Page 110 of Duskbound

"You can't shift?" The playfulness drained from my voice.

"Not until they replenish." He turned, already walking back toward the Vördr. "We should go."

I stepped toward him, my hand finding his arm before I could second-guess myself. The moment my fingers made contact, his head snapped around, but it was too late—I was already releasing the darkened tendrils. They poured from my skin into his void burns, and the sensation was unlike anything I'd experienced. His marks didn't just accept the darkness, they pulled at it, drawing my shadows in.

Aether's eyes went molten. His hand locked around my wrist with bruising force, and for a moment, I thought I'd made a terrible mistake. But instead of pushing me away, he pulled me against him, his other arm wrapping around my waist until there was no space left between us. Our faces were so close I could feel his breath against my lips. The shadows continued their transfer, and something about his reaction—the way his pupils had blown wide, the way his fingers dug into my skin—made heat rush through my veins. Heat that suddenly felt like something deeper. Something that meant more.

At that moment, Aether blinked as if returning to reality. He shoved me back, breaking the connection. "Don't ever do that again," he growled.

"What—" I started, confused by the cruelty of his response. "I was just trying to help."

He took several steps away, running a hand through his hair. The shadows now curled beneath his skin, restored but agitated.

"Aether, why are you?—"

A snarl cut through the air. Tryggar's massive form shot past us, charging toward something in the distance. Nihr was already moving to follow.

"Stay here," Aether ordered, his voice leaving no room for argument as he raced after them.

I stood there, heart hammering, still trying to process what had just happened. And why did I feel like I'd crossed some invisible line I hadn't known existed?

I sat heavily on the ground, pressing my palm against my forehead. The intensity of Aether's reaction had startled me, but what scared me more was my own response. The way heat had flooded my veins, how my heart had raced at his touch. Guilt churned in my stomach as an image of emerald eyes flashed through my mind.

Time stretched as I waited, the forest growing quieter around me. Maybe I should look for them. But which direction had they gone? The trees all looked the same now, thick and towering.

"They ran into a small herd." Aether's voice startled me from behind. I let out a sigh of relief but kept my gaze down, still too uncomfortable to look at him directly. "Found a spring nearby too."

He held out his canteen. "Here. The altitude can be dehydrating."

I accepted without thinking, grateful for the distraction. The liquid hit my tongue in an instant, and the sensation was so magnetic that I pulled in several gulps before finally coming up for air. The water tasted off—like it had been sitting too long in the metal container.

It wasn't until I lowered the canteen that the silence registered.No wing beats, no heavy hooves against earth. Where was Tryggar?

My vision swam slightly, and I blinked hard, trying to clear it. Had the altitude really affected me that much? Why did I feel like this? Finally, I looked up, and my blood turned to ice.

Golden eyes had turned milky white.

"You should have stayed in your tower, lovely." Aether's features twisted into something else entirely as darkness claimed me.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

My head felt wrong—heavyand disconnected. Fragments of memory slipped through my mind as I woke. Silk draping across my skin sent a wave of panic through me. Not my leathers. Something else. Something wrong. Ropes bit into flesh as I tried to move my hands, a wooden chair creaking beneath me.

Metallic taste. Burning throat. Golden eyes turning milky white. "You should have stayed in your tower, lovely." Darkness...

My eyes shot open.

A gown.I was in a gown the color of charcoal, red beading slithering up from the hem. Slowly, my vision crept up, taking in the grandeur around me.

A table stretched endlessly, covered in things that shouldn't exist in this realm anymore. Steam rose from fresh bread, dark and crusty. Wine-glazed meats glistened in the glowing candlelight. Actual fruit spilled from silver bowls, not the husks I'd come to know in Ravenfell.

Portraits lined the walls of the dining room—massive gilded frames housing generations of nobility. My eyes caught on one in particular. A younger Valkan, his eyes a startling blue instead ofthat milky white, standing beside what must have been his brother. The resemblance was unmistakable, though the brother's features were softer, less severe. Behind them stood an older couple—the woman's chin lifted with pride, the man's hand resting on Valkan's shoulder. A family portrait.

Panic raced through me as I realized where I was.

A soft step had my eyes flying to my right. Valkan moved down the length of the table, touching a flame to each candle. His eyes reflected the light as he turned, fixing on me.

"There she is." The words slid from his lips like honey.

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