Page 14 of Shadowkissed

I exhale through my nose. “You got anything on her?”

“No registration. No court record. Which means if she’s real, she’s rogue. Probably born off-grid. Or... worse.”

“Worse how?”

“Some say she’s cursed. Others say she’s claimed.”

I feel something go cold behind my ribs. “Claimed by who?”

Tamsin hesitates. “Seraphiel.”

Fuck.

I clench my fists. “That name again.”

Tamsin shrugs, like it’s a story she doesn’t want to tell. “Old blood. Fallen celestial. Used to walk between realms. Now he rules one. The one no one wants to talk about.”

“The underworld,” I mutter.

“He doesn’t take kindly to people touching what he thinks is his.”

I step back, heart pounding louder than I want it to. That alley. That black mist. The way she looked when shesavedme, like it hurt her to do it.

She’s not just fae.

She’s marked.

And I might’ve just painted a target on her back and mine.

I leave without saying goodbye.

Outside, the air’s heavier. It smells like rain and regrets.

I walk. Fast. Don’t know where I’m headed, just that sitting still will make me implode. I cross into Midtown, take alleys on instinct, old blood guiding my feet like it remembers things I’ve forgotten.

I was born from wolves—but something else runs in my veins, too. My mother called it guardian blood. Said our line was older than the packs. Said we were protectors, not just predators.

But I lost my pack. Lost my place. I hunt alone now.

Still... something about her makes that ancient part of me stir. Like it recognizes her. Or needs to.

I stop at a rooftop overlooking the street where Lux sits. From here, I can see the alley. Cleaned up now. No sign of the fight. No trace of her. But Iknowshe’s out there.

Watching. Running. And I’m gonna find her. Because if the Veil’s cracking she might be the one who breaks it wide open.

7

LIORA

Ihaven’t really slept, not since the alley anyway. But sleep’s overrated anyway.

Every time I close my eyes,he’sthere.

Not the alpha.

Seraphiel.

Standing on the brim of some half-burned memory, wings like torn smoke, voice like silk dipped in blood. He doesn’t speak. He doesn’t have to. His presence alone is enough to make my spine lock and my pulse crawl.

---