Page 2 of Midnight Star

I hear the unspoken words in the sharpness of his tone and the way his eyes gleam like shattered glass.

The dark angel lets out what sounds like a chuckle, but it could also be a groan. Even though she’s barely holding onto consciousness, she can apparently still hear most of our conversation.

My cheeks warm with humiliation that one of the most intensely private moments of my life is being overheard by this winged stranger.

But I have Riven’s attention now, and I refuse to lose it.

“It wasn’t like that,” I say to him, keeping my voice as steady as I can manage.

“Then what was it like?” he asks, and my thoughts spin at the question.

Did I keep the secret out of fear? Of shame? Of wanting to be seen forwhoI am, instead of forwhatI am? For not wanting this darkness to define me?

Or because I knew that the moment I told him, I’d lose him?

“I’m sorry,” I say instead, unable to meet his gaze.

Ghost looks back and forth between us, his intelligent eyes filled with concern.

Riven just reaches for the hilt of his sword, as if it’s the only thing keeping him grounded—the only thing he can trust.

He says nothing.

The rejection slices through me sharper than a blade ever could.

I don’t try to speak again. There’s no point. Riven clearly needs some space, and given how much of a death sentence it would be to ditch each other in this wilderness, silence will have to be enough.

But deep down, I know the truth.

No amount of silence will ever be enough to make him forget what I’ve done.

Nighttime’s fallen by the time we reach the cave, and the stars are singing to me, pointing me north.

But following the stars won’t do us any good right now. Right now, Riven and I need information—any information this dark angel might have about where Zoey was taken, or about the ancient woman who willhopefully tell us how to create the potion that will restore the Winter King’s sanity.

Riven seals the cave’s entrance with ice, unties the dark angel, and places her into a sitting position against the cave wall.

“The potion will wear off soon, and she’s already healing from the blood loss,” he says, clinical and detached. “We need to prepare for the interrogation.”

“Riven,” I try again. “Look at me. Please.”

He does, and I almost wish he hadn’t. Because his silver eyes, usually so calm and calculating, are now stormy, filled with something between fury and hurt.

It breaks my heart.

“You had so many chances to tell me,” he says quietly. “In the cave during the storm. When we trained together. After we...” He breaks off, jaw clenching.

I don’t need him to finish the sentence to know what he was going to say.

After we gave everything to each other. After I made him believe I was something pure, when I was anything but.

“I trusted you with everything,” he continues, sharper now, cutting into me with each word. “My father’s madness. My mother’s death. Ghost. And you were keeping this from me the entire time.”

His words are a physical blow, and wind swirls around us—a reminder of the magic I kept from him. Airmagic—vampiremagic. The same magic I’ve been using to kill to survive.

“Control yourself,” he says steadily, eying me like I’m a bomb about to explode. “I’m going to try learning where Zoey is. Because wherever these creatures took her is the place wheretheyare. And if we know where they are, my people can further investigatewhatthey are. Understood?”

There’s no softness in his words. This is simply a logical step forward. A strategy to solve a problem that’s blocking our way from making the potion to restore his father’s sanity.

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