The candlelight danced across the stone walls, casting flickering shadows that moved like whispers. Nora stood still at the edge of Zayan's chamber, her hands clenched tightly in front of her. She didn't want to be here—yet she was. Not because he summoned her, but because her heart, traitorous and trembling, had pulled her to him.
Zayan was at the far end of the room, shirt half-open, a thin crimson line tracing his collarbone. Blood. Again. The scent of it hung heavy in the air.
"You're bleeding," Nora said, her voice low.
Zayan didn't look up. "I know."
She crossed the room in three reluctant steps, grabbing a cloth from the table. "You should call a healer."
"I have one," he said, finally meeting her eyes. "She's standing right in front of me."
Nora's fingers hesitated near his skin. That tone—half cruel, half soft—always disarmed her. She hated him for it. She hated herself more for the way her pulse quickened when he looked at her like that.
"You're not supposed to bleed," she muttered, wiping the blood carefully. "You're not supposed to be human."
He caught her wrist.
"Neither are you."
Nora's breath caught in her throat. "Let go."
"You came to me," he whispered. "You knew what would happen when you stepped through that door."
"I came because you're hurt."
"No," he said, eyes narrowing. "You came because you feel it too. The bond. The curse. Whatever this thing is between us. You hate me—but you crave me."
Nora yanked her wrist back. "You don't know what I feel."
"I know your silence better than I know my own thoughts."
She turned away, but he was already behind her. His hand brushed the side of her neck, barely touching. "Tell me to stop, and I will."
But she didn't.
Because Zayan was danger, and she had lived too long in the dark to be afraid of it now.
"Tell me," he murmured, voice like smoke against her skin. "Do you dream of me the way I dream of you?"
Nora closed her eyes. "Every night," she whispered. "And every night, I wake up wishing I didn't."
He didn't smile. He didn't kiss her. He just stood there—close, breathing her in, his power curling like fire between them.
It wasn't love. Not yet.
But it was becoming something far more dangerous.