Chapter 12
THE PRICE OF DREAMS
N esilhan
The words echo in my memory as I splash cold water on my face, trying to wash away the lingering heat of the dream. He'd spoken like a man claiming territory, marking boundaries around something precious. But where would such a creature make his camp?
I think of the dark woods that ring the village, of the ancient ruins that dot the hillsides like broken teeth.
A man made of shadows wouldn't choose the warm, welcoming spaces that normal people prefer.
He would seek somewhere that matched his nature—somewhere dark and removed from the simple lives of villagers who fear what they don't understand.
The old watchtower. Mira's voice echoes in my memory—something she'd mentioned in passing about the abandoned guard post on the hill overlooking the village, built generations ago when bandits were more of a threat.
She'd said it's been empty for years, slowly crumbling back into the earth, but it would offer an unobstructed view of the entire village.
A perfect vantage point for someone keeping watch over what he considers his.
I dress quickly in my simplest clothes—a plain brown dress and sturdy boots—and braid my hair back with sharp, angry movements.
Every gesture is infused with the fury burning in my chest, each step sending a sharp reminder through my inner thigh where his teeth marked me—the bite throbs with each heartbeat, a physical echo of what he stole from me in sleep.
The pre-dawn air is cool against my heated skin as I slip out of the cottage, careful not to wake Mira or Banu. But apparently, I'm not as stealthy as I thought.
"Going somewhere interesting?"
I spin around to find Elcin leaning against the cottage wall, already fully dressed in her leather armor despite the early hour.
Her storm-gray eyes take in my appearance with uncomfortable accuracy—the hastily braided hair, the fury radiating from every line of my body, the way I'm moving like something hurts.
"This is none of your business," I say sharply.
"Everything about you is my business now," she replies, pushing off from the wall with fluid grace that speaks of decades of training and battles I can't even imagine.
"Family tends to work that way. Besides, you look like you're about to march off and confront someone, and given recent arrivals to our quiet little village.
.." She trails off meaningfully, her dark eyes scanning the shadows like she's cataloging every possible threat.
"I'm not—" I start, then stop, because she's probably right.
"Where are you going?" she asks, her voice gentling in a way that suggests she's had practice talking people down from ledges—literal and metaphorical.
"The watchtower," I admit. "Mira mentioned it overlooks the village."
Elcin nods thoughtfully, and I catch the way her expression shifts—calculating, strategic.
"Logical choice for someone who wants to keep watch.
" Her tone is carefully neutral, but I catch the way her hand rests near her sword hilt with practiced ease.
"Mind if I come along? I'd rather not have to explain to the rest of our family why I let you wander off alone when there are.
.. dangerous individuals in the area." The way she says it makes it clear she's not just talking about physical danger.
The village sleeps peacefully around us, unaware that its quiet healer is stalking through their streets like an avenging angel, hunting the creature who dared to touch her in dreams. Elcin moves beside me with fluid, silent steps, her weapons catching what little moonlight filters through the clouds.
"You don't have to come," I mutter as we reach the edge of the village.
"I'd feel better staying close," she says, and there's something in her tone—not just concern, but the weight of someone who's lost people before and refuses to do it again. "I've traveled far to find you, and I'm not about to lose track of you now. Call it a character flaw."
The path to the watchtower is overgrown and treacherous, winding through brambles and over fallen logs that catch at my skirts. But I push forward with determined fury, driven by the need to look him in the eye and demand answers he probably won't give.
"So," Elcin says quietly as she helps me navigate around a fallen branch, her voice carrying genuine curiosity beneath its casual surface, "what happened?
You seem…upset about something specific.
" There's no judgment in her tone, just the patient attention of someone who knows how to wait for the truth.
Heat floods my cheeks. "He…invaded my dreams."
"Ah." Her tone shifts, becoming more thoughtful than outraged.
"Dream magic. That's…bold of him." There's something almost appreciative in her voice, like she's acknowledging a particularly audacious chess move.
