Chapter 1 #3
Swallowing back my tears, I crawled over and gathered the dying creature in my hands. My lip trembled as I cradled it against my chest, stroking its neck the way I would an injured animal on the farm. Life was cruel. I knew it better than most.
“I’m sorry, little one. I wish it had been different for you.” I kissed the top of the dove’s head, my voice barely a whisper. ”For us both.”
The dove had stilled, but its heartbeat fluttered wildly beneath my fingers, and the small, pained sounds from its beak tore something open inside me.
“May the stars light your path home,” I whispered, breaking its little neck.
The dove went still, and I finally broke.
Tears spilled as the rain fell harder, pooling in the gutter, dragging my blood with it. I bowed my head, sobbing. For the dove. For myself. For believing Petyr would have helped me. Even Kaydra warned me.
“Don’t get attached,” she’d said. “He’ll be fated to someone else. You’re an outsider. The realm will never let you forget it.”
She was right.
“You can dye your hair, wear your hood all you want—but you’ll never look like us. Petyr will remind you of that, and it’ll hurt most when you believe he won’t.”
I hadn’t listened. I hadn’t wanted to. Because deep down, some foolish part of me hoped that someone—anyone—might’ve still wanted me, even if the gods did not.
I was a fool. A blind, naive, pathetic little fool.
“A real shame, that. Half end up dead by sunlight.”
I flinched at the deep voice coming from the shadows behind me.
Deep. Rough. Definitely male.
I turned to the direction it came. Not even a few paces away, black eyes gleamed through the darkness as the male slowly stepped out the shadows. He crushed a cigarette under his boot, moonlight spilling down his tall frame and catching on the wooden sign above him.
The Forsaken Rose.
A brothel!
My cheeks flamed. Of all places! And how long had this man been watching me?
The scars on my back tingled as I scrambled to my feet.
I laid the dove on the crate, brushing its feathers one last time.
There was nothing more I could do. Back on the farm, I would have burned it, so the stars could find its soul and guide it home.
I never knew why I did it—I just did. My family always found it strange, since Moonstones let the tide carry their bodies back to the Moon gods. Not the stars.
“Where are you flying off to?”
The male’s voice carried to me again. It was brushed with a thick accent I had never heard before.
He stepped into the moonlight, and gods, he was beautiful in a way that frightened me.
Taller than any male I’d ever seen, broad-shouldered and built like a warrior.
Even clothed in black and half-shrouded by shadows, there was violence to the way he moved—the quiet kind, like a blade sheathed in silk.
Dark tattoos spiraled down his throat and hand, glowing like embers beneath bronze skin.
I lifted my eyes, daring a glimpse of his face.
Black hair clung damp to his shoulders, curling at the ends.
A few braids twisted through the strands, crowned with gold clasps and white beads that gleamed like bones.
War tokens, perhaps. His clothes were plain yet sharp-edged: a dark roughspun tunic, worn leather trousers, and a long black cloak that hung heavy around him.
Intimidating enough to pass as a mercenary.
But he looked too aristocratic for that. His strong jawline and high cheekbones were too noble, even with the scars across his cheek and brow.
“I – I didn’t mean to disturb you,” I stammered, trying to sound the slightest bit confident as I stepped back from back. “Excuse me.”
He caught my arm before I could run.
Heat surged the instant his palm touched my skin, sparking across the old scars etched into my back. It didn’t just startle me. It burned.
He glanced at the dove, then back at me.
“That kind of softness does not survive long down here,” he said, his accent thickening. “You should be careful who sees it, little dove.”
His gaze lingered on my lips as his own curved into a dark smile.
“Why should I be careful?” I asked, my throat drying.
His smile twitched.“Because the wrong kind of man might think that softness is his to take.”
I tried to pull away, but his grip tightened. Rain blurred between us, hair clinging to our faces, heartbeat racing louder and louder.
I needed to get away. But he was stronger, too strong, and I had no weapon.
“Let me go,” I hissed.
He yanked me closer until our bodies met, and I gasped. His eyes locked on mine.
They weren’t the kind you got lost in. They were the kind you drowned in.
“Let – let me go,” I managed again, breathless.
“No,” he said softly, a humorless grin twisting his mouth. “I don’t think I will.”
The brothel door swung open behind him, spilling laughter into the rain. Panic spiked in me again. His scarred eyebrow furrowed, then his chin dipped with the barest hint of restraint.
“Go,” he said. “Fly away, little dove, before I take you in there with me.”
He let me go.
I stumbled back, barely keeping my balance.
His eyes never left mine, even when someone stepped out of the door behind him and touched his shoulder. I didn’t want to find out who it was. Or who he was.
I turned, and I ran.
His laughter followed me into the rain. Even at the far end of the alley, I could still hear him. Still feel his hand burning against my skin. I glanced back once, but the alley was empty and silent again. He was Bloodstone. He had to be.
The unfamiliar accent. The brutal build. It all fit.
I had never met a Bloodstone, but everyone knew the stories: savage to the core, god-fallen, with blood that burned for war and hearts that knew no mercy only ruin.
But that man hadn’t been what I expected at all.
The bell tolled in the distance. My stomach knotted.
The ritual had begun, and it was going to be my ruin.