Chapter 9 Lorenth #2
I throw the pack over my shoulder and step back onto the balcony, spreading my wings wide. The city sprawls beneath me—golden spires and red-tiled roofs, market squares and winding streets—and for the first time in weeks, I'm not looking at it with desperation.
I'm looking past it.
North. Northeast. Wherever the pendant is pulling me.
I launch into the air, letting the wind catch my wings, and the city falls away beneath me. The pull in my chest strengthens immediately, a steady tug that feels almost physical now, and I angle myself toward it without hesitation.
The sky is clear, the sun still high enough to give me plenty of daylight, and I push myself faster. My wings cut through the air in powerful strokes, carrying me over the outer districts of New Solas and into the farmlands beyond.
The pendant grows warmer.
I'm going the right way.
The landscape shifts as I fly—rolling fields giving way to denser forest, the trees thick and dark below me. I keep my altitude high, scanning the ground for signs of settlements, but there's nothing. Just wilderness stretching out in every direction.
And then the mountains rise ahead of me.
The Ridge.
A jagged line of peaks that cuts across the horizon, separating New Solas from the more remote territories to the east. I've flown over them before—years ago—but I've never had a reason to go beyond them.
Until now.
The pendant flares hot against my chest, and I angle toward a pass between two of the larger peaks. The air grows thinner as I climb higher, colder, and I have to adjust my wingbeats to compensate. But the pull doesn't waver.
She's out here.
Somewhere beyond these mountains.
I cross the pass and the landscape opens up again on the other side—rolling hills dotted with clusters of trees, a river cutting through the valley below. And in the distance, smoke rising from chimneys.
A village.
My pulse kicks up, and I slow my flight, circling lower. The pendant is practically burning now, the glow visible even in broad daylight, and the tug in my chest is so strong it's almost painful.
Close.
I'm close.
I descend toward the village, keeping my wings spread wide to slow my approach. It's small—maybe a few dozen buildings clustered around a central square. Thatched roofs. Dirt roads. A handful of people moving between the structures, going about their day.
Human. All of them.
No xaphan. No other races. Just humans living quietly in the middle of nowhere.
The pendant doesn't pull me toward the square, though.
It tugs east. Toward the edge of the village where a cluster of buildings sits near a fenced pasture. I can see zarryn grazing in the field, their shaggy silver coats catching the sunlight, and my eyes lock onto a stable at the far end.
That's where she is.
I land hard, my boots hitting the dirt road with enough force to send up a small cloud of dust. A few villagers glance my way—eyes widening when they see my wings—but I ignore them.
The pendant is molten against my skin now, the pull so strong it's dragging me forward before I even consciously decide to move.
I cross the road. Round the side of the stable.
And then I see her.
She's standing just outside the stable doors, her back to me, a bucket in one hand and a brush in the other.
Her black hair is braided down her back, the thick plait swaying gently as she moves, and she's wearing a simple dress—brown, worn, patched in a few places.
No mask this time. No festival silks or lantern light.
Just her.
And she's fucking stunning.
Even more than I remembered.
My chest tightens, the bond flaring so hot I have to press a hand against it to keep from doubling over. Every instinct in my body is screaming at me to close the distance, to touch her, to make sure she's real and not some fever dream my mind conjured up.
I move without thinking, my boots crunching on the gravel, and she stills.
Slowly—so slowly—she turns.
And our eyes meet.
Storm-gray. Soft as rainlight but sharp with recognition.
She knows.
She knows it's me.
But instead of smiling, instead of relief or joy or anything close to what I felt when I saw her, her expression shutters. Goes carefully blank. And she looks away.
Like she doesn't know me.
Like I'm just another stranger passing through her village.
The fuck she doesn't.
I close the distance between us in three long strides, and she takes a step back—instinctive, automatic—but she doesn't run. Her fingers tighten around the brush, her knuckles going white, and I can see the way her chest rises and falls too quickly.
She's afraid.
Not of me.
Of something else.
"Senna."
Her name sounds rough on my tongue, almost desperate, and her eyes snap back to mine. For a moment, just a moment, I see it—the same pull, the same hunger, the same need that's been eating me alive for two weeks.
Then she looks away again.
"Do I—" Her voice is quiet, barely audible. "Do I know you?"
I know she's lying. She knows she knows me, just like I'd know it's her with my eyes closed and my hearing muffled. I don't need anything but the burning in my chest to tell me it's her.
I step closer, crowding into her space, and she inhales sharply. The scent of her washes over me—something clean and warm, like fresh bread and meadowmint—and the bond in my chest roars.
