Chapter 12
The first week passes in a blur of sameness.
Each day begins and ends under Selene’s quiet, steady guidance.
We ride for hours with little to mark the passing time—no villages, no travelers, not even many animals along the way.
The world feels hushed, waiting. Selene always knows where to stop: near a creek for water, under trees for protection, in places where she can slip away with her bow and return with fresh meat for the fire.
Sometimes Lowan trains me while we rest, testing my balance with the sword, correcting my grip until the hilt feels like an extension of my own hand.
Other times, Zillah drifts back beside me, her presence sharp and curious.
She teaches me to recognize her magic, to sense the brush of it when she shields or probes, to push back against her until the space around me feels solid and defended.
Slowly, I notice the difference—to know when it is her power pressing in, and when it is simply the wind or my own nerves.
One afternoon, Zillah even remarks—almost grudgingly—that I could become a gifted shielder.
“Are you sure we’ve never touched, and you now have my power too?” she teases.
Lowan mumbles, “Trust me, you’d know.” But the look he gives me lingers—knowing, heated—like he remembers exactly how it felt that day. The exchange leaves me glowing with pride and blushing with heat.
Selene also insists I keep practicing on horseback.
One afternoon, she and Zillah ride together, leaving Lowan to take Zillah’s mount so that I can ride alone.
With no one guiding the reins or setting the pace, I’m forced to find a rhythm of my own—leaning into the horse’s stride, gripping tighter when we hit uneven ground, breathing with the motion until it feels less like I’m clinging on and more like we’re moving as one.
By the end of the day, my legs ache, but for the first time, I feel a small surge of confidence in the saddle.
The days are otherwise uneventful, filled with hooves striking the snowy earth and the rhythm of the forest. Now and then, Selene points out something I have never seen before: a silver-leafed shrub whose berries glow faintly at dusk, or a flower that bends as if listening when she speaks its name.
She knows everything—plants, animals, the land itself—and I find myself greedy for her knowledge, storing it away like precious treasure.
By the end of the week, weariness weighs on us all. We are not in a race, and Selene insists there is time for one small indulgence. She tells us of hot springs close to our path, pools hidden in stone and steam, a place to rest and truly wash away the road after quick splashes in the icy streams.
For the first time in days, a spark of excitement passes between us. We turn our horses from the familiar track and follow her lead toward the promise of heat and water, toward something that feels almost like luxury.
Selene guides us into the cavern mouth, torchlight catching on walls slick with condensation. Steam curls through the air, carrying the rich mineral tang of the springs. Inside, the cave branches into smaller channels, each leading to a bubbling pool tucked into stone.
Zillah immediately seizes the moment, her grin wicked. “Well, Selene and I will take this way. You two have some fun for once. We sure will.”
Selene only rolls her eyes, but she doesn’t argue. They vanish into the mist, their laughter echoing.
Lowan exhales through his nose, muttering, “Hopefully these caves don’t echo too much. I’ve heard enough of them this past week to last a lifetime.”
Despite myself, I laugh. The sound bounces off the stone walls and feels strangely free. He nods toward the opposite tunnel. “Come on. I’m sure there are separate pools.” And there are. The rock passage splits, with two steaming chambers opening on either side.
“Well, I guess I’ll… take this one,” I say.
“Fine. I’ll go this way.” His mouth quirks, just shy of a smile.
I step into my chosen pool. The air is thick and warm, steam beading on my skin. With relief, I strip out of my dusty clothes, dunk them in the water, scrub them clean, then spread them across a cluster of rocks to dry. Later, I’ll call a little heat to them with magic, but for now, I let them lie.
The water laps invitingly. I sink in, groaning the moment the ache of the saddle lifts from my legs and back.
Heat seeps into me, loosening every knot.
I let my curls spill free, the auburn strands clinging heavy and wet to my shoulders.
Then I slide beneath the surface, holding myself in the muffled silence until my lungs burn, before rising again.
The pool stretches deeper than I thought, the far side curving into shadow. I swim lazily, floating backward, eyes closed, reveling in the rare luxury of ease.
“Something wrong on your side of the hot springs?”
