FIVE
Zarek materialized across the street from The Alchemist’s Apothecary, where his cloaking kept his kind hidden within the mortal realm. He rarely lingered in this loud and unclean world, that was annoyingly fragile, but also his battleground, nothing more.
And yet he was here because this is where he felt her.
He took one step toward the bookstore, but the world… declined? Not violently or defensively. But there was a soft, spongey barrier that refused to let him step any closer.
It was a ward. A strong one at that.
Now, why would a bookstore be warded?
He scowled, testing the invisible boundary in various areas, looking for a weakness in the wards surrounding a simple bricked structure.
Even using his own power of flame, the barrier never gave way.
There were no signs, not even warning sigils that normally flared when protective wards were activated.
But this ward did nothing except block him from entering.
All the while, the streets flowed normally with pedestrians and vehicles.
Zarek entered the neighboring cafe, the hairdressers, the tailors, and all the other stores surrounding the bookshop, but he failed to get past the threshold of the one place he wanted to enter.
From the outside it appeared a simple bookshop, but he sensed nothing at all. No echo. Not even the mortal’s presence. Yet he could see the woman he’d met last night inside that very store.
The wards on this place were exceptional.
But what annoyed him more was that he didn’t even know her name. Which was ironic, when he could read people’s minds, know their histories, secrets, and fears in the blink of an eye. But her?
Now, her workspace was off-limits to his kind with wards that felt like they’d been working long before he knew of her existence.
Hmph.
He returned to the other side of the road, where the world behaved as it was meant to. He wouldn’t wait long, there were patrol rotations to confirm, reports to file, breaches to seal.
Then the shop door opened, and she stepped out into the daylight.
Her hair was pulled back into a careless ponytail. He hadn’t seen her hair color in the shadows of the night. But seeing it in daylight, the way it caught the sun and fractured into a blend of gold and tarnished copper, was unexpected.
The color was like her eyes, the strange pairing of blue and green, light and depth that somehow made sense for her to have hair colors blend in a way Zarek would never have articulated. That’s because he’d never bothered to compare a woman’s eyes or hair colors before.
But it also made him realize he was looking.
Him.
Not scanning. Or assessing a threat, noting perimeter security measures and weapons.
But looking at the length of her skirt that caressed her thighs, up to the smooth curve of her hips, the flat waist, to the roundness of her plump breasts, the straight shoulders, through to the tilt of her dainty chin.
To be looking at someone like this was a failure of his own rules.
Yet he couldn’t stop looking as she adjusted her sunglasses, shielding those mismatched eyes.
But there was something else. Some unknown foreign traits… Wait?
Zarek could feel her?
No? Not possible.
Yet, he did. The thrum behind her eyes and a dull pressure at her temples. There was a raw scrape in her throat where those bone-cold fingers of the Black Cloak had held her.
Underneath there was more… A residual nausea, irritability, and the brittle edge of a body trying to pretend it was fine.
She has a hangover.
The realization surprised him enough that the corner of his mouth lifted before he could stop it.
That, at least, was normal. Most mortals who survived an encounter with his kind woke the next day aching, disoriented, embarrassed by some half-remembered terror they dismissed as alcohol, stress, and imagination. The body remembered even when the mind did not.
It was how the Accords endured.
He should have left it there. Normally he’d reach for her mind, but that path was closed. So he let his power run along the thin, illicit thread that had no right to exist between them. Not to command or erase, but to soothe her pain.
He applied the calming magick like an invisible touch to ease the pounding pulse behind her eyes, the rawness in her throat, and that icy sensation from the Black Cloak’s touch he replaced with warmth.
He’d never bothered doing this before. He was a soldier, where pain was just part of the job and where fear was nothing more than a tool.
Yet the calming spell had already left him.
And the consequences of his actions?
She paused.
It was a simple, half-beat hesitation before she stopped and tilted her head, as if thinking.
Is she feeling me?
Zarek went utterly still, despite being well cloaked from mortal eyes.
