Chapter 19 #3
Shade nearly laughed. Weird. After everything they had just admitted to each other, weird was apparently the word she chose. “I am exercising restraint,” he informed her solemnly.
“That sounds fake.”
He swallowed hard, keeping his voice level. “It is extremely real. My self-control deserves songs written about it.”
She snorted softly.
The sound hit him harder than it should have. Because she had laughed. Not sharply. Not defensively. Genuinely.
Shade realized then how long it had been since he’d heard that sound from her without pain wrapped around it.
Dangerous female.
He was already ruined, and she kept finding new ways to make it worse.
Myanin’s expression softened briefly before she looked away again, her gaze fixing on the glowing corridor ahead. “You know this changes absolutely nothing.”
“Of course.” It absolutely changed everything, even if she didn’t want to acknowledge it for a century. He would wait.
She narrowed her eyes on him. “You agreeing that quickly feels suspicious.”
Shade shrugged. “I am choosing survival.”
Myanin bobbed her head. “Smart.”
“I have my moments.”
Silence settled between them again, but this one felt different. Less sharp around the edges. Less like two warriors circling each other with blades hidden behind their backs.
The book noticed, too.
The gold light surrounding the corridor warmed slightly, the oppressive pressure that had followed them for days easing just enough for Shade to recognize it.
Acceptance.
Not approval.
The Nushtonia did not care about morality. It cared about truth.
And for the first time since entering the cursed thing, Shade realized the book had stopped fighting them.
Interesting.
His gaze slid toward Myanin again.
She looked exhausted–both physically, because she no longer had her power, and emotionally.
There were shadows beneath her eyes that had not existed before the Nushtonia and tiny fractures in the iron control she’d spent years building around herself.
And despite everything in him that wanted to pull her closer, shield her, claim every broken piece she tried hiding, he chose restraint.
Shade understood something now he had not before. Loving her was not the same thing as owning her. The thought settled heavily through him. Necessary. Painful. True.
Ahead of them, the corridor shifted again.
Pages peeled apart slowly along the walls, exposing brief flashes of memory before sealing shut once more.
A battlefield soaked in silver fire appeared, along with a younger version of Myanin standing alone in a sparring ring beneath storm clouds with blood running down one arm.
Thadrick stood across from her, a smile of victory on his face.
Shade himself, years earlier, stared out across the djinn realm with enough longing in his face to make present-day Shade want to punch his former self directly in the throat.
Myanin saw that one, too.
“Oh,” she said softly.
Shade sighed. “Yes. Unfortunately, I have always been pathetic about you.”
The corner of her mouth twitched.
Victory. Tiny. Pathetic. Barely measurable victory. But he would take it.
The corridor narrowed briefly before opening again into another long stretch of glowing parchment walls. The silence between them deepened, but now it carried awareness instead of avoidance.
Dangerous. So very dangerous.
Because Shade had spent centuries surviving on certainty. On anger. On pursuit. Wanting Myanin had become part of the structure holding him upright. It had been easier to chase her than to consider what would happen if she ever actually turned toward him.
Now she had. At least partially.
And suddenly he understood why warriors throughout history had done profoundly stupid things after being loved back. The realization was deeply humbling. Also annoying.
Myanin stumbled slightly as the floor shifted beneath their feet.
Shade caught her instantly. One arm wrapped around her waist before either of them fully processed the movement.
She froze.
So did he.
Well. That seemed potentially catastrophic.
The gold light around them dimmed into something softer, shadows flickering across the sharp lines of Myanin’s face as she slowly lifted her head to look at him.
Too close. Great skies, she was too close. Shade could feel her breath against his throat. Could smell storm and steel and female wrapping around his senses like addiction.
And there it was again. That answering pull inside her. Not imagined. Not wished for.
Real.
Her hand tightened against the front of his coat.
Shade’s control strained painfully. “Myanin,” he said quietly.
Her eyes dropped briefly to his mouth.
That nearly ended him.
Then, as if realizing exactly what she’d done, she jerked backward out of his arms so quickly that the loss of her warmth hit like a physical impact.
“Nope,” she announced immediately.
Shade blinked once.
She pointed at him accusingly while backing farther down the corridor. “Whatever that was, absolutely not.”
His mouth twitched despite himself. “Very convincing.”
She glared him down. “You stop being attractive right now.”
He held out a hand palm up. “I do not believe that is within my skill set.”
Shaking her head, a brow rose as she said, “That confidence is part of the problem.”
“And yet you continue holding my hand.”
Myanin looked down, apparently only just now realizing she still was. Her eyes widened slightly before narrowing again with immediate suspicion, as though he had somehow orchestrated her own fingers betraying her.
Shade wisely said nothing.
She glared at him anyway.
Then, muttering something deeply insulting beneath her breath, she yanked her hand free and stalked farther down the corridor.
Shade watched her go. Watched the tension in her shoulders. The confusion. The fear. The hope she clearly wanted to strangle with her bare hands before it grew dangerous.
And despite the ache still tearing through his chest . . . Shade smiled.
Not because he had won. This was not victory. Not yet. Maybe not ever. But for the first time in longer than he cared to count, Myanin had stopped running before he touched her.
Behind them, somewhere deep within the shifting pages of the Nushtonia, laughter echoed softly through the corridors.
Not cruel.
Knowing.
Shade glanced toward the moving parchment walls and sighed. “You are an incredibly invasive magical artifact.”
The book rustled smugly around him.
Ahead of him, Myanin barked out a reluctant laugh she clearly hadn’t meant to let him hear.
And Shade followed the sound like a starving man finding his way home.