"You don't know me?" I lean in, my voice dropping low. Close enough that I can see the freckles dusting her cheekbones, the way her lips part slightly as she breathes. "You expect me to believe that?"
Her hands are shaking. I can see the way the brush trembles in her grip.
"Please." The word is barely a whisper. "You have to—"
"I have to what?" I reach up, catching her chin gently between my fingers, tilting her face toward mine. Her skin is so soft. Warm. Real. "Pretend I don't feel this? Pretend you don't?"
Her eyes are shining now, something broken and desperate flickering in their depths.
"You shouldn't be here," she breathes.
"Too bad."
"Lorenth—" Her eyes search mine, and I see that want. I know she's been thinking about me, too. I expect her to tell me to leave, but instead, I see that resolve crumble.
And then she's kissing me.
It's not tentative this time. Not hesitant.
It's fierce and hungry and desperate, her free hand fisting in the front of my shirt as she pulls me down to her.
The brush clatters to the ground, forgotten, and I catch her waist with both hands, dragging her closer until there's no space left between us.
The bond in my chest ignites.
It's like a missing piece finally slotting into place, like every jagged edge inside me suddenly smooths out and locks tight. The pain that's been clawing at my ribs for two weeks vanishes, replaced by something so overwhelming I can't even name it.
Rightness. Completion. Home.
She gasps against my mouth, her fingers tangling in my hair, and I deepen the kiss—tasting her, claiming her, making sure she understands that this is real. That we're real.
That she's mine.
Her back hits the stable wall and I press into her, one hand sliding up to cup her face while the other stays locked around her waist. She makes a soft sound—half whimper, half moan—and I swallow it, pouring everything I've felt for the past two weeks into this one moment.
Relief. Rage. Need. Possession.
All of it.
She kisses me back like she's drowning and I'm air.
And then—
"Senna!"
The shout rips through the air like a blade, and she wrenches away from me so fast I almost don't process it. Her eyes are wide, panicked, and she stumbles back against the wall as heavy footsteps crunch across the gravel.
I turn, every muscle in my body going tight, and a man rounds the corner of the stable.
Human. Average height. Thinning sandy hair and pale eyes that lock onto Senna with something cold and possessive that makes my wings flare instinctively.
"What the fuck do you think you're doing?" The man's voice is harsh, his face twisted with anger, and he crosses the distance between us in quick strides.
I step in front of Senna without thinking, blocking his path, and his eyes flick to me for the first time. He takes in my wings, my height, the way I'm standing between him and her, and his expression darkens.
"Who are you?"
"Someone who wants an explanation." My voice comes out flat, dangerous. "For why you're shouting at her."
"It's none of your concern how I speak to my wife."
The word sends me reeling.
Wife.
I go still. Every thought in my head scattering like leaves in a windstorm.
Wife.
No.
No, that's not—
I glance back at Senna, and the look on her face—guilt, fear, desperation—confirms it.
She's married.
To him.
The bond in my chest twists violently, rejecting the idea outright, and I have to grit my teeth against the surge of rage that floods through me.
"Is that true?" I don't look away from her. Can't. "Are you married to him?"
She opens her mouth, but no sound comes out. Her eyes are shining again, tears threatening to spill over, and the silence stretches between us like a chasm.
"Of course it's true." The man—her husband—steps around me and grabs Senna's arm, yanking her away from the wall. She stumbles, her hand flying up to brace against his chest, and I see the way she flinches when his fingers dig into her skin.
Something in me snaps.
I move without thinking, reaching for him, but Senna's voice stops me cold.
"Don't."
The word is barely a whisper, but it's laced with so much fear that I freeze mid-step.
She's not afraid of me.
She's afraid of what he'll do if I interfere.
The realization cuts deeper than any blade.
"You will pay for this." The man drags her toward the road, his grip bruising, and Senna doesn't resist. Doesn't fight. Just lets herself be pulled along like she's done this a hundred times before.
And maybe she has.
I stand there, rooted to the spot, watching as he hauls my mate away from me. Every instinct I have is screaming at me to stop him. To rip his hand off her arm and break every bone in his body for daring to touch her like that.
But Senna won't look at me.
She keeps her eyes down, her shoulders hunched, and the last thing I see before they disappear around the corner is the way her free hand trembles at her side.
The bond in my chest is howling.
Clawing. Raging.
Demanding I follow. Demanding I take her back.
But I don't move.
Because she's married.
And I don't know what the fuck that means for us.