She didn’t turn toward him. But she whispered a word, barely audible, that echoed through his chest.
One word.
“Zarek.”
She started to turn in his direction, as if she’d sensed him. Just like he had with her.
Impossible!
He withdrew in the blink of an eye. Stone replaced the street. Firelight replaced daylight. The veyll sealed behind him with a soundless finality that should have steadied his mind.
It didn’t.
He stood in his chambers, boots planted on slate floors where staves were etched deep into the stone, with hands clenched at his sides.
“How?” The word echoed off black stone.
As per protocol, he’d gone to check that she had forgotten. Like the male nurse had. That was all. Just a routine verification required by the Accords: Any mortal who comes into contact with the Vanguard is to be checked. Confirm memories of their existence erased. Ensure containment of exposure.
Zarek was always cloaked to ensure no one in the mortal realm saw him. It’s the one thing he taught his soldiers repeatedly: never, ever drop the cloaking in the mortal realm.
And yet, she had sensed him.
How?
Mortals forgot. That was the law.
What’s worse is she didn’t call him angel, demon, God, or monster of nightmares. She had simply spoken his name. Mortals never knew his name as they weren’t to know he existed.
But when he had removed the pain, she’d turned to look for him. Would she have seen him?
Zarek stopped pacing.
Helviti. If she had, that too would have been a failure of the Accords.
There was a knock at the door, and Martar pushed it open before Zarek said anything.
“You’re wearing a hole in the floor.” Martar entered with a plate in one hand. “Brought your supper.” He casually kicked the door shut, then put the plate on the large oak desk. “So, are you going to tell me what’s going on? You never pace unless something’s wrong.”
Zarek lifted an eyebrow at the plate. “You ate my food.”
Martar grinned at the half-eaten sandwich in his hand. “You weren’t going to eat it. We both know that.” He took a mouthful of meat and bread and lowered himself into one of the leather chairs by the fireplace. “You checked the mortals.”
“Yes. The male is clear. Memory intact and clueless to anything gone wrong.”
“And the woman?”
Zarek hesitated, then pushed the plate away. “She went to work. Late. Had a headache and showed the typical elevated stress responses.”
“But?” Martar dragged the plate closer and took the last remaining half of the sandwich.
Zarek exhaled slowly. “She spoke my name.”
Martar froze with the sandwich halfway to his mouth. “That’s not possible. Are you sure?”
“She’s said it twice now.” Last night thanking him, and just now. “Somehow she senses me when I have never revealed myself.” He raked his fingers through his hair and started pacing again. “And she sensed the Black Cloaks before I did.”
Martar’s expression hardened. “You dropped off the perimeter last night. Neither Rocharde nor I could sense you. No echo. No magickal trace of your power.”
Zarek’s jaw tightened. “Like I didn’t sense those two Dark Cloaks behind me.” But she did.
Martar dumped the sandwich back onto the plate and brushed the crumbs from his hands. “Did the Black Cloaks sense you last night?”
“They were as surprised as I was.”
“That shouldn’t happen.” Martar leaned forward. “We need to identify the risks. And deal with it.”
“I know.” Zarek turned away, staring into the fire.
“Were you able to read her mind for a name?”
“No. But I know where she works.” Zarek’s hands curled slowly into fists, the leather straining across his gloves. “But the rest… it’s shielded from me.” Again, he raked fingers through his hair. Not knowing her name, when she knew his, was wrong.
This woman with mismatched eyes, with a mouth and skin too soft for a world like his, and lips he had yet to see smile—
Zarek ruthlessly severed the thought. She was only a woman. A mortal. Fragile in ways she could not comprehend.
His touch burned. His gaze, if held too long, fractured minds. Even restrained, his power overwhelmed. He was built for destruction, not tenderness.
The Accords existed for a reason. His kind did not cross those lines without consequence, especially when he was nothing but death to mortals who lingered too close.
He should send someone else to monitor her and wipe her mind, forget her existence while he went back to work.
And yet…
It bothered him more that he simply did not know her name.