I jolt upright, squatting in the water. My eyes fly open. Lowan stands a few paces away—though “stands” is hardly right. His pool and mine aren’t separate at all, only divided by a half-wall of rock. At the far edge, the water joins. In my drifting, I’d crossed over into his.
He’s waist-deep, droplets tracing over muscle cut sharp as stone. Every line of him seems hewn from shadow and firelight—the breadth of his shoulders, the ridges of his abdomen, the sculpted taper of his waist. My mouth goes dry.
I glance down. The ground here slopes upward, leaving me without enough depth to stand. If I rise, I’ll expose myself completely. Heat blooms in my cheeks, hotter than the spring. Lowan sees it instantly. His chuckle is low, dangerous. “It’s fine, it’s—”
“I know, I know.” I cut him off, flustered. “Nothing you haven’t seen before. I get it.”
His expression shifts—feral, intent. The predator in him awakens. He moves through the water toward me with a grace that steals the air from my lungs.
“No. You don’t know.” His voice scrapes low, rough with hunger. The sound sparks something deep in me—something I’ve been trying desperately to ignore.
“Oh? Tell me what I don’t know,” I whisper, “enlighten me.” Reckless, I rise from the water, baring myself from the waist up.
He drags in a breath, his silver-gray eyes flaring with unrestrained desire.
“I pretend it’s nothing I haven’t seen before.
But I have never laid eyes on a creature as beautiful as you.
” The words sound as if they’ve been caged inside him, straining to break free.
“I have never wanted someone the way I want you. Since Feyrnacht—long before, if I’m honest. I’ve battled with myself, tried to push you away, but…
” His eyes darken, voice rough. “The closer we come to Myrradon, the more I realize—we might never…” His breath catches.
“I need to touch you. To taste you. To watch you unravel for me—just once.”
The steam coils between us. The water shimmers, restless, as if responding to my pulse. He stops only a whisper apart, close enough that I can feel the heat of his breath. And I hear my voice, trembling but sure:
“I know how to shield myself. You can touch me now.”
His mouth crashes onto mine, and the kiss is everything—hungry, reckless, consuming.
His skin is hot against mine, slick from the water, every inch of muscle hard and unyielding beneath my touch.
For a moment, I throw my shield up out of instinct, but it’s useless—I don’t need it.
Not with him. Our magic Threads twine together inside me, spinning rapturously, a current that leaves me trembling.
I wrap my legs around his waist, and the shock of his hardness pressing against me nearly undoes me right there.
I whimper into his mouth, desperate for more, for all of him.
He drags his lips down my throat, kissing and biting, and I can’t hold back the gasp that escapes me as his hands slide up my back.
“Your mother…” I breathe, fighting for words even as my body arches into him.
He doesn’t stop. His mouth moves along my neck, his voice a muffled plea against my skin. “Please don’t talk about my mother right now.”
A strangled laugh escapes me before I shudder again as my hips brush his length. Somehow I manage, “No—she was able—the fertility spell. Me.”
His groan rumbles low in his chest, the sound vibrating straight through me. His mouth is at my ear when he breathes, “It’s a moot point, but I think I would’ve risked everything to have just one night with you.”
The words shiver through me, reckless and raw, and for a moment I can’t breathe.
I know what he means—there was never truly a risk, not with the fertility spell.
He carries it too, just as I do. I didn’t even need to bring it up.
But the thought slides away as quickly as it comes, lost under the weight of his heat, his closeness, the danger in how he makes me feel.
The words send fire shooting through me.
I clutch him tighter, nails digging into his shoulders, but it isn’t close enough—it will never be close enough.
Our mouths collide again, wild and desperate, his tongue tangling with mine until I’m whimpering, moaning, shaking with need.
The steam swirls around us, and I don’t care how loud I am.
“The rocks,” he breathes against my lips, ragged with restraint. “They’re too sharp.”
“Are you sure?” My voice breaks, desperate, begging. I’d honestly risk pain if it meant having him right now.
“Absolutely.” His forehead presses to mine, eyes dark with heat. “Everywhere I go, I imagine fucking you there. So yes, I noticed the rocks were too sharp.”
The rawness—it sends a thrill through me, my body lighting up at his words. A moan slips out before I can stop it, the image of him—of us—flooding my mind. Gods, why did I ever turn him down on Feyrnacht?
