30. Selis
Selis
Naera’s head is in my lap.
She hasn’t stirred.
Her skin’s still too pale, her breath too quiet. And damn it, I hate how still she is.
The fire crackles too close to my right. I should have built it farther out, but the cold had crept up so fast I hadn’t been thinking. Just needed heat. Needed her warm.
Now it snaps and hisses like it’s laughing at me.
I tilt my head back, staring at the canopy above—tangled branches and bone-gray limbs that barely move in the night wind. There's fog in the trees, curling soft like breath in winter. I caught sight of it earlier, just past the ridge. A hot spring, maybe.
Naera’s weight is soft against me. Too soft.
She’s always been light, but this feels wrong—like holding a candle’s shadow instead of the flame.
I don’t know what she is anymore.
And that scares the shit out of me.
She didn’t burn her. Not exactly. It wasn’t fire. It was something worse. Naera’s light went through Veyra— through her—like it was searching for something to scorch out from the inside. And it found it. Whatever made Veyra Veyra didn’t survive it .
She didn’t scream the way people scream from pain. She screamed like something was being peeled away. Like her soul was being unstitched.
And Naera…
She stood there, glowing—bright and terrible and still—like something ancient had slipped into her skin and wasn’t planning on leaving.
She didn’t stop until Veyra went quiet. Not dead. Not even broken. Just… emptied.
And I watched it all. Watched Naera hollow her out.
She hadn’t even looked at me after. Not until I touched her.
And even then, her eyes were too bright. Too far.
Fuck.
I should have run.
I should run.
But here I am. Holding her. Brushing the chill from her brow with the back of my hand like it means something. Like she means something.
And I think about the kiss.
Not the wild, desperate one in the bowels of The Black Lantern.
The real kiss.
The one she gave me under the stars, curled in my cloak, her voice still raw from crying and my hands too uncertain to touch her how I wanted. She tilted her head and kissed me like someone who didn’t know what knives could do.
Like I wouldn’t ruin her.
Like I hadn’t already.
It made me want to lie. To tell her that I’m better than this. That I’m dragging her into the dark, that I can keep her safe from what’s coming.
But I’m not. I can’t.
The truth is—you don’t start hoping in a story like this. Not unless you want to lose something.
And fuck, I’ve already lost too much.
I glance down at her lips. Still parted slightly. Her breath fogs just barely on the night air.
I could leave.
Right now.
She wouldn’t stop me. Wouldn’t even know until she woke— if she woke…
I’d get a head start. Disappear into the woods. Find another road. Another mark. Another version of myself that doesn’t know how she tastes when she kisses like a prayer.
And if I turned her into The Garden…
I’d be safe.
Maybe even rich.
And she’d never light up like that again. Whatever the fuck that was…
But—
Where would I go after ?
There’s no map left. No future I can name.
And yet—there’s her.
Her hand curls in my cloak, just slightly. A reflex. Nothing more. A twitch. But it lands in my chest like a blade. Because I know the feel of it now. The way she holds on like I’m hers. Like I’m worth holding.
Like I’m already gone and she knows it.
I close my eyes and exhale slow.
I hate fire. I hate what it took from me. I hate that I looked into hers and felt— awed .
Because maybe she is holy. Maybe that glow in her bones isn’t a lie. Maybe I’m the only one here pretending.
And if that’s true… what the fuck does that make me?
I pull the cloak tighter around her. Just slightly.
She doesn’t stir, but I can feel the cold still clinging to her skin like a second shadow.
I stole Soreya’s boots for her—ripped them off the chain-wielder’s corpse before the blood even dried.
They were the warmest pair left. Still, Naera hadn’t stopped shivering.
I lean back against the nearest tree and stare at the fire again, knowing sleep isn’t coming.
Because I don’t want to leave.
Not really.
But if I stay...
I’ll only want more.
And that’s how people like me get killed.
A soft and cracked voice breaks my thoughts. “Selis?”
Relief crashes through me so hard it leaves my hands shaking.
I swallow it down. “Hey.”
Her eyes flutter open. Still too bright. Still glowing faint, moon-silver and unsteady. She doesn’t speak right away. Just looks at me like she’s still halfway somewhere else. Somewhere far.
“You with me, starlight?” I ask quietly.
A beat. Then she nods, small and shaky. “I had a dream.”
“What kind?”
She doesn’t answer. Just presses her face into my side again like that’ll be enough.
And maybe it is.
But when she tries to sit up, I feel the way her body wavers. The weakness hits her all at once. Her breath comes shallow, and her hand trembles against my leg .
Shit.
“You need something,” I mutter.
“I—I’ll be fine. Just tired.” But even her voice is too faint to make it convincing.
“No. Not tired.”
I know what this is. I’m no fool.
“You’re hungry.”
Her hunger isn’t violent. Not like the stories. But it’s there—pressing at the edges of her like frost creeping into stone.
And I can feel her not speaking of it.
Like she’s ashamed of it.
I reach for my knife before I can think better of it.
“Wait—what are you—” she starts, alarm spiking in her voice.
“Not my neck,” I say flatly. “Let’s not get romantic.”
Without warning, I slice across my wrist with practiced ease. A shallow line. Enough.
The blood beads up, warm and bright in the firelight.
I hold it out to her.
She stares. “Really?”
“You offered your wrists to me once. Now it’s my turn. Come on.”
Her gaze flicks to my eyes, then down again—to the offered wrist. Her mouth parts. I watch her jaw tighten like she wants to refuse, but her body’s already leaning forward.
She takes my hand in both of hers.
Gently.
Reverently, almost.
And then—her mouth finds my skin.
Heat. A sharp pull. Not pain, not really—just pressure, strange and intimate and real in a way that makes my breath catch in my throat .