"Also incredibly intimate. Most shadow lords consider it beneath them to chase women through dreams."
"It felt real," I admit, then immediately wish I hadn't.
Elcin glances at me with newfound interest, her eyebrows rising slightly.
"Did it now?" There's a knowing quality to her smile that makes me flush deeper.
"Well, that certainly explains the murderous expression.
Though I have to say, if you're going to confront him about it, you might want to consider what message you're sending by seeking him out at dawn. "
By the time we reach the clearing where the old stone tower stands, the eastern sky is beginning to lighten with the first hints of dawn. And there, sitting on the crumbling steps like he's been waiting for me, is exactly who I expected to find.
But he's not alone.
"Steady," Elcin murmurs beside me, her hand briefly touching my shoulder—not restraining, but anchoring. "We'll handle this together. Though I should warn you, shadow lords don't typically respond well to direct confrontation. They prefer…subtlety.”
I storm across the clearing, my movements sharp and angry, Elcin keeping pace with a warrior-trained ease.
It doesn't take long to spot the makeshift camp hidden among the trees—shadows that seem too thick to be natural, the suggestion of tents and supplies that blend so seamlessly with the darkness that I almost miss them entirely.
He is looking perfectly innocent except for the satisfied smile playing at the corners of his mouth.
But there's something else there too—a desperate kind of hunger, like a starving man savoring the memory of a feast. The smile that tells me he knows exactly why I'm here, exactly what he's done, and would do it again without hesitation if it meant touching me one more time.
Another man sits beside him—handsome, perhaps in his thirties, with the bearing of a soldier. They're deep in conversation, but both look up as we approach, the stranger's eyes widening as he takes in not just my obvious fury, but the dangerous woman flanking me.
"My lady, is everything—" the stranger begins, rising with concern creasing his features.
I raise my hand sharply, cutting him off mid-sentence. Something about the gesture feels natural, automatic—like I've silenced rooms full of people before without even thinking about it. The man stops immediately, which surprises me. Why would a soldier obey a village healer?
Before I can puzzle over that thought, my other hand is moving, connecting with Kaan's face in a sharp crack that echoes across the clearing.
The force of it snaps his head to the side, and I'm vaguely shocked by the power behind the blow.
Blood immediately begins trickling from his nose, bright red against his pale skin.
Where did I learn to hit like that?
"You bastard," I snarl, my voice shaking with fury, even as part of my mind marvels at how naturally the strike came. "How dare you? How dare you touch me in my dreams?"
"Well," Elcin says quietly, and I can hear the genuine surprise and admiration in her voice, "I see you've retained the important parts of your training.
" She glances at Kaan with something that might be respect—wary, but respect nonetheless.
"Some lessons stick better than others, apparently.
And some men actually let you land the blow.
" There's a note of intrigue there, as if she's reassessing both of us.
Kaan turns back to look at me, blood streaming down his bare chest beneath his open shirt, and has the audacity to smile. "Good morning to you, too, hatun . Sleep well?"
The casual endearment only fuels my rage.
I raise my hand to strike him again, muscle memory I don't understand guiding the motion, but the sight of blood stops me cold.
Guilt crashes over me with devastating force—not for hitting him, but for the wounded, almost hopeful expression that flickers across his features before he schools them back to amusement.
"Oh, for fuck's sake," I mutter, pressing my hands to his face before I can think better of it.
The healing warmth flows immediately, but it's different this time.
Where before my magic felt clinical, detached, now it responds to the lingering dream-memory of his touch.
Golden light spirals between us, and for a terrifying moment, I feel the echo of that impossible connection—shadow and light dancing together, my power reaching for his like a flower turning toward dark sunlight.
His eyes close at my touch, a soft sound escaping his throat that sounds dangerously close to a moan. When he opens them again, there's something raw there, something that looks almost like pain.
"There," I say sharply, pulling my hands away the moment his nose is straight again, but the golden afterglow clings to my fingertips like a betrayal. "Now we're even."