I watched her from across the fire, my back pressed against the cold, jagged wall of the grove. The flames danced between us, casting her in an orange glow that flickered over the soft curves of her face. She was lying on her cloak, curled up and trying to find some warmth in the fabric, but I could tell from the way her shoulders hunched and how she kept pulling the edges tighter around her body that it wasn't enough. The cold had set in deep tonight, biting into the air like it was trying to claim us both.

But it wasn't just the chill that held my focus on her. It was everything about her. Her insolence, her reckless bravery, her humanity. The way she defied me at every turn, as if she hadn't a care in the world that I could end her life in the space of a heartbeat. As if she knew I wouldn't. Would she be reckless enough to believe I wouldn't? I doubted that.
And gods, how I wanted to.

There was a part of me, dark and relentless, that hungered to pierce my fangs into her soft, warm skin. To take everything. I could imagine it so vividly in the real images flushing in my mind—the feel of her pulse beneath my lips, the taste of her blood flooding my senses. My fingers flexed, almost involuntarily, against the rough stone.

But I couldn't bring myself to do so. Not only because I needed her, but also because her attitude burned me.
The craving ran deep, twisted around something I couldn't quite untangle. She was human, mortal. Fragile in every way that I wasn't. And yet, despite her humanity, there was something about her that defied that fragility, something that burned too brightly for me to extinguish. Her defiance, her fire—it called to me. Not just because of the blood that pulsed beneath her skin, but because of who she was. The way she stood her ground, even when she knew so little of the ways of the real world. Not the world she knew from the books she read, but from the real world we both lived in. The way she threw my own words back at me, taunting, daring me to cross a line neither of us could recover from.

She was a maddening, reckless creature. And I was drawn to her in ways I couldn't admit, not even to myself.
I gritted my teeth, forcing myself to look away, staring into the flames instead. But the sound of her shifting beneath her cloak caught my attention again. Her small movements, the way she fidgeted, trying to stay warm, grated against something inside me. She'd been pushing me all day, needling at me with her sarcasm, her questions. But now... now she was vulnerable.

I clenched my fists, frustrated at the war raging in my head. I could just let her shiver. I could stay right where I was and leave her to deal with the consequences of her stubbornness. But then I saw her shiver again from the corner of my eye, and something in me snapped and I growled slowly, furious at myself.

Before I could think too much about it, I stood and crossed the small space between us, my footsteps soundless in the dark grove. She didn't notice me until I was right next to her, looming over her with the firelight flickering behind me. Her eyes widened in surprise, but she didn't move, and before she could protest, I lowered myself next to her, pulling the heavy wool cloak from my shoulders and wrapping it around us both.

She stiffened immediately, her body instinctively pulling away from mine, but I wasn't having it. Without a word, I wrapped my arm around her waist, pulling her close against me. Her body was rigid, tense, but the cold was biting harder than her pride, and she didn't have the strength to fight me on this.

I leaned in, my mouth near her ear. "Stop being stubborn for once" I whispered, my voice low, almost a growl. "You're freezing. I can feel it. I can't have you dead by morning."
She shivered, but whether it was from my words or the cold, I couldn't tell. Still, she didn't speak. Her body was tense against mine, but slowly—reluctantly—she let herself sink back into me, the warmth from my body seeping into hers.
It was a strange, dangerous closeness, one I hadn't allowed myself to imagine until this very moment. Her back pressed against my chest, the curve of her neck just inches from my lips. I could feel the steady rhythm of her heartbeat through the layers of fabric, each pulse echoing louder in my ears. It would be so easy to lean in, to let instinct take over. To claim what I'd been resisting for far too long.

Gods, I was doomed. And I wasn't sure it was hunger that was burning inside me or if it was the smell of her invading my nostrils making me feel more alive than I ever did. I knew my lips brushed against her neck and I didn't care. I could have just kept my distance, I should've, but I didn't.

I tightened my hold on her instead, the weight of my cloak settling over us both, and forced myself to focus on the steady rise and fall of her breathing. Her stubborn rigidness pressed against the cold that clawed at both of us.
For a long while, we just stayed like that— in the silence, listening only to the crackling sound of the wood burning. I could smell the faint trace of her skin beneath the cloak, the scent of smoke from the fire mingling with something uniquely hers as she tried so hard to keep her distance, as she tried to keep that wall up between us. It stirred something deep inside me, something primal, and I hated how much I wanted more of it.

She didn't say anything at all, but her body slowly relaxed against mine, her breath evening out as the warmth from the cloak began to chase the cold from her bones. I watched her sleep for a moment longer than I should and didn't close my eyes a second, luckily though, because I heard the crunch of the leaves as steps moved closer, slowly. I was aware of their move. I was aware of everything they did.

My instinct was to stand up and hide myself against the stonewall of the grove.

The scent of aggression hit me before the figures moved from the shadows. It was thick, cloying, tinged with desperation. Five of them emerged, slipping from the trees like wolves on the hunt. Their eyes, sharp and filled with hatred, locked onto me, weapons drawn, gleaming under the faint light of the moon.