I watch her.
Her lashes flutter shut. Her hands stay so still , like she’s afraid if she moves too fast I’ll vanish. I feel every beat of my pulse pass into her—warmth leaving me, settling into her instead.
And damn, it shouldn’t feel like this.
But it does.
Too close. Too much. And at the same time… not enough.
She drinks slowly, carefully, her lips soft where they meet my skin. I feel the tension in her start to fade, like frost melting off glass.
Her glow grows stronger. Her fingers tighten—just a little—and her shoulders drop like a weight’s been taken off them.
She stops before I have to tell her to. A soft sigh escaped her as she pulls back, her breath warm against my wrist.
And then—before I can even register the motion—her tongue flicks out.
She licks the wound.
Licks it .
Slow. Gentle. Just once.
A soft, reverent touch, like a prayer meant only for the body.
The bleeding slows.
My breath doesn’t.
Her mouth on me was one thing—but this? This is something else entirely. Not hunger. Not survival. Something quieter. Stranger.
A kind of care I’m not used to being on the receiving end of.
And fuck me, all I can think about now is what it would feel like if she did that somewhere else.
Her mouth. Soft. Precise. Reverent.
I shift where I sit, suddenly too aware of the heat curling low in my gut, tight and unwelcome and undeniable. The tingling in my wrist doesn’t fade. It blooms, a ghost of pressure flaring out under my skin like the memory of a touch I never got.
“Sorry,” she whispers, like she didn’t just crawl under my defenses and light a match.
“For what?”
Her eyes lift to mine. “For needing you.”
If only she knew how undone I feel.
And I’m the one who should say something clever, something cutting. I’m supposed to be the one with sharp edges. But right now, I’m just a knife left out in the rain.
Dulled. Softened. Still dangerous, but slower to bite.
So I say the only thing I can manage. “Don’t be.”
And I mean it.
Even if my skin still burns from the heat of her mouth.
Even if I’d let her do it again.
Even if that scares the hell out of me.
She blinks at me, but doesn’t look away.
And for a long, strange moment, we just sit there—her curled against me, my heart thudding loud enough to fill the silence between us.
“I feel… better,” she murmurs.
“Yeah,” I say, flexing my wrist once before reaching for the cloth I’d tucked by the fire. “You look less like you’re about to collapse into a pile of glowing ash, so I’ll take it.”
She huffs out a sound that might be a laugh. It hits me low and warm.
Silence wraps around us for another long breath. Then another. The fire crackles. Somewhere in the distance, a night bird cries. And Naera—Naera’s still watching me.
There’s something unspoken on her face. Something careful. And I don’t know who moves first, but then her hand is cupping my jaw and I’m leaning forward and—
We kiss.
Slow. Real.
This kiss is a question and an answer all at once. Her mouth is soft, hesitant, like she’s still scared I’ll vanish if she presses too hard.
I don’t.
I press back.
And for one, reckless heartbeat, I let myself want this. Want her.
When we part, barely, her forehead rests against mine. Our breaths tangle.
“Veyra…” she says quietly, voice barely above the fire’s pop.
I know what she’s going to say before she says it.
“...She was going to kill you.”
I nod, mouth crooked. “Mhm. You ruined her night.”
I can feel her breath against my collarbone, feel the way her body hasn't quite stopped trembling. A flicker crosses her face—relief, maybe—but it’s chased quickly by something darker. Her fingers shift against my ribs, curling tight into the hem of the borrowed cloak. Her eyes don’t lift.
“I was scared,” she says softly, voice fraying at the edges. “But not of her.”
I tense. “Of what, then?”
She swallows. I feel the motion through her whole body. And when she speaks again, her voice barely stirs the air between us.
“Of losing you.”
The words land like a dropped blade—heavy, sudden, and cold enough to steal the breath from my lungs.
She doesn’t know it, but I was scared too.
Not of Veyra. Not of the guild. Of her.
Of losing her.
I hate how true it is. Hate the way it carves something open in my chest. But I can’t deny it anymore—not after the way she looked at me, not after the way she bled light to keep me alive.
“And I was scared of myself,” she adds, quieter still. “I didn’t feel guilty. Not really.”
Her head lifts slowly, eyes meeting mine in the half-dark. That glow of hers flickers low and strange, like a candle that doesn’t know if it wants to burn out or burn everything down.
“That was the first time I’ve ever wanted to kill someone.”
The silence that follows isn’t empty. It’s charged. Breathing.
I don’t look away. I shift closer, my forehead brushing hers.
“Good,” I murmur. “Means you’re not a martyr. Just a person.”
She lets out a shaky breath—not quite a laugh, but the ghost of one. Her eyes close briefly, lashes trembling.
“I thought I’d feel sick afterward,” she whispers. “But all I felt was... calm.”
I tilt my head, watching her. “That doesn’t make you a monster.”
She looks at me, and I swear her soul flickers in her gaze—guilt, fear, a flickering, feral glow that hadn’t been there before. Something ancient.
Something mine.
“Doesn’t it?”
“No,” I say simply. “I should know. I’m a monster, remember?”
The teasing does its job. Naera’s brows lift slightly, and then—she smiles. Soft. Unafraid.
“You’ve never felt less like one,” she says, reaching up to touch my jaw.
It should scare me. There’s this fragile, terrifying thing blooming between us:
Something like trust.
Something like choice.
Something like the start of survival.
Maybe it does, a little, but I still stand and offer her my hand.
“C’mon, starlight. There’s a hot spring just beyond those trees. We should warm up.”
She takes my hand, fingers curling into mine with quiet trust.
And together, we head into the woods. Two half-broken things stitched together by bad luck and worse decisions.
But her hand’s in mine.
And that’s enough to shut up the part of me that swears I’m already lost.