It’s a battle to peel myself away from him.
Every muscle protests as if my body already knows it belongs pressed against his.
But finally, with a groan of frustration, I force myself to swim back toward the slant of rock where I left my clothes.
He does the same, though it feels like every inch we put between us is an act of cruelty.
Pulling my garments back on feels surreal, the damp fabric clinging to my still-heated skin. My hair hangs wet around my shoulders, and my lips are swollen from his kisses. When I glance at him, I see the same—his hair slicked back, chest still heaving, eyes dark with hunger barely restrained.
We don’t say it out loud, but the decision is made: tonight, in the tent, away from sharp rocks and chance interruptions.
We stroll out of the caves together, and the cool air does nothing to calm the heat still burning inside me.
Selene and Zillah are already outside, perched casually near the horses.
They look perfectly composed—relaxed, satisfied, even glowing.
Zillah’s gaze flicks between Lowan and me. Her mouth curves into a slow, wicked grin, and she claps her hands together. “Ahhh. Wasn’t that so refreshing?” Her tone is pure mischief, and she looks like she’s about to burst with laughter.
Selene tilts her head, sniffing the air lightly. “I smell—”
“I’ll take first watch once we set up camp,” Lowan blurts, his voice cutting sharp through the night. Louder than necessary.
Zillah snickers, her eyes glittering. “Suit yourself. But we’ll take second. Wouldn’t want to keep anyone waiting.”
Heat floods my cheeks, but it isn’t embarrassment. Not really. I should feel mortified that they so obviously know, but I can’t find any shame. Not when my heart is thrumming with excitement, not when every step forward brings me closer to tonight—closer to him.
I lie in the tent, my pulse racing. Every second ticks by like thunder in my ears. He’s on first watch, but once he’s done—once he slips inside—I know what will happen. I’m already naked under the blankets, body alive with restless energy, a live wire sparking in too small a space.
But the waiting is unbearable. I can’t take it another moment. With a frustrated groan, I tug my clothes back on. If I can’t have him yet, then at least I can sit with him until it’s time to change the watch.
The camp is quiet. Selene and Zillah’s whispers carry softly from their tent.
But Lowan isn’t by the fire. I frown, scanning the shadows.
The flames crackle, the snow glitters, but there’s no sign of him.
Something in me has shifted—his presence feels like safety now—and I don’t hesitate before venturing into the trees.
The snow tells me where he went. Heavy boot tracks pressed into the pale crust, leading away from camp. I follow, my breath clouding the night air. The path winds deeper into the forest until suddenly, it stops. Just ends. No more prints. No return trail. Nothing.
The heat in me freezes over. My body goes rigid, my heart hammering in my throat. What could’ve happened?
“Lowan?” My voice is low, uncertain, a whisper threaded with fear. “Are you—?”
Movement. He steps out from behind a cluster of dark pines, shadow and snow breaking apart around him. His eyes snap to me instantly, sharp with worry.
“Metra.” He strides forward, scanning me from head to toe. His hands catch my arms, then my shoulders, his touch firm, almost frantic. “Are you alright? What are you doing out here?”
Relief floods me, but suspicion follows fast behind. My gaze narrows. “Where were you? You didn’t come from the path.”
He doesn’t even flinch. “I was just patrolling. Everything is fine.” His voice is smooth, too smooth.
I pull back, studying him. His clothes are neat, unrumpled, far too dry for someone trudging through snowy woods.
My stomach twists. Shoving past him, I march to the place he stepped from.
The snow tells the truth. Tracks lead to me—but not to that spot.
The ground there is untouched. My stomach drops.
I whirl around, heat rising in my chest. “I don’t know what you’re hiding from me, but you’d better come clean, Lowan Veynar.”
His jaw tightens. For a heartbeat, I think he’ll wall himself off again, the way he always does. But then he exhales sharply, breath white in the cold.
“It’s not just you I’m hiding it from.” His eyes lock on mine, heavy with the weight of confession. “It’s everyone. No one knows.”
My pulse stutters. “No one knows what, exactly?”
He hesitates, then finally says it: “That I have another ability. I can shapeshift.”