The air shifted, my breath caught. I could feel it all —like a storm about to break. The hunger stirred inside me, deep and primal, clawing at the edges of my control. It whispered to me, urged me to strike first, to rip them apart before they could get any closer. But I couldn't. Not with her here. Because I wasn't like them and I needed her on my side to change the course of the events.

The first rebel lunged once his eyes fell on me, ignoring Lyra completely, his blade slicing through the air toward my throat. I twisted, narrowly avoiding the strike, my body moving on instinct. The others followed quickly, their movements calculated, practiced. Except for one, a woman, who stood behind with her bow arched.

They were skilled. But they had no idea what they were dealing with.

I caught the wrist of the next attacker, twisting hard enough to disarm him. His sword fell to the ground with a dull thud, and I shoved him back, sending him crashing into a nearby tree. He groaned, sliding to the ground, but there was no time to revel in the victory. The others were relentless, circling closer, their eyes gleaming with malice.

A third rebel slashed at my side. I dropped low, spinning out of range, my fingers twitching with the urge to retaliate—to sink my fangs into their throats and end this quickly. The bloodlust surged, hot and thick in my veins.

My jaw clenched as I dodged another strike, my body moving with a practiced fluidity. The fight was too close, too fast. I could feel their rage, their thirst for vengeance. They wanted to see me bleed. To kill me. But I wouldn't let them.

One of the rebels—a woman—rushed at me from the side, her dagger aimed at my arm. I caught the glint of metal too late. Her blade sliced into my skin, drawing blood, but it wasn't the wound that froze me. It was the look on her face, beneath the hood—a face I didn't recognize.

But someone else did.

"Kyara?!"

Lyra's voice shattered through the chaos, high-pitched. The shock, the disbelief—it was all there in the way she screamed that name. Her friend's name.

My mind reeled. Kyara? The name meant nothing to me, but to Lyra, it meant everything it seemed in the way her face paled.. I didn't understand. Why was her friend—her trusted friend—standing among these rebels, trying to kill me?

But in that moment of confusion, my hesitation cost me. A dagger—dark and wicked—whipped through the air from behind. The impact was like fire, searing deep into my side, driving me backward. Pain exploded through my body, spreading like poison as I stumbled, clutching at the wound. Blood poured through my fingers, dark and slick.

A shadow dagger. Enchanted. Lethal.

I staggered, my vision blurring as the rebels closed in. The scent of my own blood filled the air, feeding their fury. Their movements quickened, sensing victory. They didn't know what they were walking into—didn't understand the danger.
The hunger inside me stirred, dark and insidious, pushing against the fragile walls of restraint. My vision darkened at the edges, the beast within me rising, clawing for release. I could end them. I could tear through them in seconds. Leave nothing but blood and broken bodies in my wake.

But I couldn't. Not yet. Not with Lyra here, watching.

"Stop!" Lyra's voice was sharp, desperate, cutting through the madness. She stood there, her hands outstretched, placing herself between me and the rebels. "Kyara, stop this!" she cried, her voice breaking. "Why are you doing this?"

The woman—Kyara—lowered her hood, and the moonlight fell on her face. Her expression was hard, but there was a flicker of regret in her eyes. Her hands shook, still gripping the dagger, blood staining the blade.

"I'm sorry, Lyra," Kyara said, her voice cold but wavering. "This... this is the only way. We have to stop him."

Lyra's gaze dropped to the blood soaking through my clothes, her face pale with fear. "Rhyon..." she breathed, her voice cracking. "You're bleeding."

I could feel the dagger's magic now, spreading like a sickness through my body. My breaths came in ragged gasps, the pain unbearable. The rebels shifted, sensing my weakness, their eyes gleaming with anticipation.

They thought they had me. They were wrong.

"Kyara, please!" Lyra's voice was raw, pleading. "He's not your enemy!"

But the rebels were too far gone, too blinded by their hatred for what I was. Their leader stepped forward, raising his blade, eyes fixed on me with murderous intent.
I could feel the darkness rising, the monster within me unfurling its wings, hungry and wild. My vision blurred, the bloodlust pulsing like a drumbeat in my ears.
I wasn't able to control myself.

But her voice grounded me for a second longer.

Kyara's face was pale, her body shaking from fear, noticing how her bravery was not coming from her but from the group of them together, but she didn't meet Lyra's gaze. Guilt and regret flickered in her eyes, but she said nothing, "I'll wait for you Lyra. Alone." she finally broke the silence and turned her back on us.

For a long moment, silence hung in the grove, heavy and suffocating. The weight of what had just happened pressed down on me, on us, like a storm that hadn't yet broken.It was just the beginning.

Lyra stood frozen, her chest heaving, her eyes still locked on the place where Kyara had disappeared. Her voice, when it finally came, was a fragile whisper.

"Why didn't you kill them?"

I met her gaze. Her eyes were sad and she shook her head with a sigh.

"Because," I rasped, my voice rough with the effort. "I'm not that monster."