard at the page I worry she might strain something.

“I have no fucking idea,” I snap, frustration scraping raw at my nerves.

“Don’t hate me,” River says carefully, finally lifting his gaze, “but it mentions a crescent. Maybe now’s the time to rethink the whole not telling Ryder thing.”

He doesn’t quite meet my eyes.

I exhale slowly. He’s probably right. For three weeks, I’ve kept my lips sealed, working in secret behind Ryder’s back, carrying the weight alone. Maybe it’s time to loosen my grip, to stop pretending I can shoulder this by myself and let the truth settle where it belongs.

“Maybe you’re right,” I say, though my heart stutters painfully in my chest. I turn back to the book. “Why can’t you just give me a straight answer?” I plead, exhausted by its games.

It doesn’t respond.

The words seem to leer up at me, mocking in their silence.

“I don’t get it,” I whisper. “What object?”

I wait. Nothing. The pages refuse to turn.

“For fuck’s sake.” I fling the book onto my bed, the impact dull and final, then sink down onto Nala’s instead.

“I really thought,” I say, the words spilling before I can stop them, “that when we got the Moons out of that place, things would change. That people would accept me. That the world would go back to how it was—before everything broke, hundreds of years ago.” My voice cracks. “Was that na?ve of me?”

I fold in on myself, burying my face in my hands. A moment later, Nala crosses the room and sits beside me, her arm wrapping around my back.

“Not na?ve,” Nala says gently. “Change is happening—even when we can’t see it. One step at a time, remember?”

Her voice steadies me. I lift my head and manage a small, fragile smile.

“Yeah,” River adds. “Most people in Sun still don’t know about you yet, but you’ve got a whole lot of Moons in your corner. When the time’s right, we’ll tell them.”

I nod toward him.

“You still have those tapes, right?” he asks.

“Yes. They’re under the floorboards.” I gesture to the rug concealing them.

“Did you get a chance to watch them?” Nala asks.

My stomach twists, bile burning my throat.

“Only two,” I admit. “I couldn’t stomach the rest.”

They fester in my mind like parasites—those recordings of the Star race centuries ago, bound and broken, experimented on for their tears.

Tortured. Chained in the same way I once was. My fingers drift to my wrists, tracing skin that still remembers the weight of enchanted iron, and I blink hard, forcing the images back.

River and Nala watch me with quiet understanding. We’re bound by what we survived—each of us altered in ways we don’t speak about.

Nala still wakes screaming in the night, Charlie’s name tearing from her lips before she can stop it. By day, she refuses to say it, as if silence might strip him of his power. But I can see it—how the memory consumes her, slow and relentless.

River pretends he’s unscathed, but I catch it in his eyes whenever he asks how I’m doing: the anxiety staining the hazel, the awareness that our reality is fragile, that everything could shatter in a heartbeat.

“If you want,” River says quietly, holding my gaze, “I can watch the tapes. You never know—they might have the answers we’re looking for.”

Relief loosens something in my chest. “That would be great. Thanks, River.”

I stand and gesture toward the looming pile of books. “Now, come on. These aren’t going to read themselves.”

They both nod, settling back in.